PETER
Peter remembers Wessex, if only from brief, impersonal meetings. He remembers a queen, and honestly, he’s glad that not everything has changed, even if this was a new again development. When the message arrives, he’s more than happy to answer it, to slip into the dark of the night towards the techno colour brightness of the geyser field.
There are no implements of war carried on his person, no weapons sitting at his side or strapped to his back, but Peter seems nonplussed by his own apparent lac of preparedness. ”Good evening.” He says, once he’s close enough to not have to raise his voice, something that’s almost a smile on his lips.
There are no implements of war carried on his person, no weapons sitting at his side or strapped to his back, but Peter seems nonplussed by his own apparent lac of preparedness. ”Good evening.” He says, once he’s close enough to not have to raise his voice, something that’s almost a smile on his lips.
when you cry your face is momentary
You hide your looks behind these scars
You hide your looks behind these scars
