Ill-Made Martyr [Open]

A flush spread across Peters cheeks at the sound of Maea’s laughter and clapping, settling in his ears and betraying his quietly delighted embarrassment. It still felt a little strange to have made something simple, and nice, but if it could spark such delight and joy from someone then maybe if was something he could keep doing. ”It’s just, it’s... it’s not um, really fancy, or... anything, b-but...” There was the curve of a smile on Peters lips, even if he couldn’t lift his eyes to meet Maea’s. ”You can have it.” His hand stretched out more, offering the little trinket, blue eyes flicking up to catch her reaction. The little show with the gravel held Peters attention easily, his enraptured gaze following the little grey stones. Maea’s gift seemed much more impressive than his. Perhaps that was only because it was in his hands, and he had never had much of a mind for creative things, so of course he had been gifted with creation. ”I know not to... not to push too much.” Peter assured her. The idea of it brought up nothing but bad memories, dimly remembered hazes from when he had first gotten his abilities. Shaking the memories from his mind, Peter glanced up, the smile he had had before quirking his lips up again, Maea’s joy strangely contagious. It felt easy, and allowed, and that just made him want to smile all the more. Peter The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.