[ the first thing peter does when he wakes is sit up as much as he can, hand feeling around a moment until he finds the little cut out where his glasses are and puts them on with a slow hand. as he reaches, as he shifts forward for a little more purchase he feels it, the little tube at the base of his skull that has him working thin fingers there lazily until the connection comes undone with a sleek sound and then.
well then, the sensation comes, and peter's eyes goes wide. every single thought of his, every single iota of consciousness, zeroes in on just how loud it becomes, a swell like a symphony all out of tune and wailing. some are mournful, others are angry, others simply take everything in stride. they all pound behind one great wall demanding attention adjacent to his thoughts.
for a moment, peter tucks himself up as far into his pod as he can, back doubled over, hands pressing to the walls of this chamber, and he breathes.
peter doesn't have enough boxes to pack away each individual sensation. so he tries to run, or at least get out of the damn pod. he lets one foot swing down and feel for the ladder, hands pushing his belongings deep into his pockets before he moves as meticulously as he can. but when his feet finally hit the ground and his ankle rolls in an act of gracelessness, brought on by being so thrown. he shakes out the pain with a hissing noise for as long as he dares before there's a distinct pull (he doesn't know any other way to describe it) coming from a pod close by and he watches as its owner climbs down just as well. he leans against the ladder in way that says he doesn't need it. his smile spreads, half teeth, all of them sharp. ]
Well. Good morning, neighbor. Aren't you looking simply bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today.
[ or, post briefing? lets get lost around the station. that sounds fun doesn't it? aka wildcard if you want. ]
DAY :020 HYRYPIA ( OTA )
[ it isn't as if peter hasn't done this sort of thing before. acting. filling a role. but he's certainly had more sleep and less electroshock torture prior to accepting this sort of script. so here are your options:
you can put hadrian black to work, which he won't fuss about. the more he can listen in on the better. his hands are diligent, swiftly moving tools with defined motions and a keen eye. he's always finessed in his motions and quick to learn. it might be nice for you to take on the extra pair of hands.
or you can catch him at the more dour celebration later in the evening, moving about the various bodies and lights. they'd been informed of the tender nerves of their older... nestmates. a death will do that to anyone peter supposes, even more so when they're... tethered like this, so he keeps his mind easy, light. he doesn't partake in drink just yet, his posture not rigid per se, but alert as he sweeps through (but at the end of the evening, he could be convinced).
or there's a hand outstretched as the party's heavy becomes almost over-bearing despite the music and drink. it's convenient enough for you to settle on the decision, inviting voice warm like silk: "walk with me?" if you're looking for an out from the ponderous-feeling festivities at least for a little while, a respite, it could be a nice offer to take up. whether it's his or for you, you'll just have to be forward about it. ]
I'll do my best not to keep you too too long, unless you'd rather I do just that.
peter nureyev / "hadrian black" ・ penumbra
[ the first thing peter does when he wakes is sit up as much as he can, hand feeling around a moment until he finds the little cut out where his glasses are and puts them on with a slow hand. as he reaches, as he shifts forward for a little more purchase he feels it, the little tube at the base of his skull that has him working thin fingers there lazily until the connection comes undone with a sleek sound and then.
well then, the sensation comes, and peter's eyes goes wide. every single thought of his, every single iota of consciousness, zeroes in on just how loud it becomes, a swell like a symphony all out of tune and wailing. some are mournful, others are angry, others simply take everything in stride. they all pound behind one great wall demanding attention adjacent to his thoughts.
for a moment, peter tucks himself up as far into his pod as he can, back doubled over, hands pressing to the walls of this chamber, and he breathes.
peter doesn't have enough boxes to pack away each individual sensation. so he tries to run, or at least get out of the damn pod. he lets one foot swing down and feel for the ladder, hands pushing his belongings deep into his pockets before he moves as meticulously as he can. but when his feet finally hit the ground and his ankle rolls in an act of gracelessness, brought on by being so thrown. he shakes out the pain with a hissing noise for as long as he dares before there's a distinct pull (he doesn't know any other way to describe it) coming from a pod close by and he watches as its owner climbs down just as well. he leans against the ladder in way that says he doesn't need it. his smile spreads, half teeth, all of them sharp. ]
Well. Good morning, neighbor. Aren't you looking simply bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today.
[ or, post briefing? lets get lost around the station. that sounds fun doesn't it? aka wildcard if you want. ]
DAY :020 HYRYPIA ( OTA )
[ it isn't as if peter hasn't done this sort of thing before. acting. filling a role. but he's certainly had more sleep and less electroshock torture prior to accepting this sort of script. so here are your options:
you can put hadrian black to work, which he won't fuss about. the more he can listen in on the better. his hands are diligent, swiftly moving tools with defined motions and a keen eye. he's always finessed in his motions and quick to learn. it might be nice for you to take on the extra pair of hands.
or you can catch him at the more dour celebration later in the evening, moving about the various bodies and lights. they'd been informed of the tender nerves of their older... nestmates. a death will do that to anyone peter supposes, even more so when they're... tethered like this, so he keeps his mind easy, light. he doesn't partake in drink just yet, his posture not rigid per se, but alert as he sweeps through (but at the end of the evening, he could be convinced).
or there's a hand outstretched as the party's heavy becomes almost over-bearing despite the music and drink. it's convenient enough for you to settle on the decision, inviting voice warm like silk: "walk with me?" if you're looking for an out from the ponderous-feeling festivities at least for a little while, a respite, it could be a nice offer to take up. whether it's his or for you, you'll just have to be forward about it. ]
I'll do my best not to keep you too too long, unless you'd rather I do just that.