try to be living as your vice
and can you be my type?
A short bark of laughter leaves Peter, a stark comparison to the rather subtle feline rumble that comes from Sunjata. It’s a sound of understanding, more than anything. I am... was? Am uh... not very good at it either, but I... I think the other way. There was an attempt to get the words out casually, but Peter hadn’t had the practice in regulating his internal voice yet. There was a shame in the words, not only because he was comparing himself to Sunjata, and the man sounded like he had never yielded to a thing unless it beat him over the head and forced him, but the admission itself. It was strange how saying something out loud (relatively) made it more real, made it hurt all over again with an intensity he hadn’t felt the first time.
There is also a part of him that feels bad for taking a scrap of laughter and twisting it into darkness again, but that just seems to be his lot in life. Wrong place, wrong time. So he tries to make it better, to patch a bandaid on the mood. Theres never a better time... better place to learn, right?
At the comment that they don’t know each other well, Peter pauses, and considers the words. At least it stops the not-tears feeling, of only because of the confusion. You... I am not very good at talking. Not about just... just moral things. I am much, much worse at talking about... me. I’ve never told anyone, not even me, for real, about... my life. Never... never gave it words. He fixes the panther with a very serious look, trying to radiate honesty. I think you know me as... as good as anyone else. Maybe better. It another strange admission, another one that doesn’t sit quite right, making Peter shift like he’s searching for a comfortable spot in the sucking mud.
Even people... the person from before, who knows... knew me all the way through, they... she doesn’t know everything. Peter has to force himself to be more specific, to share just a sober more, to grow more comfortable with the action, with a person he trusts with most of what he could reveal. Just before this conversation, he didn’t see himself getting along with the Sunjata, not that he really thought he’d get along with anyone, but the attuned seemed... put together. Aware of things, of his own life, not like he was simply holding on to some out of control beast. And I never told her. She just knew. So it.. it’s worth enough, coming from you. There is more he could reveal, more reasons sharing is so difficult. The deep rooted fear of intimacy, the feeling of shame, or something close to it, that rose up in his throat every time he said something from his past, but he doesn’t want to burden Sunjata. At least, not all in one go. Maybe one day, if when they get closer.
Amusement finally manages to trickle over Peter, a peal of silent giggles ringing out, while a soft huff left his muzzle. I hope you get the chance. Or... something just as satisfying. Honestly, he isn’t if anything could be quite as cathartic as finally being able to strike back at your tormentor, gods know he’s dreamed of it, but he wishes well nonetheless. Maybe Sunjata will get lucky.
Peter averts his gaze as the panther turns to him, almost like he’s afraid to be caught looking. I understand. The uh, the not knowing. Things were... simpler that way. With a goal. People with plans, and ideas. He certainly has no real ideas for himself, is just sort of skipping along life in Caido, grasping at moments in hopes of plucking meaning from them. Par for the course is... it’s better than bad. It’s... could be worse. And... I think maybe that’s just normal. I... i never thought I’d have a chance for normal. Then he laughs again. Normal for here,
I mean. But that’s still a type of normal. Right?
There is also a part of him that feels bad for taking a scrap of laughter and twisting it into darkness again, but that just seems to be his lot in life. Wrong place, wrong time. So he tries to make it better, to patch a bandaid on the mood. Theres never a better time... better place to learn, right?
At the comment that they don’t know each other well, Peter pauses, and considers the words. At least it stops the not-tears feeling, of only because of the confusion. You... I am not very good at talking. Not about just... just moral things. I am much, much worse at talking about... me. I’ve never told anyone, not even me, for real, about... my life. Never... never gave it words. He fixes the panther with a very serious look, trying to radiate honesty. I think you know me as... as good as anyone else. Maybe better. It another strange admission, another one that doesn’t sit quite right, making Peter shift like he’s searching for a comfortable spot in the sucking mud.
Even people... the person from before, who knows... knew me all the way through, they... she doesn’t know everything. Peter has to force himself to be more specific, to share just a sober more, to grow more comfortable with the action, with a person he trusts with most of what he could reveal. Just before this conversation, he didn’t see himself getting along with the Sunjata, not that he really thought he’d get along with anyone, but the attuned seemed... put together. Aware of things, of his own life, not like he was simply holding on to some out of control beast. And I never told her. She just knew. So it.. it’s worth enough, coming from you. There is more he could reveal, more reasons sharing is so difficult. The deep rooted fear of intimacy, the feeling of shame, or something close to it, that rose up in his throat every time he said something from his past, but he doesn’t want to burden Sunjata. At least, not all in one go. Maybe one day, if when they get closer.
Amusement finally manages to trickle over Peter, a peal of silent giggles ringing out, while a soft huff left his muzzle. I hope you get the chance. Or... something just as satisfying. Honestly, he isn’t if anything could be quite as cathartic as finally being able to strike back at your tormentor, gods know he’s dreamed of it, but he wishes well nonetheless. Maybe Sunjata will get lucky.
Peter averts his gaze as the panther turns to him, almost like he’s afraid to be caught looking. I understand. The uh, the not knowing. Things were... simpler that way. With a goal. People with plans, and ideas. He certainly has no real ideas for himself, is just sort of skipping along life in Caido, grasping at moments in hopes of plucking meaning from them. Par for the course is... it’s better than bad. It’s... could be worse. And... I think maybe that’s just normal. I... i never thought I’d have a chance for normal. Then he laughs again. Normal for here,
I mean. But that’s still a type of normal. Right?
cause we need to be given a good life
and can I be your type of metal?
PETER
Base Code by Sky!
