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porcelain-clown · 9 months

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The Kraven Problem

Penelope Parquette, aka the Araignée du Cirque, [the circus spider] is sent on a mission to retrieve a Kraven anomaly with Miguel O'Hara, her close friend and confidant. But when the anomaly bears a striking resemblance to the same Kraven who destroyed her old life, Penelope is thrown for a loop. A loop that is made worse when Kraven starts trying to flirt with her.

also on ao3! user nyxtryx 🫶🏻

trigger warning for death, fire animals dying, etc. this is super evil backstory for my spidersona.. have fun!

i'll update as i write, no promises lmaO

“A Kraven anomaly? Vous plaisantez j'espère?” [are you kidding me?] Penelope exclaimed as she thwipped alongside Miguel, shooting him an exasperated look.

“Relax. Should be a pretty quick in-and-out.” Miguel grumbled, dismissively waving his hand before the pair settled behind a pile of rubble in Central Park, watching carefully as the Kraven anomaly rambled to nobody in particular about the state of the world with a thick transatlantic accent. He pulled a small, toothed comb out from seemingly nowhere, slicking back his Danny Zuko-esque hair with a flourish.

“LYLA, what do we need to know?” Miguel spoke quietly, as to not disturb the prowling, large man. LYLA, chipper as ever, popped up, her glitching yellow screens displaying scrolling data about this Kraven.

“Shouldn’t be any trouble, guys. He’s not even a successful villain in his own universe. Just web him up and toss him through a portal!” LYLA chirped, pushing her pink sunglasses up her nose with one hand as she used the other to swipe past multiple displays of video footage, showing Kraven sitting in the back of many, many cop cars. LYLA vanished, leaving Penelope and Miguel, crouched behind the rubble, to analyze and attack together.

“You alright, clownie?” Miguel tilted his head, flicking at Penelope’s shoulder affectionately. She bristled slightly at the nickname, but seemed distracted, her overpainted clown makeup doing nothing to hide the anxiety in her eyes as she kept them trained on Kraven, refusing to look away.

“Ce bâtard… looks just like him…” [that bastard] Penelope muttered under her breath. Miguel nodded slowly, realizing.

[earth-0254. paris, france. many, many years ago.]

“Ma précieuse araignée, nous devons partir! Les… animaux sont arrivés.” [my precious spider, we must go. the animals have arrived.] Guinevere, her long blonde hair, typically woven into the tightest, most perfect ballerina bun, now loose around her shoulders, falling across Penelope’s face as she sat up groggily in her sleeping quarters. The scent of smoke quickly filled her nose. She turned to the dreaded sight of the far lip of her tent curling into orange flame.

“Guinevere? Est-ce que les chevaux sont en sécurité ? Où est Monsieur Jamesion?” [guinevere? are the horses safe? where is mr. jamesion?] Penelope blinked rapidly, her movements becoming increasingly frantic as she threw herself up and out of her nightclothes.

“Je dois vérifier les chevaux. Monsieur Jamieson est avec le reste de notre troupe. Il n'y a que vous et moi qui sommes partis rassembler les animaux.” [i have to check on the horses. mr. jamieson is with the rest of our troupe. it's just you and me who are left to round up the animals.] Guinevere spoke, her crisp blue eyes darting around frantically. The tail end of her sentence was muffled, as the pair covered their mouths with the sleeves of their dresses to combat the growing plumes of smoke.

As Penelope and Guinevere darted out from beneath their tent, they caught a glimpse of their attackers. There were 6 men, all but one wearing various taxidermied animals as masks. They were tall and menacing, each one covered in various furs, holding torches and laughing at the way the red and white striped fabric curled and went up in flames. The unmasked one turned, his eyes cutting into Penelope’s soul as he held eye contact with her for a searingly painful moment, which was ended by Guinevere sharply pulling Penelope’s arm.

“Bouge-le, ma précieuse araignée. Nous n'avons pas longtemps.” [move it, my precious spider. we don't have long.] The intensity of Guinevere’s gaze caught Penelope off guard. She nodded, quickly trotting along. She almost swore she saw Guinevere dart a dirty look back to the sight of the men burning their tent, the unmasked man keeping his eyes on the two until they vanished from his sight.

When Penelope and Guinevere approached the animal tent, they were too late. The left side of the tent was collapsing in on itself, thick plumes of black smoke and fireworks of angry red sparks rising as the fabric folded and wilted. Guinevere, who danced ballet on the backs of the horses, let out a strange, anguished cry. She threw herself towards the burning tent, opening a flap before Penelope could stop her. The pain-filled wails of the animals bled out from behind the tent flap, as did the horrific smell of them burning. Penelope gagged, the sight overwhelmingly grotesque. She threw her arms out, ripping Guinevere away from the tent, the flap settling back into place.

“Vous ne pouvez pas les sauvegarder. Il faut rejoindre les autres, c'est bien trop tard pour les animaux!” [you cannot save them. we have to join the others, it's far too late for the animals!] Penelope screamed over the howls of the burning animals, fighting to pull Guinevere back from the tent, desperately grabbing at her arms. Guinevere fought back, ripping herself out of Penelope’s grasp so sharply that the two tumbled onto the grass. Guinevere was faster, throwing herself up from where she lay, tangled with Penelope.

Before Penelope could blink, Guinevere was gone, vanished behind the flap of the smoking, collapsing tent. Penelope’s heart lurched, a twisting feeling getting more intense in her stomach. She let out a strangled scream, tripping over her own feet as she stumbled beneath the tent flap.

The smell of smoke was suffocating, filling Penelope’s eyes with hot tears as she attempted to filter the smoke with her sleeve again, to no avail. She spotted Guinevere in the distance, untying one of her horses from his post, tears streaming down her face as she tried desperately to calm the braying, kicking animal down.

“Guinevere!” Penelope cried out, her voice getting whipped away by the sounds the animals were making, the smoke filling her throat even faster. She choked for a moment before her spider senses activated and she turned quickly, dodging a blow from the unmasked man who had tried to sneak up behind her.

Penelope dodged another blow. She gasped for air as she thwipped away from him, unable to tear her eyes away from his daunting figure, the smoke making any intense movement unbearably difficult.

“Que veux-tu?” [what do you want?] Penelope cried out to the man. He grinned, showing off sharpened teeth. More animal than man, a predator. Penelope thought.

“Je suis Kraven, le chasseur. vous connaissez ma troupe... les Chasseurs Voyageurs. mon maître de piste bien-aimé nous a demandé d'éliminer votre pathétique petite troupe. Moins il y a de concurrence sur le marché, mieux c'est.” [i am kraven, the hunter. you know my troop... the traveling huntsmen. my beloved ringmaster has asked us to eliminate your pathetic little troop. the less competition there is in the market, the better.] He shrugged at his last few statements, a smug movement that flared Penelope’s anger. With a cry, she threw herself towards him, landing a small barrage of punches, bruising his face only slightly before he quickly overpowered her, throwing her to the ground with one arm. She glowered up at him, his smug face smirking down as she rolled to desperately get away from the assault of harsh kicks and stomps he began aiming at her head.

From her position on the ground, Penelope twisted her neck to see Gunievere, finally able to get her horse to calm down enough to untie, narrowly avoiding a flaming piece of tarp that came crashing down in front of the horse’s legs. Penelope screamed her name out again, her voice dying at the end of her throat from the smoke. Quickly, she jumped up, fighting Kraven with a refreshed purpose. She finally managed to get him on the ground, immobilizing him with her webs.

But she was too late. Guinevere whirled in circles, searching for a way out, completely overwhelmed by the heat, the smoke, and the sound of her beloved animals screaming in excruciating pain. In her distracted, distressed state, her shoulder harshly caught a load-bearing wooden beam. Penelope ran over, seemingly in slow motion, as she watched the flaming beam splinter and collapse, a burst of red sparks and woodchips flurrying as the beam split, the flames growing larger as the beam sliced down onto Guinevere’s head. She collapsed with a shriek, the untied horse spooking and galloping off into the night.

Penelope fell back, the flames from the beam catching quickly to the grass, spreading rapidly towards her. She turned, dashing out of the tent, too shocked to cry. Flashes of the pale blue crinoline that made up Gunievere’s tutu swirled in Penelope’s mind, her perfect posture as she grinned a row of pearls and turned on one extended, strong leg while a large horse galloped beneath her now a thing of the past, faded away and burned.