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Hey, Abby, um.

You have any time today for another walk around town?

Totally won't catapult us through the air on a webshooter. Promise.

[Smooth, Pete. Really smooth way to start a sad conversation in the making.]

[Not long after their last meeting, Abby will find a small bag sitting on her window sill.

The small note attached reads:

"I know it's not your style, and I don't expect you to go swinging around the city, but this might be helpful if you need to climb up something and you're all out of rope. And, y'know. If you want to blast a monster in the face with web to make a clean getaway. I've added a couple of months worth of web cartridges, so use it wisely, but - if you ever need someone to replicate the formula, there are some notes in here that detail how to make it. Careful not to try it yourself, or you might end up stuck to a wall for a few hours.

Hopefully this helps you or your own in a tight spot. Feel free to give it to one of your 'adopteds' if it's more their style. You know what I mean by that, I know you've got a bleeding heart.

Thanks for everything, Abs.

Give those sweet biceps a kiss each for me. ;)

Love,

- Peter 🤟"

Inside the bag is, in fact, one of his webshooters, with a bundle of web cartridges and a set of instructions on how to use it — including big web blasts and taser-webbing.]

Trench and Deerington may be full of uncertainties but at least there is one constant: wherever she is, Clarisse knows where to find weed. Abby has no idea how she does it, and having just wondered that, she remembers suddenly that there are so many different kinds of mushrooms that sprout up around their home and suburb. The thought has her staring suspiciously at the joint between her fingers...

Before she takes a second drag.

That would require grating the mushrooms up really fine, and she knows Clarisse is too lazy to go through all that trouble just to get high. It's bog standard weed then, and she's simply a magnet for it.

As if Abby cares. It's a very useful feature. She passes the blunt, and exhales smoke lazily out of the corner of her mouth, settling further into the couch.

"Okay. Hear me out."

She pauses, for dramatic effect. "Who would you fuck out of Darth Maul, Reaper, and..." her expression twists, threatening laughter, "Korra. Go."

Voice.

(Belated Late November)

(this never happened)