Participants:
| Scene Title | Wakeup Call |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Peter sees a vision of things to come brought to life, and is forced to make a difficult decision. |
| Date | September 6, 2008 |
Dorchester Towers: Cat's Apartment, Spare Bedroom
This room is bare except for bookcases just inside the door, a queen sized bed, a chest of empty drawers, and a decent size walk in closet. Behind the bed is a single tall window which doesn't open. It's currently shrouded by pale wine colored curtains.
Gray light filters its way through the single window in the otherwise unlit bedroom. With the pale curtains diffusing the already dusky morning light shed through the dense cloud cover outside, the bedroom was still mostly dark. A single column of light came in the window at an angle, crossing the bed and hitting one of the walls. On the single bed, blankets are twisted and unkempt, despite being slept upon and not within. While Cat lays curled up on her side, face pressed against one of the pillows, Peter has since left the comfort of her side. His boots, discarded on the floor show signs that he may still be around, but no longer in the bedroom, no longer at the side of the person who would shoulder his burden with him.
It is that single shaft of dim light that finally crosses over Cat's face as the morning goes on, revealing to her the cloudy skies outside and the drizzle falling down to the street below. It would seem the storm called by Peter's emotional dischord the night before had not cleared entirely. All is silent in the apartment, no shred of noise. Without a clock on the wall it's hard to tell what time it is, though it feels like morninig.
She raises to one elbow, yawning, and looks at the window through which that single ray of light entered to cross her sleeping face. Noticing she's alone, the only trace of him remaining being those boots, the woman pulls the curtains slightly aside to see the dismality outside. "He didn't leave," she murmurs to herself, "at least it doesn't seem so."
Feet settle on the floor next, and she stretches. Then hands rub at her eyes for a moment, and she makes her way out into the other areas of this apartment. Hair is tousled and in general disarray as testament to having been asleep. Her first course is to seek the man out, starting with the main room.
There's a distinct sound of scraping as Cat makes her way through the spare bedroom and out towards the spacious main room of the apartment. As she gets closer to the source of the noise, it begins to become more and more evident that it is a much harsher scraping and grinding sound, with the shrill pitch of something trying to cut glass. Upon exiting the bedroom, Cat can survey the main living area — Peter's coat still lays slung over the arm of the sofa, her bag is laid where it was last night, along with her guitar case. But as she turns her head towards the sound of the noise, she finds Peter, silhouetted by the large window overlooking the city. He has both of his hands raised, palms facing towards the window, and they are moving in small, jerk motions. His head lolls to one side, then straightens again, and the source of that terrible noise becomes readily evident.
Something is etched into the window beyond Peter, or more correctly is in the process of being etched. The glass creaks and shrieks under the strain of some unseen cutting implement, carving white lines through the surface with precision and detail. With Peter in the way, it's hard to make out what he's doing, but portions of whatever it is he's engraving have found themselves ground into the window's edge and portions of the adjacent wall as well. A panoramic scene…
No words are used. He's already started to carve, so stopping him is pointless. The window would have to be replaced already, as well as repairs to the wall where his actions have also taken hold. So Cat elects to watch him in silence for a short time.
When she turns away, her eyes settle on the DVR clock, then she's headed for the kitchen. It's morning. There must be coffee and food. Sounds start to emerge from there as she puts the pot on and goes about making two breakfasts. Steak and eggs.
Peter continues to work, undisrupted, his fingers moving in distinct patterns that match the appearance of new lines and grooves in the window and walls, slowly over the course of ten minutes the remaining picture begins to come into view, all of those nicks, chips and cuts from when Cat first arrived forming into a detailed whole. All the while, Peter seems unaware of what transpires around him — the sound of the percolating coffee pot, the sizzle of steak and eggs frying in a skillet — none of it seems to rouse his attention.
Only the sound of a gasp, like someone who has been holding their breath, signals that something has changed within Peter. He stumbles, backwards and away from the window, losing his balance and lands on the floor with a crash. His black button-down shirt he wore the night prior is left unbuttoned, falling open as he lands on the floor, only to lean up on his elbows and survey his work in shock and confusion. What is depicted on the apartment window, and in portion the walls and floor, is a life-size scene depicting a short-haired man with grim countenance seated on a cot attached to a wall. His posture is relaxed, almost slack, forearms draped over his knees and hands folded. He stares directly out from the etching with lightly shaded eyes. Beneath him, the shadow he casts in the etching is twisted and deformed, a serpentine line that snakes its way from the window, down onto the floor and towards the center of the room. It resembles a deformed S, with forked lines extending from it, like some amalgamation of an F and an S as a rough comparison.
"W-what… what did I — " Peter gasps for words, trying to form an explanation. The smell of food cooking and the accompanying sounds rouse his senses, and he wheels around to rise up on his knees facing the kitchen. "Cat?" It is spoken in disbelief, as if he had forgotten where he was for a moment, and as the events of last night begin to settle back into place, Peter's brow tenses in both confusion and something more intense. His eyes drift from side to side, wandering the engraving he had gouged into the wood floor with tools, then up to the brunette woman who had let him finish his work.
She's not directly in view when he calls out her name, but by the time he's looking around she's entering that main room to survey him and the… artwork he's made. If the carving goes to the wood of the floor, he's also gone through the carpeting in enough area to reach it. Cat's eyes take the whole thing in slowly, comparing it to images she's seen before, and the man in it against Peter himself for similarities. Her displeasure is brief and unexpressed. While repairs will cost money, it isn't like that's in short supply.
What she does express is a single question. "Does this have some significance?"
Looking at the trailing pattern that extends outwards from the man like a shadow, stretching across the room, Peter frowns and shakes his head. He follows the symbol with his eyes back up to the etching of the man himself, "I've… I've never seen him before." His brow tenses, one hand wiping his errant locks of hair back from his face. Having slept, his normally slick locks are now in quite a desheveled disarray. He turns around, hastily, shaking his head. "I — I'm sorry." Peter's eyes drift down to his hands, looking at them as if they are not his own, "I don't even remember waking up…" Slowly, he turns to look back over his shoulder at the etching. Cat begins to recognize elements of it, the twisted pattern of the man's shadow is the same symbol used on Arthur Petrelli's business cards, as well as the logo for a bladesmith that once operated out of midtown Manhattan; Jittetsu Arms. It is on the cover of Activating Evolution; Chandra Suresh's piece of literature so prominent in this age. Lastly, on the cover of several issues of the 9th Wonders comic book, written and illustrated by an Isaac Mendez.
Peter stares at the man engraved in the glass, one that does not spark any recollection from Cat's expansive collective of knowledge, nor anything Peter has seen. "It… it doesn't have any significance." He hesitates, "Not yet." Troubled, Peter turns and looks back to Cat, taking quick steps towards her. His hands come to rest on her shoulders, an intent and apologetic look on his face. "I'm… I'm sorry, this has been happening to me lately. I… I'll fall asleep, and wake up somewhere else, having done something like this." He turns to look back at the etching, then Cat again. His hand moves up to rest on her cheek, just like last night. Brushing his thumb across the young woman's cheek, Peter looks towards the kitchen for a moment. "Do I still get breakfast?" He jokes, trying to keep his spirits up.
"That looks like a strand of RNA," she observes. "A single helix." No objection is made to the actions of his hands, as she continues to study the artwork. "You said Isaac Mendez painted the future. Potential events. And here you are, having carved this. You were around him, so the odds are you got his ability too. The man… A cot on a wall, the way he sits, it suggests a prisoner. And the symbol, the rna strand, is on Suresh's book." Thinking, mulling it over, keeping the recorded image in her mind, she heads for the kitchen. "Come eat, Rock."
Listening, Peter stays rather still, keeping his hand gently pressed to Cat's cheek as she talks. The explanations make enough sense — it does look like a helix, "I learned how to do that from Isaac, yeah." His brow tenses, "I just, it's been working its way into different things. Spray paint, glass, it's like I don't even need to be around a canvas for it to start happening." He breathes in slowly, then exhales a heavy breath and nods to the suggestion of eating. With Cat having pulled away, Peter's fingers raked gently through a length of her hair, letting the curly locks run between his fingers. He watches her depart for a time, then slowly begins following her towards the kitchen, hesitating for just a moment to look back over his shoulder at the window before catching up.
"So," she asks when he enters the kitchen, "you've done things like this before. They're different scenarios, each time? Do any of them ever repeat?" Food is set out onto plates and then the table, she pulls down two mugs and fills each with coffee before getting things like cream and sugar to add in. Her brow is furrowed. "I'd say something about the prisoner is important."
Once the food and coffee are set out, she steps behind the man to briefly rub his shoulders.
"Sometimes." Peter walks around the table, the chair sliding out across the floor without his reaching for it. Seeing him working in a casual setting, it's clear that he has become so accustomed to his powers that some of them are simply extensions of his every-day self, and that he chooses restraint in public; Like chosing not to use one of your arms. "Back… when Isaac was alive, he painted a scenario of events, trying to find Claire." Seating himself, he looks over to Cat as she comes around with the food and coffee, a warm and appreciative smile coming over Peter's face.
When she comes behind him though, rubbing his shoulders, he melts back against the chair, eyes closing. "Isaac was creative, he'd write comic books that were visions of the future. My friend — Hiro — he used them to navigate events, to try and…" He shakes his head, "I don't know, change things?" There's a disappointed sigh, and peter leans his head back further, resting it against Cat's stomach as he looks up to her. "This is the most clear one I've made in years. The recent ones, they've been abstract. Hands clawing at nothing, numbers, weird images." He watches Cat's reactions as he explains the situation, clearly looking for understanding in her.
"A prisoner, though… I have ideas." Peter glances towards the direction of the window, then back, "We're… going to attempt a raid on a Homeland security holding facility. rescuing Evolved from captivity. Sending the ones who aren't dangerous into safe houses, and seeing if the ones who can fight will join us." His brow tenses, worried about her reaction to that, "I contacted someone last night, before I came to see you. She's an information specialist, she's going to get us details on where and who. It won't be long from now."
"So it's like the revelations come to you while asleep. It could be they require that aspect to be perceived. And they probably link up somehow." Cat's hands work a short time longer. When they drop away she's moving to take her own seat and begin to enjoy the food. "Is there any way you can get to the others, or recreate them, all in one place, to see if they present a pattern? It seems when they come, you record them in whatever media or surface is available at the moment. I don't have canvas or paints here, so you used what was. The raid… It'd be interesting to see photos of the detainees and determine if any of them is the man in the carving here."
"I can see if Hana can find anything, getting in touch with her can be taxing though." Peter seems to be deep in thought as he speaks, and there's a certain dehumanization of him as Cat watches him prepare to eat. A motion with one hand is made towards the steak, and a thin cut appears in the middle of the meat, splitting it apart, fllowed by another series of slices dividing the halves further. Within moments the steak is cut into bite-sized pieces. He, however, does utilize his fork to begin cutting up his eggs, having a strange mix of normal and unusual to his table etiquette. "They're on things that would be difficult to move — the last one I did before this one was on the wall of a portion of abandoned subway tunnel that I was hiding out in when I first got back to the city. The one before that is in an alley in Brughes — Belgium."
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Peter begins seating, Forking a piece of egg, then steak, and eating them together. He doesn't touch his coffee at all as he begins devouring his breakfast with that same hunger he displayed last night. Not a word is shared as he eats, leaving plenty of room for Cat to interject her thoughts while he sates his seemingly large appetite.
Her food is cut in the entirely normal way, and eaten slowly. Her back is straight in the chair, the way she goes about it evidence of the society upbringing she received. The woman is ruminating on the artwork made part of her abode, and what the other pieces might look like. "It's a shame we didn't meet before all that started," she comments quietly, "because then you'd have total recall and be able to recreate them at will. In any case, the man you carved doesn't have a scar, so my guess it doesn't herald you being captured and locked away."
"I'd like to see a cell that can hold me." Peter says with a sense of confidence, pausing in his eating to make the comment. He returns to his food not long thereafter, still seeming to contemplate the meaning of the engraving. After a while, once his plate is cleared, he turns his focus to his coffee — black, no cream or sugar. This he treats with more respect, taking slow and careful sips, savoring it more than he did the rest of the meal. "I could probably do more. I should find some materials," Peter looks over to Cat, then back to his reflection in his coffee. "Maybe start working on them today…" There's a look on Peter's face as though he just remembered something. "Damnit, I promised them I'd stay at the PARIAH building from now on." His eyes narrow as he leans forward, resting his arms on the table as he cradles his coffee mug in both hands. "Might be best if I do my painting there, more people to look at them and figure out what it all means."
"I agree with that being a solid idea," Cat replies, hand on her mug. She adds in cream and sugar. "I've got nothing on the piece you just did, beyond it being a prisoner." Her coffee is tasted, after setting it down she states "I think that woman you saw at the Wench is actually two women, Rock. They could be identical twins, or one woman with MPD. There were two distinct personalities in play, and in either case I think there's possibly mental health issues involved. The one from the second encounter, when you were arranging your meeting, seemed very much a teenager in a thirtysomething body." Her fork comes up, bites of food are taken.
"The woman?" It takes a moment for Peter's memory to jog, she was the last person in his thoughts right now, "Oh, her, the blonde one, right." There was that thoughtful look Peter gets, his brows tensing and his nose scrunching up slightly. His eyes waver from side to side, then drift over to where Cat sits. "I need to talk to her sometime, find out who she is. I saw her, clearly, in my dream before…" He leaves the end result out, an omitted but understood explanation. "Maybe she knows something, is a part of something…" He seems conflicted, leaning to one side to rest his chin on his palm, rolling his coffee mug in a gentle circle in his other hand. After a moment, he looks back to Cat again, "If it's twins, there's no telling which one's the right one. She was carrying a kid, though, in the dream. He uh, didn't look much like her." Peter tries to word that as politely as possible, "I don't know, it doesn't make sense."
"Have you noticed any new abilities from being near her?" Cat asks. She hasn't any idea if the woman is evolved or not, but she could be, and if so would probably have imprinted something on him by that proximity. This track of thought continues, until something occurs to her. She calls up her memory of that second encounter, where the Russian guy interfered by his proximity, to recall if he was close to the scarfed man at the time. Because that would have likely stopped picking anything up, if there were anything to pick up, that is.
"I don't know, maybe?" Peter looks nervous, "If I don't know what they can do, I don't know if I can do it. Sometimes those things just show up, like a reflex. My body knows what it can do, but my brain doesn't?" He tries to explain the situation as best as he can. "I was being trained, once, by a man named Claude. Training myself on how to use my powers, to keep myself from…" He groans and shakes his head. "In our first session, I used telekinesis to push away a broom-handle Claude was attacking me with. I'd never even known I could do that before — Heck, back then I thought I had to be around people to use their gifts." He takes a sip of his coffee, breathing out a slow breath through his nose afterwards. "If she does have a gift, I won't know until it's either too late — or I find out straight from her."
"What'd he give you, Rock?" she asks, seeking addition to her flawless mental database. "I'd think he had something, with him being trusted to conduct training. And I definitely get things just kicking in. Happened that way with me." Cat finishes off her food and takes the coffee in hand to consume as well. She listens to whatever he'll share, holding whatever questions for when he finishes.
To answer Cat's question, Peter simply fades away, vanishing from sight in the chair he sits in. There's a long moment of silence, the chair shifts slightly, and it's hard to tell if Peter is still in it. Then, a moment later, Cat can feel arms wrapping around her shoulders, arms that quickly come into view — Peter's. He was leaning over behind her chair, arms folding around the seated woman, resting his mouth atop her head in a soft and chaste kiss. "Saved me life," He explains quietly, his words both heard and felt against her hair, "More than once."
She laughs. "I think," the woman replies, her eyes closing with the contact, "I should ask what isn't in your bag of tricks instead of what is." Cat leans back in her chair, toward the man. "And probably no end of stories behind them all."
"I can't dance." Peter notes with the first smile since the night before, "At all." His arms pull tighter, embracing Cat in a tight hug as he grows momentarially silent. After a short while, he begins to lean back, letting his hands slide back along the sides of her arms to settle at her shoulders, repaying the earlier comfort by gently massaging. That, however, seemed to be one of Peter's unspecified talents. The way his hands moved, thumbs and the heel of his palm rolling across muscle stiffened from a long night of performing at the club, it was the hands of someone who knew how to give a theraputic massage. "But I can stop time." Was that a joke?
She considers the words spoken, and the possibility he's joking. She'd thought that at least partly before, then he'd gone into her head at her invitation. So the odds are he isn't. "That'd be an interesting trick," she replies with a chuckle, becoming a bit playful again. "You could steal an item of clothing from a person's body and she wouldn't know it happened." Her eyes close, she starts to melt into those hands as muscles relax. "Mmmm."
"Never tried that before," Peter smirks, "For all the temptation, I've been responsible with what I've been given — Except for what I needed to do to survive." He rolls one shoulder, cotinuing to work out the stiffness and knots in Cat's shoulders, then slowly begins working his way up her neck. Fingers kneading the muscles on either side of her spine, making their way up the back of her neck slowly, "I've been picking up tricks from the members of PARIAH. Creating fire from nothing, controling the weather, I don't even know what half of the people there can do." He laughs to himself, nervously, "My power worries me, because I can't turn it off. I'm always picking things up, always learning, but not ever really understanding, you know?"
One hand gathers up her hair and places it in front of her, so the neck is left bare as trained hands continue to work on her. Cat's eyes remain closed, the head bowed, and she makes quiet sounds of enjoying the contact. "It's all tied to emotions. Last night, telling me the story, it stormed outside. And some of that storm is still hanging around. I'd guess you picked that up recently, and haven't worked with it much. I… I'm still wrapping my head around how remarkable you are. I… I wonder if someone could start with page one in Suresh's book and see one by one if you have a particular thing in it, by hearing the description and trying to do it."
Peter tilts his head to the side as he listens to Cat, thinking for a moment, then shakes his head. By now, his fingers have found their way to the base of her skull, fore and index fingers lightly pressing together where muscle meets bone, relaxing the tension at the base of the neck. Then, they begin the massaging journey back down again as Peter gives his input, "I don't think so," He bites down on his lower lip, "You're right that it is tied to emotions — To use a power, I have to remember how a person makes me feel if they're not right by me. I have to remember what emotions they stir in me, what they're like." He smiles, "That's easier now, thanks to you." His head leans down as he bends forward, and Peter places another small kiss at the base of Cat's neck. As he straightens up agaion, his hands come to rest gently on her shoulders. "But just thinking of a power, without the context of who, it wouldn't work. Not for me, anyway."
"What emotion triggers the perfect memory?" she asks quietly, moving to slide back and stand up so she can face the man and see his eyes. Her backside rests against the table, one hand reaching up to trace along his jaw. "You need a shave," she states with a laugh.
Wrinkling his nose at a mention of a shave, Peter laughs, "Not as easy as it sounds." He admits with a grin, "It's hard to cut my hair too. I have to try to not regenerate it back." Regeneration, something he hadn't mentioned yet. "For the memory though?" Peter hesitates, tilting his head to the side as he regards Cat carefully, "At first it was reflexive, and sporadic. Some things were clearer than others; that's how it happens with gifts that are constantly working." He looks down to the wandering hand, then back up to her, "Now it's… complex. They all are,"
He doesn't try to just leave it at that though, Peter knows she wouldn't let it sit at a throw-away answer. "Respect, a little bit of intimidation." He takes a step closed, settling both of his hands on Cat's hips, hooking his thumbs through her belt loops, giving them a playful tug. "Happiness? That's a foreign one." He manages a smile at his own joke, "Fascination…" Peter's eyes wander from where his hands are, working their way up along Cat's abdomen; that sliver of flesh revealed between the tanktop and jeans, "Attraction." Rocks can blush, it seems.
His hands at the hem of her tank draw a reaction. She smiles playfully and steps back, hands going to the same spot his were, and possibly brushing against them. They remain there, it being unclear whether she's going to raise the garment or pull it back down. Then she turns and walks slowly down the hallway toward one of the bedrooms, pausing a few steps away to look back over her shoulder.
Peter hesitates as he feels the hands on his, looking down to them, and then as Cat begins to walk away, Peter follows her with his eyes. Watching where she moves to, there's a look of surprise on his face, and then acceptance as he starts to walk around the kitchen table, heading in the same direction. No words are exchanged, verbal or otherwise, as he meets Cat's eyes when she turns back. Peter clears the distance, slowly, and at the moment it would seem as though he would follow her anywhere… he was weak like that.
Her bedroom door opens, she steps through it, and a moment later the tank top exits, dropped outside in the hall where he can see it. What she's doing in there is thus not much left to imagination, as is the choice she's making.
There's something that amuses Peter when people manage to surprise him, that smile crossing his face as he sees the tanktop thrown aside out the doorway. He hesitates, though, something sticking in the back of his mind, and he turns from the doorway to look towards the main room, spotting that scarred portion of the floor, then back to Cat's bedroom. Perhaps everyone who told him he needed to relax was right, perhaps this was a choice that would have grave consequences. Peter closes his eyes, thinking for a moment, then walks over to the door, resting his hand on the frame. He made the same choice by following her inside.
Inside she's seated on the edge of her bed. Clothing remains, she's in a black satin bra and her jeans, waiting to see if he takes the invitation she made without words. When he appears in the doorway she stands and crosses toward him. Hands go to settle at his shoulders, brown eyes explore his for a moment, then they close and her head tilts slightly to one side.
Peter grows visibly tense when he walks into the bedroom, eyes lingering on the furnishings and windows before making his way across the floor to the edge of the bed. Silence, uncertainty, but he is here and that is proof enough of some level of comitment. The hands on Peter's shoulders cause him to hesitate, watching Cat for a time, only to lean forward and reach up one hand to the side of her cheek as he had before, fingers gently brushing down along her jawline. Her eyes close, head tilting to the side, and Peter watches her, takes in her soft expression. Slowly, Peter leans in towards the invitation, and Cat feels the soft, fleeting touch of lips on hers, that kiss that had been so close on multiple occasions before now, finally realized. It was a soft, gentle one, enough to let her feel the contact before it — inevitably — withdrew, "I…" When Peter finally speaks, his tone indicates uncertainty. An uncertainty that wasn't there earlier.
She gives him the lead for the kiss and meets it in the same fashion. Cat remains poised there for some moments when the contact breaks and doesn't resume. When her eyes reopen, she seems puzzled. "Is something wrong?" she asks quietly. Concern shows in her eyes, migrating to her features. And she waits for the man to respond.
"I can't." Peter looks for all his part as though he just had to tell Cat she was dying, "Not…" His brow tenses, hand still holding her cheek, "Not yet. Not now." Something was troubling the scarred man, but he leaned in again regardless, while Cat's eyes were open, and placed another kiss on her lips. This one lingers, longer than the last at any rate, and his fingers curl at her jawline, knuckles brushing down her neck. When he breaks the kiss, he leaves his forehead against hers. "I don't know what I'm feeling, I…" Was he this honest? "I can't. I'm sorry."
She meets the kiss again, still leaving him in the lead, in the same fashion as it's given. Her head tilts into the fingers at her jawline. And when it ends, her forehead rests against his. The eyes close for a moment, then reopen to explore his. To try gaining some inkling of his emotions in that moment. And at his pronouncement, she steps back. Feet carry her slowly around him; she retrieves the dropped tank and slips it back on over her head then leans against the wall. "Don't be sorry," she replies. "It is what it is." Arms cross over her chest for just a moment, then drop to her sides. She's still watching him.
Peter stands there, his brow tensed, then turns to follow Cat as she works her way back around the room. He closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose slowly, then looks up to the young woman again. Again, the temptation to see her inner thoughts arises, but Peter manages to keep his promise, to keep his word to her. Instead, he has to work solely on his instinct, and that leads him back over to where Cat stands by the wall. Peter hasn't said a word, only watched her reactions, watched her move. Then, though, he approaches closer, letting his right hand come to brush across Cat's stomach, stepping in close and quick, leaning in to let his lips brush Cat's lightly, eyes falling shut. Every motion he has seems more impulsive, more hasty, less thought going into his immediate reactions.
Peter leans up against Cat, his lips brushing over hers lightly, that hand on her soft stomach moving around the rest at the small of her back, a gentle tugging motion suggesting she move closer, be held closer. For all his words and dismissals, it's hard to tell what Peter thinks, hard to tell what he really wants.
She meets the kiss, accepting and returning, with hands going to his shoulders again, and pressing closer when guided to do so by him. Her breath is warm, it begins to quicken. The lead and pace is his to set, letting him work through whatever the thought process is in his own way. The scar isn't just on his face, it exists also metaphysically, she knows, deeper and longer than the visible one.
The struggle Peter engages with breaks the kiss again, a frustrated sound escaping the back of his throat as he leaves his cheek pressed to Cat's, "There's something…" Peter's brow tenses as her turns his head, letting his lips brush against Cat's cheek, "Something about you, and it draws me here." He pulls her into an embrace, one arm wrapping around her shoulders, the other resting at the small of her back, "But I don't know what it is yet. There's mistakes I can't make." His tone shifts to apologetic, lips pressing to the young woman's cheek once more before he very slowly begins to release her. "People are counting on me," He explains as he leans back, "I have to think for them, now. Not myself." Swallowing audibly, Peter closes his eyes and leans up to press a kiss to Cat's brow, stepping back and away from her. "I need to think, find an answer…" He looks towards the door, then back to Cat, "I'll come back. But right now, I need to put their lives ahead of my own."
She remains standing where she is, not moving away from his further attentions after he makes the decision to abstain. Hands rest on his shoulders briefly for the embrace, her head leans into the kiss at her brow. But when he steps away, she makes no effort to entice his return. "It's understood," she replies, keeping what she's thinking and feeling veiled. At the very least, she isn't one to beg a man for his carnal attentions. "Make contact if you want assistance with the puzzles in art, or other projects. I'll at least hear them out." Solemnly, slowly, Cat makes her way to the door and opens it. "See you. Take care."
"I'll be back." Peter says firmly, watching Cat as she moves away from him, "For you." His eyes wander, then lower to the floor. Then, slowly, his eyes close. "As long as you're still here," Peter's brow tenses again, as if from a momentary strain, "Take care, Cat." Then, in an instant, Peter was gone. Boots, coat, everything he had brought with him, except the memory of the things he had said, done, and the images he left behind… He did say the people around him got hurt.
He never explained how.
 September 6th: Morning, Sunshine |
 September 6th: A Strange Encounter |