try to be living as your vice
and can you be my type?
Peter is not used to serious conversations like this, much as he should be by this point in his life. He never knows what to do, what’s expected of him, especially not now, when Sunjata seems so relaxed, so nonchalant about what he’s saying. However, it’s very hard for Peter to mimic that nonchalance, and he instead stares at the panther, quiet horror rolling of off him. And it only gets worse. Peter almost wants to flinch away when steel eyes meet his, but he can’t bring himself to look away.
I’m sorry. Peter knows his words aren’t worth much, and don’t help anything, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what he’d want someone to say to him in that situation. ]I’m sorry you were alone, and that... that happened, and that you had to leave. There is a wave of understanding, of sincerity and support that is sent along with the words. After a moment, he tried one more thing as well. My uh, father, sold me to a... to a warlord when I was six. I didn’t think it got worse than that. It wasn’t quite a joke, but it would hopefully lighten the mood in a way Sunjata would appreciate.
The panther does calm, the roar of his mind settling to a rush, more manageable for both of them to deal with. A quiet wistfulness settles over Peter, the reminiscing just painful enough to drive him to old daydreams, old thoughts. I used to think sometimes if I was just... different, things would be better. He pauses while the other attuned reaches out to run a paw over his shoulders, mud sliding off with it. It’s nice, the simplicity of the gesture, the weight behind it. I didn’t know how to be different though. And I don’t think I’d know what to do if things had been different. Peter shakes his head, a soft huff leaving his muzzle. There were too many variables to really know anything, but this was one that always bothered him, that always stayed stuck in his mind for days and days.
Purring shakes his focus loose, pulls Peter away from the cycle, for the moment. He has to actually think about Sunjatas words. Avoiding death had become second hand, something he expected to have to do on his life, but for the first time, Peter thought maybe it was a feat. Maybe there was strength in getting to see another day, in using that new day. I think you’re right. I just hope I’m not wasting it. They’ve been similar in so many other small ways, Peter finds himself wondering if this is another one. If he’s not the only one struggling to find some kind of worth.
I’m sorry. Peter knows his words aren’t worth much, and don’t help anything, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what he’d want someone to say to him in that situation. ]I’m sorry you were alone, and that... that happened, and that you had to leave. There is a wave of understanding, of sincerity and support that is sent along with the words. After a moment, he tried one more thing as well. My uh, father, sold me to a... to a warlord when I was six. I didn’t think it got worse than that. It wasn’t quite a joke, but it would hopefully lighten the mood in a way Sunjata would appreciate.
The panther does calm, the roar of his mind settling to a rush, more manageable for both of them to deal with. A quiet wistfulness settles over Peter, the reminiscing just painful enough to drive him to old daydreams, old thoughts. I used to think sometimes if I was just... different, things would be better. He pauses while the other attuned reaches out to run a paw over his shoulders, mud sliding off with it. It’s nice, the simplicity of the gesture, the weight behind it. I didn’t know how to be different though. And I don’t think I’d know what to do if things had been different. Peter shakes his head, a soft huff leaving his muzzle. There were too many variables to really know anything, but this was one that always bothered him, that always stayed stuck in his mind for days and days.
Purring shakes his focus loose, pulls Peter away from the cycle, for the moment. He has to actually think about Sunjatas words. Avoiding death had become second hand, something he expected to have to do on his life, but for the first time, Peter thought maybe it was a feat. Maybe there was strength in getting to see another day, in using that new day. I think you’re right. I just hope I’m not wasting it. They’ve been similar in so many other small ways, Peter finds himself wondering if this is another one. If he’s not the only one struggling to find some kind of worth.
cause we need to be given a good life
and can I be your type of metal?
PETER
Base Code by Sky!
