Billionaire Philanthropists
“Are you hearing this?” Peter asked, the general sense of confusion and panic rising further in his chest.
“They think we’re… a couple?” Noir asked, simultaneously confirming Peter’s fears and making him want to burst through the wall. Well, he could do that. Looney Physics allowed it. But, then again, they were in a pretty good vantage point to look around for someone with cloaking tech to get them to the hub, and for Peni.
Because they were in the @#%$ top floor, overlooking the entire restaurant.
“Yeaaah.” Peter said. He hadn’t even thought about how Noir was going to take it. The man was from the 30’s, and Peter didn’t remember those times being kind to gay people. Or anyone, really. The 30’s generally sucked, especially if you weren’t white, male, and demonstrably straight.
“Okay. As long as the real… ah… Parker couple doesn’t arrive soon, that buys us time.” Noir said.
Peter blinked. Well, maybe he’d hoped that Noir would be a little more flustered… no. Stop. Job to do. Peter looked out the window to their left, a vast view of the city, and his fingers tightened on the tablecloth.
Holy $#!&.
Peter poked Noir’s leg with his own, smiling to hide the icicle of nerves now buried in his cerebellum. His eyes remained glued on the poster--no, movie billboard outside of the window, massive and burning reds and silvers as it hovered in the air. He heard Noir suck in a breath beside him and saw the other man’s gray skin pale.
(Oh, right. And they also hadn’t really thought about the whole “gray skin” thing. Peter wished he knew how to use foundation.)
The billboard was large enough to read at the distance, and large enough to see. It moved, slightly, a screen showcasing a preview of the film it advertised, like a constantly looping trailer. He watched the main male lead--himself, just looking a bit less tired and a h3$# of a lot more comfortable in his skin--wink at the other male lead, who blushed and tried to hide his face in his collar.
The other male lead was clearly Noir. In color, but still Noir. Peter missed the title of the movie completely and stifled a yelp as the actors--this universe’s version of him and Noir--leaned toward each other and--well--
Noir cleared his throat. Peter finally pulled his eyes away to find Noir just across from him, looking away from the screen. “Yeah, okay, I’m an actor. You’re an actor. We’re both actors. My name’s Benjamin, yours is William.”
“Wait, what? Why?” Peter’s mind was glad to shake itself out of seeing himself… ah… kissy-kissy.
“Caught it on the poster. I’m a flatfoot. I notice things. I guess the guys in this universe who look like us have different names, or go by ‘em. Actors,” Noir offered it as explanation. Peter “William” Porker sank in his seat. How long had it been since he last slept? Everything about this place was designed to exhaust him.
“Hello, welcome to the Algren. Can I take your order?”
Peter jumped as Noir turned smoothly to the waitress. Well, any concerns about Noir’s skin took a swan dive out the window. The waitress had colored her skin bright blue, with Japanese characters on each cheek and a heart drawn on her cupid’s-bow lips.
“Yeah, ah, I’ll have… water.” Peter said. The waitress beamed when he spoke and wrote it, glancing up at him from beneath a layer of false eyelashes.
“Egg cream,” Noir said. There was a moment of silence, in which Noir seemed to realize that egg creams were not to be found in this establishment.
“Sorry?” she asked. Her smile faltered.
“He’s kidding! Water for both of us.” Peter said, taking Noir’s hand across the table before he realized what he’d done. Noir forced a smile in response, and now they were trapped. He hoped that Noir’s gloves blocked him from feeling the sweat on his palms.
“Got it! I’ll be back soon to take your order,” she said. She began to walk away, then stopped. “Oh, um, by the way, I know you get this all the time, but that movie… oh my god, I’m going to cry--” Peter and Noir shared a glance as the waitress composed herself.
“It was just so inspirational to me. I asked my partner out by using the speech you make when you tell him you thought he was an angel the first time you saw him. They were so happy, and now we’re together, and I just can’t thank you enough.” She directed it to Noir, who froze completely under her gaze.
“Nooo problem! Glad we inspired you!” Peter said. Noir was blinking slowly, as though there were too many tabs open in his brain.
The waitress smiled, and walked away to the hover-vator to get to the kitchen. Peter stared after her as she left.
“Wooow, okay. Pretty cool that our alternate-universe doppelgangers are famous, right?” Peter said, not feeling cool at all. He felt uncomfortable, on many, interlocking levels, that he was supposedly in a relationship with Noir, a human, and that he WAS a human in this universe, and that, apparently, the both of them were stealing the identities of cinematic masters.
Noir stiffened, and for a moment, Peter thought that his words had offended Noir. But Noir had turned away; he was staring at someone on the floor below them, visible over the balcony, wearing a lab coat and drinking tea. Peter’s eyes widened as the man (or maybe woman?) showed their date a cup, clicked a button on a wrist monitor, and grinned as the cup vanished.
“Woah, that’s cloaking tech!” Peter said. Noir shushed him, but nodded.
“Invisible stuff? Definitely. We need to talk to that guy.” Noir said. The two watched (they were still holding hands. Peter could feel that they were still holding hands) as the man(?) stood up from the table and gave a mock-bow, then excused himself and made his way toward the hover-vator.
“Where’s he going?” Peter asked.
“Restroom’s the best guess. Only one way to find out.” Noir stood, and then realized that he was still holding Peter’s hand. He cleared his throat and let go, allowing Peter to get up on his own.
A few diners turned to look at them, smiling. Peter felt the sweat on the back of his neck slither down. Oh, no. They were expecting cute stuff.
Noir took his arm abruptly, just as Peter heard the first click of the shutters.
Cameras. Of course there were paparazzi here.
Peter kept a fixed smile on as he and Peter stepped into the elevator. The shutter sounds multiplied by the second. Were there paparazzo on other floors?
As soon as the doors shut and the hover-mechanisms began to lower them, Noir exhaled.
“I can’t. I don’t like people looking at me. How do we get them to stop looking?”
“I think they’re trying to get the scoop,” Peter said. “And, for the record, as a reporter? I’d never do this. Yeesh, can’t they leave people alone?”
“The scoop, huh? The business? Alright, alright. I get that it’s a living for ‘em, but still. We need to be able to follow that guy. Restrooms are on the bottom floor. I saw ‘em when we came in.”
“Oh, we’re almost there…” Peter said. He was breathing too quickly. How did these hover-vators move so fast?
“Okay, okay, don’t panic. I’m sure we’ll be--”
The elevator doors opened, and Peter steeled himself. Silence. Blessed silence.
“Good. We made it out with no bulb-hawkers,” Noir said. He stepped out.
“Wait!” Peter said, as the Second Law of Comedic Timing was invoked before his eyes. “Don’t--”
And the feeding frenzy began.
Shutters snapped in every direction as paparazzo closed in, some with microphones. “CAN I HAVE A MINUTE?” leaped over “About your latest film, The Watchman’s Calling, what did you do to prepare--”
Noir covered his eyes with a hand, and Peter grabbed for his arm to steady himself. They were being completely blocked from the restroom, where Peter could see the science guy entering, oblivious to the storm of cameras behind him. They needed to get out. They needed to get out, somehow. Maybe if he just started walking? What did celebrities do? He was going to scream. This was too much. Every flash of a camera left a burn on his retinas that remained for at least five seconds, and his vision was mottled by darkness and light.
“All right, put this on your front page!”
Peter barely registered what Noir had said before the other man kissed him on the cheek. The paparazzo crescendoed for a moment--then slowed, as the so-called reporters aww-ed and oo-ed.
“Adorable,” one said into a microphone. Peter’s brain was so cross-wired that it took a moment for him to realize that she meant… the kiss. Noir had kissed him on the cheek, and now he was pulling him by the arm through a crowd of people scribbling on notepads and calling their companies.
Ah. Kissy-kissy.
The restroom door shut behind him, and Noir stumbled in, splashing his face with water from the sink. Noir was a deeper shade of gray, as though he were flushing.
Why’d he have to go and do that? Peter groaned, internally, while standing perfectly still and dumbstruck in the middle of the restroom.
“You understand, that was, ah,--”
Kissy-kissy? Yeah, what WAS that?
“--a diversion, to satisfy them.” Noir said. Peter exhaled, slowly, then slapped himself in the face with a doing.
“Woah, woah, trotter! You alright?” Noir asked. The water from his face ran down to his horrible pink shirt and gathered at his collar.
“Yeah! Fine! Just freaked out, that’s all! Man, how do famous people deal?” he asked, voice several pitches higher than usual.
“Hell if I know,” Noir said. The restroom, large as it was, was relatively empty--light bounced unhindered from one wall to another, casting the room in pale amber, and a toilet flushed at the far end. Noir and Peter immediately pretended to be washing their hands as Science Person came out of the backmost stall, whistling to themself.
The person was short, with cropped, deep blue hair and warm brown skin. Their eyes were gold, and looked almost mechanized. The person’s fingernails were painted the same tone.
“Excuse me,” the man(?) said, moving between the two to use the sink. Noir and Peter glanced at each other, and Peter cleared his throat.
“Hey, ah, we’re… Ben and William Parker,” Peter said, as Noir mouthed the names to him. The scientist lit up, turning to face him with an outstretched hand.
“Wow, I knew I recognized you two! I’m Vieve Kerrickson.” they said, shaking Peter’s hand and then Noir’s with great enthusiasm.
“Thanks. We have to say, we noticed you using a device earlier that interested us a lot…”
“Oh, yeah, this?” Vieve said, proudly displaying a wrist-watch like device that whirred and spun beneath a white casing. “Light and energy refractor, best of its kind. It can make a five-story house totally invisible to scanners and radar. I’ve worked on it for years.”
“Great. How much?” Noir asked.
Vieve paused for a moment, then began to laugh.
Noir and Peter did not laugh.
“Wait, you’re serious?” They said, biting their lip. Peter and Noir nodded in unison.
“Why would you want it?” Vieve asked. They were growing defensive, and Peter scrambled for an excuse.
“Easy. The paparazzi,” Noir said, raising one eyebrow. Vieve clicked their tongue in sympathy, and Peter relaxed.
“Totally get it, Mr. Parker,” Vieve said, “but it’s not for sale.”
“Please,” Peter said, holding up a hand, “you’d really be helping us. It’s out of control.”
“Can’t you involve the police?” Vieve asked, covering their device with a sleeve. Peter looked to Noir for help.
“The paparazzi are real pipe-snakes. The police can only do so much to keep ‘em away. We need more,” Noir said. Vieve looked indecisive.
“Well, I might have something…” Vieve pulled another watch-device out of their pocket and held it out. Peter and Noir leaned over to look.
“This is my second one. It’s a little buggy, but…”
She strapped it on and angled her hand toward a faucet. Noir jumped back as it vanished.
“It works.”
Peter grinned. “Looks good! How much?”
“You can have it,” Vieve said. Noir’s mouth dropped open behind her.
“Wait, really?” Peter said, as it was dropped into his hands. He held it with care, as though afraid a sudden movement might make it snap in two.
“Yeah. Your movies really changed my life. Just make sure people know that I’m the one who made it, if anyone asks.” Vieve grinned.
Well, that was one way to make Peter feel like a total piece of garbage. He smiled back with far less enthusiasm--though he hoped his guilt didn’t show--and strapped it on, before giving Vieve a hug that held every apology he wanted to give them.
“You mind showing us the ropes?” asked Noir. Vieve’s face became even brighter, and Peter could have sworn that the blue hair changed color.
___
SP//dr scuttled through the Algren’s vents, subtle clicks matching the whirr of the microfans hidden in every nook. Even with the spaciousness of these ducts, the robot had to scuttle in a compact ball down the length, following the signals on the display of her bot.
Four of them. There were four people in the pod, if the readings that were growing stronger by the second were any indication. Two were in the kitchen, and two were in the restrooms. Not the ideal places to throw down.
//Nervous?// Her bot clicked and beeped to her, as though questioning.
“We don’t pick the ballroom. We just dance.” Peni said, chest tightening as she remembered Noir.
Her robot bobbed slightly--a nod of agreement--and Peni tapped at the controls, stuffing a KitKat in her mouth. The restrooms it was. She hoped that they were pretty empty; things could become pretty hectic if civilians were involved.
Her bot maneuvered itself down, into the shafts just above the first floor. Bars of light, broken by vent lines, burned ahead, and through it she could hear a voice:
“You tap it twice to activate it. Uh, this one’s a little buggy, so you may need to tap it more than that--”
What was the person talking about? A weapon? Peni felt herself slip backward for a moment.
The Scorpion’s tail. Sharp enough to break bulletproof glass. SP//dr had saved her. She would have died.
Her robot stopped, sensing the lack of motion from her hands, and before it could warm the seats or purr to her or otherwise calm her down, she was directing it to spy through the vents.
There. A man--or woman--in a long white coat, fiddling with the buttons on a band around another man’s wrist.
And on either side--hold on, were those guys William and Benjamin Parker? As in, The Watchman’s Calling William and Benjamin Parker? As in, the Benjamin Parker she lied to kids at school about being related to that one time in fifth grade so that Kaori would sit with her at lunch because she was desperate for her crush to notice her?
She checked her screen again in disbelief. They were the ones giving the signals.
Maybe she shifted her weight too suddenly. Maybe not quickly enough. But a few moments later, a screw from the ceiling vent came loose under the weight of one of SP//dr’s feet--and bounced off of the scientist’s head.