Ill-Made Martyr [Open]

Peter chewed his lower lip as Maea began her patient explanation, his brows rising when she said he was welcome here, in more words. Surely, if she knew what he was, the thing's he'd done, she wouldn't be saying that, but he knew better than to correct a person talking to him. Instead, he just listened, endlessly patient as she paused to find her words. It was clear that her words rocked him though, his eyes widening in shock when she revealed he was on an entirely different world. Everything else only served to add to the dizzying spin of new information. New worlds and Gods and others who had had this happen. Quiet stretched out between them for a long moment after Maea had finished speaking. Peter seemed to be trying to digest what he had learned, his eyes low but his hands moving in mostly nonsensical gestures. Not being in Vita anymore meant... so much, too much for him to really be able to digest. No more Alex, no more rebellions, no more near suicide missions or arbitrary punishments for things he had never, ever had any control over. No more orders, or having a warm room and a command to slink back into when he was losing himself. "What am I... what am I supposed to.. to do?" Peter's words were slow, confused still, but growing in urgency. "I don't know... I've never had to... who... tells me what to do?" He could be alright with all of this if he still had that order to fall back onto, without it, he was lost, adrift in a foreign sea. Peter The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.