( semi-open | day:042+ )

[stilettoes]

CHARACTERS: Peter Hadrian, what remains of Avior, Juno + probably you
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: DAY:042+
SUMMARY: Touching base, A Talk, and a few open prompts TBD!
WARNINGS: None for the moment, will be updated as needed.

a ] closed to avior on station.

[ it's a jarring feeling, coming awake again. breath sharp at first before easing, a mind blooming wide in the dark. he rouses, the opening of a flower, petal by petal peeling back in the way that avior only knows. but it's... not right. there's a distance pulling taut a few of the strings that peter's felt back on hyrypia (he knows at a glance immediately that this is not planet side, that he's back aboard the station, and there's a relief and a highly-strung thread of tension buried deep under that.

as the saying goes. boys will be boys will be reckless and self-sacrificing and both fire and ice, and with that comes a twinge of irritation and guilt and too many emotions that ball into something high and hard in his chest. mixed feelings. he doesn't like it so down it goes. the connection is a tangled mess and at the moment, if he starts to pick at it, he won't be done with it for the next thousand years, he's certain. being this strangely interconnected is not his forte after twenty years of avoiding just that.

peter discards the robes, for now, and finds his old clothing to make a home in for the time being. good enough. there's a sense of both familiarity and power to it, as he makes his way from where he's been asleep to meander the winding halls of the station. there's an invisible finger wrapped softly around the bond he can feel still alive and well here and in such close proximity. a word goes out to each - elliot and rogue - intimate and sweet, the smell of something sharply spiced and familiar. glass becomes a thick, heavy curtain, pulled back ever so slightly. hadrian appears, stretching out like a cat, sleepy and languid, welcoming. ]

( Now I'm a fan of the ever wonderful catnap, but this one went on for far too long, in my humble opinion. )

[ separately, to each. ]

( Where are you darling? )

[ whether it's in person or seated somewhere comfortable, reaching out with a warm, silken-gloved grasp of the mind, he stretches out softly to what remains of the brood aboard the station for a bit of catching up. ]

b ] closed to juno.

[ this is it. it's absolutely it.

there's a very stern purpose in nureyev's step as he moves. dressed head to toe in black once more, the sharp sound of his heels against the floor of the station carrying him to where one familiar thread lies untouched. he's been saving it, perhaps out of his own personal desire to remain as calm as possible. but underneath the calm is a complex tangle of emotion, something he refuses to forget or let go of. again, down it goes. very far down, a trunk full of silks and satins, disguises galore, masks upon masks stacked high and going down, down, down down.

for fuck's sake, enough goddamned nightmares. as blessed as maybe coma-ing out might have been for all the black sleep it gave him, it's left him sorely empty. perhaps for lake of not only brood, but for lack of the one person he's ever felt inclined to draw himself completely in towards. he's fairly certain he's not the first person to damn juno steel, and there's not a doubt in his mind that he'll ever be the last.

he reaches out wherever juno is, the sound of his undaunted steps leaking in. it's a link covered in pitch and hurt, anger like shards of glass that slowly sink into the meat of his palm. it's a story he's elbows deep in, uncovered and left in a rotting old house in the back of juno's mind, and peter has never not been one for a story, good, bad, or ugly as it might be. ]

( We're overdue. Meet me in the middle. )

[ he's not doing all the work at finding you. come find him too. ]

c ] open as hell

[ promise i'll come back to this when it's not midnight, but if you wanna wildcard this shit, come at me. open prompts tbd, but if you want something specific hit me up on shibes @ plurk. ]