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"Bare digs, man." An oddly accented voice called, and Peter turned to see one of the Spider-People this place was swarmed with striding towards him, they sounded male but they were lanky in a way that could be considered androgynous, with a tattered jacket made of what looked to be denim covering the musculature that would make their sex obvious. Their form kept sliding around too, almost glitshn-ing but not quite, the shades Peter knew to be colour were changing constantly but not violently and Peter felt like he was looking more at a picture in the papers than a real walking person. "Love the coat. You look well confused though. Let me guess. You're new here?"
"How'd'ya tell." Peter said wryly. "Can you smell a fish reeled from a nice sleep."
"Clever!" The man (Peter was pretty sure he was a man, now he was closer, but this was the future) exclaimed. "Mixing fish metaphors, I like it, I like it. But it's mainly your gawking. Old-timers don't do that, usually. You need help?" The Spider-Man glanced him over, and Peter wondered if the spikes were organic or a fashion statement (honestly he wouldn't be surprised by either, he was pretty sure he'd seen a dinosaur earlier, and he'd met Porker). "A colour wheel?"
"Nah, I know colour." Peter said with a confidence he didn't feel. "Been other places before, just not exactly here. And I'm definitely an old-timer compared to everyone here, but that's the problem ya see, I don't know how to work any of the technology. It's all far from my time"
"Ach, nobody does." The Spider-Man scoffed, but there was a guarded note in his posture now, and Peter had no idea what he'd said to warrant it. "The majority of the spiders here don't go past the 2040's. When you from, old-timer?" He was bouncing on the spot, loosening up his form like he was ready to fight, and Peter couldn't help but shift into a slightly more ready position. What the hell had he said to set him off?
"The 30's. 1930's that is." He said, warily. "I'm told that's expected from my colour scheme."
"Right right right, right right right." The man said, rapid fire. One of his hands was curling and uncurling, stretching it out as if readying it to form a fist. "And what would you think if I did this." He reached up almost too quickly to see and peeled his mask off in one fast motion. His skin was a dark brown, a colour that in this dimension meant the young man was black, and peppered with metal, and his hair reached out from his scalp like the points of a star. Peter first wondered how he fitted it under his mask, and then realised that the spikes were just fashion after all which was kind of disappointing but also fascinating in what it said for the style in the Spider-Man's dimension.
Peter tilted his head in a way he knew came off as quizzical with the mask. "I guess I'd do this." He said, and reached up to take off his own, other hand automatically going to his pocket to retrieve his glasses and put them on in a smooth, well practised move. "To be able to meet you eye to eye. Peter Parker." He offered his name. "Though I understand that isn't unique here."
The Spider-Man stared at him for a moment, assessing, before his face broke out into a wide grin. "My mans, Peter! Yeah that names cheap as chips around 'ere. I'm Hobie. Hobie Brown." He pronounced it like 'obie', but in context of the rest of his accent it could just as easily be 'Hobie'.
"Nice to meet you." Peter said politely, offering a handshake. Hobie took it and then surged forward to give Peter a rounding pat on the back, before returning to arms length.
"Gonna be honest." The Spider-Man moved closer again to sling an arm around Peter's shoulders, leaning forward conspiratorially, and briefly switched to a grey colour palette. "In my world the 30's was swarmed with racists and fascists. I had to make sure I didn't have to punch you."
"Oh, I hate fascists and racists!" Peter said, brightening with relief, so that was why the young man was so ready to fight. Very understandable, commendable, even! "They're practically all I fight back in my world, along with the mob and landlords."
"Ha!" Hobie barked a laugh. "Landlord, fascist? What's the difference, right? Glad to see you fighting the good fight. I was wondering if anyone in this dimension could see the horrors of capitalism."
Peter laughed as well. "Well I mainly punch the Nazi style fascists, but I'm not against giving the old one-two to a fat-cat capitalist. Though my main method of query with them is a good old-fashioned protest and strike. I'm a socialist, you know?"
"Big up socialism!" Hobie whooped. He looked ecstatic. "I'm an anarchist but socialism's better than capitalism in my book. Not a lot of Peters are socialist!" He rolled his eyes, sharing a commiserating look with Peter. "Some are billionaire CEO's if you can believe it."
"Oh that's just awful." Peter said, boggling at the amount of money that was. "How the Moses do you even build up that much? Hell, if I had even a thousand it'd all be going back into the community, nobody needs a billion dollars."
Hobie stared at him, impressed. "Now you, you I like. You understand how to support a neighbourhood." He said, jabbing a finger at Peter. "Do you want to help me take down this dystopian nightmare? I'll teach you what I know about the modern tech."
Peter furrowed his brow, and studied Hobie, the man's clothes were patched and tattered so the spiked spider was probably quite poor, but wealth never showed the judge of a man's character, as his aunt said, and it was nice to see that all future folk weren't as wasteful with their clothes as he had been led to believe. Also being poor lead to better empathy when you were forced to lean on the support of others and had to support and look after them in turn. Peter knew that well, he and May had had a couple bad winters in their time. "I may need a bit of evidence first." He said slowly. "But if this place is truly dystopian then it'd be my responsibility to help take it down."
"Knew you'd say that." Hobie grinned. "Proper goodun, you are. Like antique punk, you get me? Meant in a good way!" He said hastily, holding up a hand, perhaps having seen Peter's face twist at the insult. "No idea what the word meant in the 30's but people call me a punk, it's just a name for those fighting the uncaring system in the modern times."
"... Alright." Peter said, slightly sceptical that the word had drifted that much but willing to believe a difference in dimensional vocab. "If you say so." He paused slightly, thinking about the question that had plagued him since Hobie opened his mouth before deciding, fuck it. "Where's that accent from, by the way, I don't believe I've heard it before."
Hobie grinned. "From London, bruv. Just a small city, you've probs never even heard of it before."