try to be living as your vice
and can you be my type?
The loss of a sibling, even if it's only though distance and strange magic, not death, is not something Peter can imagine. Not something he even cares to try to imagine. There is a buzz of regret for the question asked, something almost like guilt dripping heaving into his stomach, and while he doesn't say anything more with words, he tries to send a feeling of sympathy towards Sunjata, an apology for bringing it up.
Silver eyes move back up to his face, and Peter leans in, interested, but trying not to be, for fear of being morbid. Is different... There's a buzz, like he's silently humming, trying to figure out how exactly the question should be phrased, and a soft huff leaves his snout. Before he can continue, can find the words, Sunjata is moving on, explaining more, and, helpfully, answering the question he'd had. Different is strange, but not necessarily bad. Now, a soft whine leaves the hyenas jaw, the only sound he can make in response to the heavy feeling coming from the panther. Is this.... better than before though? Having her here?
The only words that Peter wants to say think are apologies, condolences and comfort. None of those are things that come naturally to him, and none of them are things he thinks the other will appreciate. He's never wanted apologies at least. All he's ever wanted is someone to say 'That was fucked up. You shouldn't have gone through it. It wasn't fair.' and all anyone offered was apologies.
Maybe that's what made it so easy to talk to Sunjata, why he was the first to really hear about anything specific. He understood, in a way few others could.
Peter has to close his eyes, both for himself, and to block out the darkness swimming in the panthers eyes. The comfort only makes his eyes screw closed tighter; in another form he would fighting back tears, would have been fighting them for a while now. It is a small mercy that he can't cry, but it doesn't stop the feeling from trying to overtake him. There is a sharp bitterness sent back to Sunjata in response to his words, Peter shaking his head, dark eyes opening again to focus on the panther. He wasn't doing anything for me. I know he wasn't doing anything but helping himself. But... it's a nice thought. There is a wave of comfort, and understanding as Sunjata describes his own father, the experiences intimately familiar except for the tormentor. That's... how it was growing up for me. But... maybe better. I never thought I was going to be loved. What a sentence to say. There is so much reminding him of the creeping horror of his memories, bringing it back into sharp focus. Reinforcing the fact that it was so much worse than he wanted to believe.
From the mud, Peter snorts, the sound almost a sneeze. He's not laughing, not in any true sense of the word, or feeling, but there is a sense of giddy irony. How strange, to meet someone with a life story written in the same ink as his own, to empathize so strongly with him. I'm sorry. He offers, trying again to send a feeling of understanding, of connection. Of brotherhood, even, something he's very rarely felt. His self centered schadenfreude doesn't improve his mood, doesn't help with it, it's merely a symptom of the conversation.
The feeling that comes from the panther is nearly unrecognizable to Peter, but it makes him pause, take a breath, and face away from his spiraling thoughts, the beginning of panic and despair that threatens. He is very, very quiet as the response comes, the simple yes. It's strange, almost like he's not there at all, like a silent block has been put up between them, but it's only Peter's inability to settle on how he feels, how he wants to respond. There's nothing to send over if all he feels is numb, and thoughtful. As the panther looks away, Peter shifts, lifting just his head from the mud to look at Sunjata, the first sparks of something that might be actual hope in his eyes. This, Caido, is something closer to a third chance, if he's being honest, but it is something new. But the person he is, the choices he makes, they're all shaped by what he was. The urge to do good, as much as he can, is shaped by who he was. The curiosity, the simple joy he'd felt running through the mud when he'd first shifted, it all came from that pain.
Peter rises properly then, muddy paws carrying him closer to Sunjata so he can lay down again, neck stretched out in the closest approximation to a hug he can manage, careful to press the side of him that hadn't been dipped in mud against the other. Thank you. That... makes a lot of sense. I don't want to be the same as I was, not at all. Scared, following orders for fear of what would happen if he didn't, hurting people because thats what he'd been told. But I can't change then. I just... have to do better now, right?
Silver eyes move back up to his face, and Peter leans in, interested, but trying not to be, for fear of being morbid. Is different... There's a buzz, like he's silently humming, trying to figure out how exactly the question should be phrased, and a soft huff leaves his snout. Before he can continue, can find the words, Sunjata is moving on, explaining more, and, helpfully, answering the question he'd had. Different is strange, but not necessarily bad. Now, a soft whine leaves the hyenas jaw, the only sound he can make in response to the heavy feeling coming from the panther. Is this.... better than before though? Having her here?
The only words that Peter wants to say think are apologies, condolences and comfort. None of those are things that come naturally to him, and none of them are things he thinks the other will appreciate. He's never wanted apologies at least. All he's ever wanted is someone to say 'That was fucked up. You shouldn't have gone through it. It wasn't fair.' and all anyone offered was apologies.
Maybe that's what made it so easy to talk to Sunjata, why he was the first to really hear about anything specific. He understood, in a way few others could.
Peter has to close his eyes, both for himself, and to block out the darkness swimming in the panthers eyes. The comfort only makes his eyes screw closed tighter; in another form he would fighting back tears, would have been fighting them for a while now. It is a small mercy that he can't cry, but it doesn't stop the feeling from trying to overtake him. There is a sharp bitterness sent back to Sunjata in response to his words, Peter shaking his head, dark eyes opening again to focus on the panther. He wasn't doing anything for me. I know he wasn't doing anything but helping himself. But... it's a nice thought. There is a wave of comfort, and understanding as Sunjata describes his own father, the experiences intimately familiar except for the tormentor. That's... how it was growing up for me. But... maybe better. I never thought I was going to be loved. What a sentence to say. There is so much reminding him of the creeping horror of his memories, bringing it back into sharp focus. Reinforcing the fact that it was so much worse than he wanted to believe.
From the mud, Peter snorts, the sound almost a sneeze. He's not laughing, not in any true sense of the word, or feeling, but there is a sense of giddy irony. How strange, to meet someone with a life story written in the same ink as his own, to empathize so strongly with him. I'm sorry. He offers, trying again to send a feeling of understanding, of connection. Of brotherhood, even, something he's very rarely felt. His self centered schadenfreude doesn't improve his mood, doesn't help with it, it's merely a symptom of the conversation.
The feeling that comes from the panther is nearly unrecognizable to Peter, but it makes him pause, take a breath, and face away from his spiraling thoughts, the beginning of panic and despair that threatens. He is very, very quiet as the response comes, the simple yes. It's strange, almost like he's not there at all, like a silent block has been put up between them, but it's only Peter's inability to settle on how he feels, how he wants to respond. There's nothing to send over if all he feels is numb, and thoughtful. As the panther looks away, Peter shifts, lifting just his head from the mud to look at Sunjata, the first sparks of something that might be actual hope in his eyes. This, Caido, is something closer to a third chance, if he's being honest, but it is something new. But the person he is, the choices he makes, they're all shaped by what he was. The urge to do good, as much as he can, is shaped by who he was. The curiosity, the simple joy he'd felt running through the mud when he'd first shifted, it all came from that pain.
Peter rises properly then, muddy paws carrying him closer to Sunjata so he can lay down again, neck stretched out in the closest approximation to a hug he can manage, careful to press the side of him that hadn't been dipped in mud against the other. Thank you. That... makes a lot of sense. I don't want to be the same as I was, not at all. Scared, following orders for fear of what would happen if he didn't, hurting people because thats what he'd been told. But I can't change then. I just... have to do better now, right?
cause we need to be given a good life
and can I be your type of metal?
PETER
Base Code by Sky!
