hell is around the cornerjustdoingmyjobApril 25 2009, 08:59:23 UTC
To say that he finds this to be a waste is an understatement. What can be said of Peter Petrelli's thoughts on the Major is much more widespread, if only in the realm of how ridiculous and stupid the whole thing is. Granted, people who are clearly insane do not have the best track record for the things that they do qualifying as anything but, still he finds himself unexpectedly angry. In a way, it's probably just part of what has been building up about home, about Claire coming back with gunfire at her heels and his own brother to thank for it, her father--biologically anyway.
He tries not to let that anger show, as much as he feels it, as his main job is the same as Hiro's--that being to get as many people out of the line of fire as possible, out of the cells, out of basically anything having to do with this short of the City itself. They have been out for hours and one would think the rain would put a damper on the fire sparking here and there but maybe it's not 'normal' fire, and Peter has already taken that into account in the back of his head. With a combination of a bad zombie movie and a bad Nazi movie getting together and running rampant around in the general vicinity, it looks more than a little hellish, but there isn't anything fearsome about them. He should be more careful probably, or so Claire would tell him, Mohinder would tell him, Hiro even would tell him, not in small part because he can be impulsive and in the past, reckless. Peter knows this, but he's changed in ways, some obvious, some less so, from the guy who took every leap of faith he knew how to find. What he has changed into, who, remains to be seen, and he yet has some of that old and new hope in him, that hero thing, if you will. It would be a lie to say he doesn't want to be one, but his reasons--like him--have changed too. This situation, however, this monstrosity of thoughtlessness and misappropriated power, doesn't really stir anything so fervent, so passionate in him. It only annoys him, reminds him that idiots are idiots whatever world you go to, whatever time you live in, and someone has to be there to clean up the idiot mess they leave behind. So that's what he's trying to do. Between the distress calls and getting drenched beyond human sensibility, he takes out one or two things--he's not sure what they are specifically except ugly--and then another two, another three, and eventually he loses his vague count, mostly because he doesn't care. Through the thorough pouring of rain it's easy to hear the screams and upset, the attempted chaos both bottled and spilled, and not seeing anyone in his immediate sight, he blinks out of that spot and into a new one, just in time to get run into by a woman--obviously as frantic as the next person--who clutches at him like a living, breathing lifeline all her own. At this point it's automatic to just glance down at her, pity both genuine and tired--never untrue, but maybe a little sick of itself--before placing both hands firmly on her shoulders.
By chance, he glances up in the direction she ran from and just as he and the woman disappear from sight, he recognizes the man standing there, causing him to blink in surprise in that same instant. What is probably only three seconds later, five at most, he reappears, tilting his head slightly as he resumes his useless staring for a moment before he is absolutely certain he sees who he thinks he sees. Question is now, of course, what are you doing out here? The answer is on the obvious side, so he holds his tongue as he takes a few steps in the older man's direction, but the confused look on Peter's face is probably enough to give him away. He's never been great at hiding what he thinks. At the present, there isn't anything attacking him, so if nothing else, that's a plus.
"What are you doing?" he asks, not 'here' and not 'why', just what. It's a decent place to start in a limited time frame.
hell is around the cornercaughtthebulletApril 25 2009, 09:34:19 UTC
He'd noticed the flash of someone teleporting into the immediate vicinity. Briefly he'd thought maybe it was Dr. Manhattan, coming in late to save the day (as usual). Only a second glance told him what he needed to know; Peter Petrelli was on the move and had just entered this city block nearest the zeppelin's current destination. Perfect. So he waited for the hero's return. On the meantime a clean break happens between the second vampire's jaws. It's messy work but nothing he can't handle. Adrian has barely broken a sweat but that's hard to tell under the rain. He tips his head back to get blond hair out of his eyes just as Peter returns.
"Cleaning up," Adrian answers in his smooth, practiced American accent.
"Behind you," he warns just as a third vampire missing its legs raises a pistol from a distance of several yards to Peter's back. Apparently even horror movie extras resort to firearms when they have to. It pulls the trigger, giving a flash of brightness in the darkened streets.
hell is around the cornerjustdoingmyjobApril 25 2009, 09:52:24 UTC
Adrian's voice settles itself well in the middle of a rainstorm for some reason, clear and easily audible for whatever reason.
"Right," he begins, but the warning diverts his train of thought with the immediacy that comes hand-in-hand with this type of environment. It's in the instant that the Ugly Thing Without Legs pulls said trigger that Peter's hand grabs the other man's arm none too lightly--one doesn't often consider lightness when hoping to not accidentally believe a second party behind to get shot--and blinking out of existence here, and back into it somewhere else, what seems to be another block up, further out of the fray, but not entirely. In theory he could have frozen time, but that portion of Hiro's power (now Peter's too, having relinquished his flight) has been somewhat unstable, proven to not necessarily last as long as it would in their own world, or even span as far as he is used to, so he has kept to teleportation all night, this being no exception. It's short, consistent, and effective enough for what they've been trying to do.
Likely the things here made of ugliness and gunfire and whatever else have just taken to skulking rather than running around like mobile red flags. Seconds pass before he removes his hand, not too quickly because he doesn't think he did anything wrong, but removed all the same because, well, not necessary at the moment. Eyes narrowing at the zeppelin above before directing back over at Adrian himself, the rain obscures details, but he wonders what the man must do in his own world to be found out here cracking jaws of vampires and responding coolly to zombies with guns and everything else coming alive (and dying and coming alive again) around them.
Not knowing what else to say, he just says, "Thanks." Minus the warning, Peter would probably have a bullet in him, and Claire swore she'd string him up by his toes if he got hurt at all (and that's just for starters).
...
..um, how it's fair that the injured party get physically punished for it...he has no idea, but one simply doesn't argue with Claire Bennet when she achieves a certain level of fierceness.
hell is around the cornercaughtthebulletApril 25 2009, 10:05:55 UTC
He doesn't flinch when they teleport, this is actually something with which he's familiar. His green-blue eyes narrow only because he's touched without permission, but Adrian has no reason to argue as the teleportation blinks them away, letting a bullet cartridge split the air and land in a crosswalk signal. When their feet touch solid ground again Adrian looks at Peter very coolly. Coolly for someone still getting soaked by rain. The Ozymandias suit keeps him warm. By the way, hero, have you noticed it? Well anyway, he nods once, acknowledging the other man's thanks but he offers nothing similar in tone like you're welcome or it was nothing.
"I could have caught it," Adrian says like one states it's cold or it's raining. Nonchalant. He wonders if Peter is interested in trajectory at all, how if he had remained exactly where he stood the bullet would have whistled by his ear. Close but hardly lethal. Maybe deafening for a split second but he could live through that. No, he probably isn't interested at all, not with this circus sideshow going on. "Now may be an inappropriate time to tell you, but in the event we don't have another opportunity to discuss it, you're off the hook," he explains.
hell is around the cornerjustdoingmyjobApril 25 2009, 10:21:26 UTC
Could have caught it? Great. He nearly says that. Nearly. Not quite. Instead he bites his tongue and sighs, a little irritated again, but it's not really anyone's fault. Oh wait. Yes. It is. But he's not here--as in right here in front of them--at the moment, so he keeps that to himself too. No point really in rehashing the obvious.
"Really," is what he ends up with to that claim that he doesn't find unbelievable so much as unnecessary. As far as trajectory lessons go, well, Peter went into nursing and despite worldly heroics, that is his area of expertise, not having much to do with quick assessment of distance, speed, and what bullet will hit or not hit exactly where at exactly what time. In any case, he shifts his weight as he turns to more fully face Adrian who, though wearing what Peter recognizes as something meant specifically for this type of thing--or so he gathers--doesn't get commented on, because he's already onto the next point of focus.
"..." the what?
Oh. Right. That.
"It's not a big deal either way," he says, voice loud enough to be heard still, if riddled with minor confusion. "...I mean, I'm not the best company, but you did win." Shrugging, and truly indifferent, he shakes his head once, and rain would go this way and that if it wasn't mainly coming down on them all with such enthusiasm. Whether this is an inappropriate time or not, Peter hasn't gotten a distress call so far from the device in one of the insides of one of his jacket pockets, so he's just on the look out for those in his immediate area and otherwise fine with holding a conversation, however unexpected that is too. "I could run errands for you or something," he almost laughs, waving a hand that is dismissive and casual of the topic, because he really doesn't care. "...something. Not nothing though, that's not fair," he points out as something, one of the things he suspected of skulking about before, claws at his ankle, and holds on. It doesn't seem to have a proper face, which makes it difficult to understand how it proceeds to scream at him, but it's a quick drop of his other foot to the proper place on the back of its head and neck, and a stop that has it cracking under pressure, grip gone with whatever wisp of a life it had to begin with. Not much, from what he can tell, but he's a little sick of dealing with these things at this hour.
This isn't the same as the monsters at home. Those are much worse.
But this is somewhere between a real problem and an idiot's mess made messier by other idiots, and Peter is here to do what he can but that doesn't mean he's got to be good natured about it all the time. He certainly isn't right now.
hell is around the cornercaughtthebulletApril 25 2009, 10:43:35 UTC
"Yes," he replies, matter of fact on that.
Is it unnecessary? It depends on the situation. Silk Spectre might certainly agree if only because her one bullet earned her a swift heel to the gut, but the past is the past and not something on the discussion table with this man. Claire Bennet is suspicious, he knows this. Whatever for? Is it his manner? Do women have a sixth sense for this type of thing? The mild misogynist in him says yes, they do but again, not on the discussion table. It doesn't take a genius to see Peter and Claire are close or that any ill thought against her might put the man on edge. He keeps these thoughts to himself and most of them happen at rapid blinking speed. Just as quickly Adrian's train of thought switches gears to what Peter says is no big deal. Right. He lets the thunder and the darkness discourage him from smiling. All in due time.
Before he remarks on what Peter Petrelli considers fair he drops his heel down on a skulking disfigured thing. They used to call him a pacifist and that's still the case. It isn't his fault that this creature lacks any humanity. Killing it is no different from slaughtering the dog infected with rabies virus when it comes lunging after you. It does amuse him that they both step on it so casually, simultaneously. That brings a brief spark to Adrian's eyes, almost visible in the dark of night.
"How do you feel about cats," he asks, indifferent and not at all concerned for the mess at their feet.
hell is around the cornerjustdoingmyjobApril 25 2009, 10:55:27 UTC
That timing piques the younger Petrelli's interest as well, briefly, so briefly that he's not sure if he's amused by it--slightly morbid even for him, and he's taken pleasure in more than a few terrible things he would still take back if he could--or just aware, investing nothing so humorous but every bit as attentive. Likely, more, it falls in between.
"I like most --" he begins and is cut off by a particularly ear-bleeding crack of thunder that seems to shake the air in front of him, nearly visible, lightning streaking white across the darkness for a second. Once it passes, he rolls his eyes before repeating, "I like most animals." When he replies in full, his head turns in a way that suggests he is trying to figure out where this question came from, and where it is headed. Peter really does like most animals though, a lot more, lately, than people at the very least---not that this is a good thing, but it's something he's noticed.
hell is around the cornercaughtthebulletApril 25 2009, 11:03:55 UTC
Thunder cracking is only a conversational nuisance. He folds his arms loosely across his chest, noting no danger in the immediate area, so he lets his guard not down but become more relaxed. Neither does he consider Peter Petrelli himself a threat, when maybe he ought to by his physical capabilities alone. It's his emotional manner that Adrian believes he has somewhat figured out. There are still spaces waiting for their pieces to fall in but he's a patient man.
"Good. Bubastis will take a liking to you," he says with a single nod. He has no doubt about her. "Not that you're obligated by any means. You understand I consider this voluntary on your part," Adrian adds a hint of laughter, "I did it for Blair." He voices neither hesitation nor shyness in admitting this to him.
hell is around the cornerjustdoingmyjobApril 25 2009, 11:23:37 UTC
His brow quirks at the name but he nods as one does when acknowledging and agreeing without saying so or necessarily, entirely knowing what one is agreeing with. The way Adrian gives him a second chance to opt out of the auction's parameters makes him curious as to why, only to have it answered in a way that reminds him distantly of Nathan, which is immediate cause for him to not be sure if he believes the blond man completely or not. For the moment though he believes him enough, and as with many things, the moment is all that matters if you count that one gives out to pass on to the next.
"I understood before, when she asked me to volunteer," he says, and then, "And I understand it the same, now," a pause as he does let a short laugh go now, shaking his head again. "Though you're also free to opt out," he offers a half smile, as close to saying if that's what you're getting at, even as he has that same unnumbered sense that tells him it's not.
hell is around the cornercaughtthebulletApril 25 2009, 11:39:52 UTC
"I don't opt out," he replies, tone suggesting that for him it's a matter of principle.
He knows for the most part it's a bit the same for Peter. Both of them participated for Blair's sake, at least on the surface level. What goes on underneath, Adrian keeps to himself. Peter's a smart one but a bit of an optimist, the kind who knows when the world is falling down around him there will be at least one person trying to keep the sky up; that person being himself. He proves this point by teleporting about in a thunderstorm, saving civilians from uglier things though that ugliness is only on the surface too. His attitude isn't callously uncompromising like Rorschach's or laced with poisonous irony like Eddie's. Come to think of it, Peter Petrelli reminds him of Dan. They were good friends once. Humanity and how it changes with time and environment is complex, it's no surprise why Jon left in the first place.
"When," Adrian asks, then stops himself. "No. Find me at your leisure, when you aren't busy," he gestures to the area around them, this assault on a sort of bogeyman figure. It is work to some extent, thankless at that.
hell is around the cornerjustdoingmyjobApril 25 2009, 12:12:17 UTC
True enough, Peter doesn't, though of late that tends to have more to do with it just not being a viable route than anything else like actual choices to pick between. The rain is cold and thick with the stench of stuff that, if anything, it can hopefully wash away in its torrential waves, though this might also be being optimistic. Off in the distance there's the distinct sound of gunfire, not just once, multiple times, and it's a reflex to first think to teleport closer, but then the device in his pocket goes off and he scowls, pulling it out of his jacket and staring down at it. More people in the holding cells? He was sure he'd gotten every single one of them.
Apparently not though. Again. Great.
"---don't believe this," the first part of it is muted out by rain and more thunder though this one serves as a rumble rather than a strike of attention. It isn't that he has a problem helping, because of all people, Peter has always wanted to do that one thing, in any way possible, and what feels like a long time ago, it was much simpler than all of this, or all of what he's left behind him--temporarily--with Nathan and the rest.
How can you?
It's a recurring question but so often had that he has no problem stomping it out beneath what's going on in the here and now. Priorities. Well, his next thought isn't a priority at all so much as an observation--that being that Adrian Veidt carries himself in the way he thinks Nathan would like to, given the chance...or would have, if he was the same person. If he ever was. That comparison and contrast happens in the space of a split second and not far behind is the certainty that this man can take care of himself and would not be likely to place himself in a situation in which he was not capable of doing so. This line of thinking the one that he walks, Peter doesn't bother to ask if he'll be okay or anything remotely similar. Instead, he just responds to the gesture of words that equates to an open door.
"I'll be in touch," he replies, calm to match calm, eye contact made and unwavering whether or not they can clearly be seen through the haze of wind, rain, and darkness that comes with the late hour. His tone is polite and while there isn't much place here for a smile, he's already laughed and given half of one, so there might be the flicker of one here again--though perhaps already blurred over by unfavorable weather, too easily twisted into a grimace. Still, it's all he can think to say on the spot, and okay, he has no idea of how to find Adrian, and he doesn't think the City has a phone book or anything, but there is always the network, so he's not that worried about making good on his words. Logic and common sense can do a person wonders. With a nod of his head he's gone, nothing flashy, nothing telling about his action at all except that one second he's there, and the next, he isn't. His second to last thought centered around most recent company before he's overridden with other concerns--not his own but those of others he's getting out of every other terrible place--is that he would've been able to tag Adrian as a cat person, probably from their first exchange alone.
As for his last thought...er...well, that's pretty simple, far less anchored and burdened by thoughts of his world and the next. It's a casual, every day curiosity in such matters, in fact.
He tries not to let that anger show, as much as he feels it, as his main job is the same as Hiro's--that being to get as many people out of the line of fire as possible, out of the cells, out of basically anything having to do with this short of the City itself. They have been out for hours and one would think the rain would put a damper on the fire sparking here and there but maybe it's not 'normal' fire, and Peter has already taken that into account in the back of his head. With a combination of a bad zombie movie and a bad Nazi movie getting together and running rampant around in the general vicinity, it looks more than a little hellish, but there isn't anything fearsome about them. He should be more careful probably, or so Claire would tell him, Mohinder would tell him, Hiro even would tell him, not in small part because he can be impulsive and in the past, reckless. Peter knows this, but he's changed in ways, some obvious, some less so, from the guy who took every leap of faith he knew how to find. What he has changed into, who, remains to be seen, and he yet has some of that old and new hope in him, that hero thing, if you will. It would be a lie to say he doesn't want to be one, but his reasons--like him--have changed too. This situation, however, this monstrosity of thoughtlessness and misappropriated power, doesn't really stir anything so fervent, so passionate in him. It only annoys him, reminds him that idiots are idiots whatever world you go to, whatever time you live in, and someone has to be there to clean up the idiot mess they leave behind. So that's what he's trying to do. Between the distress calls and getting drenched beyond human sensibility, he takes out one or two things--he's not sure what they are specifically except ugly--and then another two, another three, and eventually he loses his vague count, mostly because he doesn't care. Through the thorough pouring of rain it's easy to hear the screams and upset, the attempted chaos both bottled and spilled, and not seeing anyone in his immediate sight, he blinks out of that spot and into a new one, just in time to get run into by a woman--obviously as frantic as the next person--who clutches at him like a living, breathing lifeline all her own. At this point it's automatic to just glance down at her, pity both genuine and tired--never untrue, but maybe a little sick of itself--before placing both hands firmly on her shoulders.
By chance, he glances up in the direction she ran from and just as he and the woman disappear from sight, he recognizes the man standing there, causing him to blink in surprise in that same instant. What is probably only three seconds later, five at most, he reappears, tilting his head slightly as he resumes his useless staring for a moment before he is absolutely certain he sees who he thinks he sees. Question is now, of course, what are you doing out here? The answer is on the obvious side, so he holds his tongue as he takes a few steps in the older man's direction, but the confused look on Peter's face is probably enough to give him away. He's never been great at hiding what he thinks. At the present, there isn't anything attacking him, so if nothing else, that's a plus.
"What are you doing?" he asks, not 'here' and not 'why', just what. It's a decent place to start in a limited time frame.
Reply
"Cleaning up," Adrian answers in his smooth, practiced American accent.
"Behind you," he warns just as a third vampire missing its legs raises a pistol from a distance of several yards to Peter's back. Apparently even horror movie extras resort to firearms when they have to. It pulls the trigger, giving a flash of brightness in the darkened streets.
Reply
"Right," he begins, but the warning diverts his train of thought with the immediacy that comes hand-in-hand with this type of environment. It's in the instant that the Ugly Thing Without Legs pulls said trigger that Peter's hand grabs the other man's arm none too lightly--one doesn't often consider lightness when hoping to not accidentally believe a second party behind to get shot--and blinking out of existence here, and back into it somewhere else, what seems to be another block up, further out of the fray, but not entirely. In theory he could have frozen time, but that portion of Hiro's power (now Peter's too, having relinquished his flight) has been somewhat unstable, proven to not necessarily last as long as it would in their own world, or even span as far as he is used to, so he has kept to teleportation all night, this being no exception. It's short, consistent, and effective enough for what they've been trying to do.
Likely the things here made of ugliness and gunfire and whatever else have just taken to skulking rather than running around like mobile red flags. Seconds pass before he removes his hand, not too quickly because he doesn't think he did anything wrong, but removed all the same because, well, not necessary at the moment. Eyes narrowing at the zeppelin above before directing back over at Adrian himself, the rain obscures details, but he wonders what the man must do in his own world to be found out here cracking jaws of vampires and responding coolly to zombies with guns and everything else coming alive (and dying and coming alive again) around them.
Not knowing what else to say, he just says, "Thanks." Minus the warning, Peter would probably have a bullet in him, and Claire swore she'd string him up by his toes if he got hurt at all (and that's just for starters).
...
..um, how it's fair that the injured party get physically punished for it...he has no idea, but one simply doesn't argue with Claire Bennet when she achieves a certain level of fierceness.
Reply
"I could have caught it," Adrian says like one states it's cold or it's raining. Nonchalant. He wonders if Peter is interested in trajectory at all, how if he had remained exactly where he stood the bullet would have whistled by his ear. Close but hardly lethal. Maybe deafening for a split second but he could live through that. No, he probably isn't interested at all, not with this circus sideshow going on. "Now may be an inappropriate time to tell you, but in the event we don't have another opportunity to discuss it, you're off the hook," he explains.
Reply
"Really," is what he ends up with to that claim that he doesn't find unbelievable so much as unnecessary. As far as trajectory lessons go, well, Peter went into nursing and despite worldly heroics, that is his area of expertise, not having much to do with quick assessment of distance, speed, and what bullet will hit or not hit exactly where at exactly what time. In any case, he shifts his weight as he turns to more fully face Adrian who, though wearing what Peter recognizes as something meant specifically for this type of thing--or so he gathers--doesn't get commented on, because he's already onto the next point of focus.
"..." the what?
Oh. Right. That.
"It's not a big deal either way," he says, voice loud enough to be heard still, if riddled with minor confusion. "...I mean, I'm not the best company, but you did win." Shrugging, and truly indifferent, he shakes his head once, and rain would go this way and that if it wasn't mainly coming down on them all with such enthusiasm. Whether this is an inappropriate time or not, Peter hasn't gotten a distress call so far from the device in one of the insides of one of his jacket pockets, so he's just on the look out for those in his immediate area and otherwise fine with holding a conversation, however unexpected that is too. "I could run errands for you or something," he almost laughs, waving a hand that is dismissive and casual of the topic, because he really doesn't care. "...something. Not nothing though, that's not fair," he points out as something, one of the things he suspected of skulking about before, claws at his ankle, and holds on. It doesn't seem to have a proper face, which makes it difficult to understand how it proceeds to scream at him, but it's a quick drop of his other foot to the proper place on the back of its head and neck, and a stop that has it cracking under pressure, grip gone with whatever wisp of a life it had to begin with. Not much, from what he can tell, but he's a little sick of dealing with these things at this hour.
This isn't the same as the monsters at home. Those are much worse.
But this is somewhere between a real problem and an idiot's mess made messier by other idiots, and Peter is here to do what he can but that doesn't mean he's got to be good natured about it all the time. He certainly isn't right now.
Reply
Is it unnecessary? It depends on the situation. Silk Spectre might certainly agree if only because her one bullet earned her a swift heel to the gut, but the past is the past and not something on the discussion table with this man. Claire Bennet is suspicious, he knows this. Whatever for? Is it his manner? Do women have a sixth sense for this type of thing? The mild misogynist in him says yes, they do but again, not on the discussion table. It doesn't take a genius to see Peter and Claire are close or that any ill thought against her might put the man on edge. He keeps these thoughts to himself and most of them happen at rapid blinking speed. Just as quickly Adrian's train of thought switches gears to what Peter says is no big deal. Right. He lets the thunder and the darkness discourage him from smiling. All in due time.
Before he remarks on what Peter Petrelli considers fair he drops his heel down on a skulking disfigured thing. They used to call him a pacifist and that's still the case. It isn't his fault that this creature lacks any humanity. Killing it is no different from slaughtering the dog infected with rabies virus when it comes lunging after you. It does amuse him that they both step on it so casually, simultaneously. That brings a brief spark to Adrian's eyes, almost visible in the dark of night.
"How do you feel about cats," he asks, indifferent and not at all concerned for the mess at their feet.
Reply
"I like most --" he begins and is cut off by a particularly ear-bleeding crack of thunder that seems to shake the air in front of him, nearly visible, lightning streaking white across the darkness for a second. Once it passes, he rolls his eyes before repeating, "I like most animals." When he replies in full, his head turns in a way that suggests he is trying to figure out where this question came from, and where it is headed. Peter really does like most animals though, a lot more, lately, than people at the very least---not that this is a good thing, but it's something he's noticed.
Reply
"Good. Bubastis will take a liking to you," he says with a single nod. He has no doubt about her. "Not that you're obligated by any means. You understand I consider this voluntary on your part," Adrian adds a hint of laughter, "I did it for Blair." He voices neither hesitation nor shyness in admitting this to him.
Reply
"I understood before, when she asked me to volunteer," he says, and then, "And I understand it the same, now," a pause as he does let a short laugh go now, shaking his head again. "Though you're also free to opt out," he offers a half smile, as close to saying if that's what you're getting at, even as he has that same unnumbered sense that tells him it's not.
Reply
He knows for the most part it's a bit the same for Peter. Both of them participated for Blair's sake, at least on the surface level. What goes on underneath, Adrian keeps to himself. Peter's a smart one but a bit of an optimist, the kind who knows when the world is falling down around him there will be at least one person trying to keep the sky up; that person being himself. He proves this point by teleporting about in a thunderstorm, saving civilians from uglier things though that ugliness is only on the surface too. His attitude isn't callously uncompromising like Rorschach's or laced with poisonous irony like Eddie's. Come to think of it, Peter Petrelli reminds him of Dan. They were good friends once. Humanity and how it changes with time and environment is complex, it's no surprise why Jon left in the first place.
"When," Adrian asks, then stops himself. "No. Find me at your leisure, when you aren't busy," he gestures to the area around them, this assault on a sort of bogeyman figure. It is work to some extent, thankless at that.
Reply
Apparently not though. Again. Great.
"---don't believe this," the first part of it is muted out by rain and more thunder though this one serves as a rumble rather than a strike of attention. It isn't that he has a problem helping, because of all people, Peter has always wanted to do that one thing, in any way possible, and what feels like a long time ago, it was much simpler than all of this, or all of what he's left behind him--temporarily--with Nathan and the rest.
How can you?
It's a recurring question but so often had that he has no problem stomping it out beneath what's going on in the here and now. Priorities. Well, his next thought isn't a priority at all so much as an observation--that being that Adrian Veidt carries himself in the way he thinks Nathan would like to, given the chance...or would have, if he was the same person. If he ever was. That comparison and contrast happens in the space of a split second and not far behind is the certainty that this man can take care of himself and would not be likely to place himself in a situation in which he was not capable of doing so. This line of thinking the one that he walks, Peter doesn't bother to ask if he'll be okay or anything remotely similar. Instead, he just responds to the gesture of words that equates to an open door.
"I'll be in touch," he replies, calm to match calm, eye contact made and unwavering whether or not they can clearly be seen through the haze of wind, rain, and darkness that comes with the late hour. His tone is polite and while there isn't much place here for a smile, he's already laughed and given half of one, so there might be the flicker of one here again--though perhaps already blurred over by unfavorable weather, too easily twisted into a grimace. Still, it's all he can think to say on the spot, and okay, he has no idea of how to find Adrian, and he doesn't think the City has a phone book or anything, but there is always the network, so he's not that worried about making good on his words. Logic and common sense can do a person wonders. With a nod of his head he's gone, nothing flashy, nothing telling about his action at all except that one second he's there, and the next, he isn't. His second to last thought centered around most recent company before he's overridden with other concerns--not his own but those of others he's getting out of every other terrible place--is that he would've been able to tag Adrian as a cat person, probably from their first exchange alone.
As for his last thought...er...well, that's pretty simple, far less anchored and burdened by thoughts of his world and the next. It's a casual, every day curiosity in such matters, in fact.
I wonder what kind of cat it is.
Reply
Leave a comment