( Peter isn't sure he quite trusts himself to go near the ocean. Not when her pull is still so fresh within his mind — the spray of waves against him, the taste of brine way deep down in his lungs. The ending she offered him. The ending he'd yearned for.
That was only... so very short ago (days? A few weeks?) He still hasn't quite processed the last month, still struggles to pull himself back out of it all. Even Paimon is strange within him, hazy and thick, weighted from so much abrasive energy last month; the city was like a shockwave of anger and violence and upset. The demon is so tired; lately, he sleeps more than he's awake.
Peter thinks he's asleep now. It's hard to tell, but if the demon were awake, he would surely ripple from beneath his skin with warning, alarm, to the fact that the boy stands facing the ocean again now. But no one stops him. With his back facing the festivities of the Boardwalk, he stands looking to the black ocean, instead. He steps closer, with a hushed exhale, with a wetness of the eyes. The pull is gone now, but he remembers.
There's a loud roar of wave, a crash against the shoreline, and Peter startles a little. The ocean's as restless as though a storm were boiling, and it makes him uneasy. He should head back. He misses Luna, he wants to hold her — after last month, it feels like he can't do enough of that. But something catches his attention suddenly, down along the shoreline. A woman stands there facing the ocean. Close to it, and clothed in the robe that tells him she's a new arrival to this place. Peter's alarm shifts focus to that concept, and he's drawing nearer to her, carrying his shoes in one hand, bare feet stepping across sand.
When he's close enough to hear her voice, something in him freezes. It takes him a moment; it's like remembering a dream later on in the day, hours after it's happened. It's fuzzy around the edges, and strange (especially his mind, which seems perpetually eroded by the presence of the alien brightness trapped within it; things get lost, he forgets things)...... but he remembers some things, too. The scent of mop water, and the feel of a sweatshirt against his fingertips. A teary voice (his or hers?), and a kind gentleness.
A woman with a teasing smile and sharp, knowing eyes, and the scent of the ocean again — but a different place, a different ocean. He wasn't the same Peter, then. She was someone else, too. It all feels like a dream.
Peter has known this woman through many lives.
His eyes are wide and his voice is quiet, barely a match for the angry swell of the ocean. It's been a very long time. Maybe he's dreaming her up now, the way he sometimes dreams of the others from back then. )
arrival (cw: brief mention of suicidal ideation)
That was only... so very short ago (days? A few weeks?) He still hasn't quite processed the last month, still struggles to pull himself back out of it all. Even Paimon is strange within him, hazy and thick, weighted from so much abrasive energy last month; the city was like a shockwave of anger and violence and upset. The demon is so tired; lately, he sleeps more than he's awake.
Peter thinks he's asleep now. It's hard to tell, but if the demon were awake, he would surely ripple from beneath his skin with warning, alarm, to the fact that the boy stands facing the ocean again now. But no one stops him. With his back facing the festivities of the Boardwalk, he stands looking to the black ocean, instead. He steps closer, with a hushed exhale, with a wetness of the eyes. The pull is gone now, but he remembers.
There's a loud roar of wave, a crash against the shoreline, and Peter startles a little. The ocean's as restless as though a storm were boiling, and it makes him uneasy. He should head back. He misses Luna, he wants to hold her — after last month, it feels like he can't do enough of that. But something catches his attention suddenly, down along the shoreline. A woman stands there facing the ocean. Close to it, and clothed in the robe that tells him she's a new arrival to this place. Peter's alarm shifts focus to that concept, and he's drawing nearer to her, carrying his shoes in one hand, bare feet stepping across sand.
When he's close enough to hear her voice, something in him freezes. It takes him a moment; it's like remembering a dream later on in the day, hours after it's happened. It's fuzzy around the edges, and strange (especially his mind, which seems perpetually eroded by the presence of the alien brightness trapped within it; things get lost, he forgets things)...... but he remembers some things, too. The scent of mop water, and the feel of a sweatshirt against his fingertips. A teary voice (his or hers?), and a kind gentleness.
A woman with a teasing smile and sharp, knowing eyes, and the scent of the ocean again — but a different place, a different ocean. He wasn't the same Peter, then. She was someone else, too. It all feels like a dream.
Peter has known this woman through many lives.
His eyes are wide and his voice is quiet, barely a match for the angry swell of the ocean. It's been a very long time. Maybe he's dreaming her up now, the way he sometimes dreams of the others from back then. )
You're here.