11/26/2006 Clinton (Hell's Kitchen) Well-rested and tidily dressed in his long coat and three-piece suit, Dr. Otto Octavius stands of an abandoned tenement building some eight or nine stories above the street, a crisp breeze tugging at his hair as he examines the inner mechanisms of one of his new arms, the upper left. A sticky switch offends the man's perfectionism, but it's nothing a bit of adjusting can't fix. Though his eyes, hidden behind round-lensed goggles, are focused on this task, his other three limbs are watching the area alertly, swaying like serpents. A shadow crosses the stars, almost imperceptible, silent. The limbs, no matter how vigilant, aren't likely to spot it until its motion brings it across the face of the crescent moon, and by the time that occurs, it's a matter of only two seconds before the first sound is heard, the sound of a form landing with a gentle thud on the roof across from Ock, and running a few paces to dispel momentum before coming to a halt. The face is familiar to Ock in a strange way, and yet also unfamiliar. So is the voice which says, "Why, hello there, Otto. Just can't keep you inside, can they?" One tentacle turns toward the new arrival as he lands, the three jointed claws held open for the glowing red light at their center. Octavius pauses briefly in his task, eyebrows rising. "Toomes?" He turns around to peer at the winged villain with his natural eyes while the staring limb snakes around to take a look from a different angle. In regards to the greeting, he snorts. "There isn't a prison built that can hold Doctor Octopus," he says in a grating rasp. More raspy than usual. "Little me," Adrian confirms as he walks forward slowly. "The original, the /only/. Even if slightly... improved of late." He gestures to his once-bald pate, now sporting a thatch of dark hair, though the big hooked nose is still the dominant feature of his face. "So I see." Octavius spares him a few more seconds of scrutiny, then withdraws the staring tentacle and releases the one he was working on after flexing the triat digits a bit. "Haven't heard much from your end these days," he notes, with a bit of a smirk. "Forgive me, Octavius," drawls the Vulture. "I've been given my youth back once more, and I thought, given that on previous occasions it's been prone to being taken away again before I had chance to properly enjoy it... I'd have a little fun." He sits on the low wall at the edge of the roof, back to the street, facing Ock, and folding up his wings. "On top of which, you and your friends managed to get yourselves into something of a pickle from which I decided I was best kept separate." Otto's lip curls in a manner that's halfway between sneer and smirk. "Nothing occurred that was not part of my plans," he declares, arms folding across his broad chest. "No matter. I forgive your absence, as I was readily able to find another flyer to take your place." Adrian's lower jaw thrusts out a little. "You were fortunate," he comments acerbically. "We are /not/ ten a penny." He folds his left leg up over his right knee. "So where do your plans point you now?" Otto plants the two lower limbs against the rooftop and leans his weight against them easily. Though he doesn't argue with Adrian's statement, his smirk is telling. At the question, he shrugs. "A few minor projects, but nothing you need concern yourself with." One of the upper arms snakes close to him and dips its nose into one coat pocket, delicately removing a wrapped cigar. Adrian eyes Otto for a long silent moment before responding with "Why, thank you, Octavius. I know you know me well enough to only trouble me with major projects instead of small potatoes." "I wouldn't dream of anything else for one of my original Sinister Six," Dr. Octavius rasps as the limb, using its fine inner manipulators, unwraps the cigar and snips off one end. Another strikes a match as the stogie's brought to the tentacled terror's lips, and the recently re-armed doctor puffs with great satisfaction. Adrian looks at the flexing arms. "We few remaining members of the Six," he sighs, with perhaps the faintest of emphasis on 'the'. As opposed, perhaps, to Ock's 'my'. "And yet our main aim still remains unfulfilled. That of crushing the damned do-gooders." He smiles slowly. "Of course, it will not have failed to cross your mind that they won't be expecting me to look like this, and that this may perhaps be used to our advantage." "Hm," says Dr. Octavius, chin tipped slightly upward as he regards the other. "How /did/ you manage it, this time?" One corner of Adrian's mouth twitches. "Beautiful women," he responds. "My eternal weakness, as I am theirs. Another one took a shine to me... except this one was some kind of... supernatural being. It's as well she was there, too," he goes on with a hint of peevishness, "because otherwise I would have been dead meat, kidnapped off the street while /you/ were too busy fighting that metal dustbin-thing to pay any heed to /my/ problems." Otto snorts. "I'm not your keeper, Toomes. I assumed you'd be well able to take care of yourself." That, and Octavius does have rather a habit of looking out for Number One. Adrian gives a humorless smile. "The fact that I am present and speaking to you shows that I am indeed so," he points out. "But still and all, it's not exactly welcome to know there are purely supernatural entities operating round about here. For those of us who struggle to build our power on a scientific basis." Otto takes the cigar from his mouth with gloved fingers and curls his lips into a sneer. "Pah. These 'supernatural' beings, as you call them, are no different from any other paranormal." The limbs he's been leaning on extend, lifting him off the roof as the other two curl into ready s-shapes. "Only superstitious cretins are taken in by this talk of demons and ghosts." "I once thought that way myself," Adrian recalls. "I once thought science could explain everything. I was a scientist. I am still a scientist. But a scientist who closes his mind to the unknown, Otto, is a fool." He uncrosses his legs. "Be that as it may," he goes on, "and until such time as my research or yours can replicate these creatures' powers, we return to what I can do -- what we and the remnants of the Six can do -- to crush the web-slinger and the patriotic prattler once and for all, preferably along with the rest of that rabble." Otto's sneer remains for a second or two before he twists his mouth into an unpleasant smile. "Yes, of course. Speaking of the bug, you should be warned that he has a new costume, one built for him by Tony Stark." He snorts. "It's quite pathetic, really." Adrian snorts. "Oh, that cracks me up," he comments. "The spider wears iron now? How the hell does he swing from building to building without crashing to the ground in an embarrassed heap?" He stands up, and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Have you seen him out wearing it? I may need to observe him..." Otto chuckles like a man with gravel in his throat. "Oh, it's streamlined enough, but in Iron Man's colors. And sports four extra limbs." Octavius scowls at this, his scorn thick. "As I said, pathetic. I tell you, Toomes, he's degenerated." Adrian chuckles. He may look different, but it's still the same dry Vulture chuckle. "This I must see. With your leave, Otto, I'll catch up with you again soon." He spreads his wings. "The birdy's gonna go spying on a spider. I assume the normal means of communication will find you?" Otto sets the cigar back in his mouth, grinning nastily around it. "You assume correctly." A limb rears up and snaps warningly at the other. "Remember, though, Toomes... he is mine to kill." Adrian pauses in the act of jumping off. "I wanted him... Okay. You have him, if I get America." Without waiting for a response he flaps off into the night.