— 𝐜 𝐨 𝐧 𝐭 𝐚 𝐜 𝐭

[possessum]

action / text / video / etc.
NOTE: I am forever backtag friendly and absolutely open to doing things from past events that won't really have an effect on things at any given time. For example, if you'd like to do something with Peter aged down or when he was his spider dream guide, etc.

Comments

Action.

[thenovice]

[Diarmuid hasn't seen Peter since... the dome. They'd probably prefer to not dwell much on that horrific event — and Diarmuid's only just been able to start recovering, really — but it at least gives the young monk a place to have met Peter. He finds out where he could find the boy, and promptly arrives on his doorstep, his arm in a decorated cast and sling.

The other arm has a basket hanging off it that smells of bread and stew, with a scarf wrapped around the handle neatly.

He knocks and waits for an answer with bated breath, standing there with over-grown curls and his monk robes back to engulfing him, as opposed to the form-fitting dome uniform.]

[possessum]

[ Though it's only been a few weeks, Peter's physical appearance has seen some improvement. While still a little tender, his nose no longer looks painfully swollen and bruised, and he's been able to stop wearing the bandage across it.

His psychological state is... a different matter. When there's a knock at the door, he freezes, eyes wide with a heart that can't sit still. His housemate wouldn't need to knock, she has keys, and they rarely have visitors.

It takes a little while for him to answer, and it comes in the form of the door very slowly creeeeaking open, inky eyes peering around the corner of it, dark fingers wrapped against the side. Is it a haunted house that Diarmuid's come upon? It could seem that way, with the quiet ghost of a young man blinking at him from the shadows.

Then his mouth parts softly in surprise. It's the boy. From the dome, with the wounded arm, his gentle comrade for those few hours, against the predators.

The door opens wider, Peter taking in the boy's atypical appearance, his attire something the devout wear. Both of them are quite a different sight from before, Peter almost seeming the picture of an average teen in his tee-shirt and pajama bottoms, socked feet. Neither of them stained with blood this time. ]

It's... it's you. [ A hitch of breath. His eyes drop to the cast upon his arm. He's had medical attention, that's good, but Peter still asks, eyes searching him. ] You... you're okay?

text; un: quibbler

[creidim]

[ it's about 2am. she should be asleep. but she's not, not with the familiar presence in her room. ]

are you awake, Peter?

it's Luna, by the way.

[possessum]

[ This happens to be Peter's first time receiving a text in this place. It comes as a surprise, catching him off-guard, but in a way that's welcomed even more than he realises.

He hasn't been able to sleep, either, and could use a break from staring up at the ceiling from where he sleeps on the couch. ]

Hey, Luna.
I'm awake. Have you been up this whole time?

text; un: quibbler

[creidim]

Peter, if you see these dark ghost-like creatures in the sky, stay away from them. They're called Dementors, they're from my world.

Please do not go near them, they're dangerous.

If you need me to walk you anywhere, like to school or anything, I can do that. I know how to deal with them. But otherwise please be very careful, I can't stress that enough.

[possessum]

[ Ghost-like creatures?

Fuck. Fuck. There isn't an ounce of Peter that doesn't believe Luna right away about this — if she's saying it, it's true. He's glancing fitfully to his window nearby, even though the curtains are drawn closed as always. ]

Okay. I'll let you know if I have to go outside.

Do you know what they want?

xmas morning

[4thwaller]

[ Peter will find outside his front door, next to a piece of coal labeled to Henry, from Wade, a shirt with a bow on it and a label similar to Henry's but this one is addressed to Peter from Wade. ]

[possessum]

[ Okay, he loves this shirt. It's very teenage stoner boy appropriate; thanks, Cool Dad!

He's gonna wear it all the time. Henry'll probably end up wearing it sometimes, too, and he'll take pity on her and let her, since she only got some coal.

...She'll probably end up throwing that coal at something. ]

christmas gifts

[deadboywalking]

[of course peter gets a gift from will -- a handpainted mug, mostly because he can remember how much peter seemed to like the ocean when it surrounded deerington.

inside are a few tiny moleskine journals, and a couple soft-leaded pencils, just in case peter has things of his own he'd like to draw.]

[possessum]

[ Peter is legitimately stunned and touched by the gifts. Something made by hand... it reminds him of his little sister, but this time not in an... aching way. He's glad for it.

He'll keep the mug safe, not actually drinking out of it because he doesn't want to risk damaging it somehow. It'll get put in his window. It looks nice in the sun.

Unbeknownst to him, these journals will also soon get some good use in the form of... demon-fueled doodles from time to time. It'll be good for Paimon, get some stuff out. He'll probably even draw Will! ]

christmas present!

[boyobscured]

[ A leather bracelet that he hopes fits Peter's aesthetic. ]

[possessum]

[ Peter's shocked that people are sending him gifts. It's— so unexpected. He's grateful, even if it's hard for him to say so. But it'll be made clear how much he really enjoys Credence's gift, due to the fact he'll be found wearing it pretty much daily from now on. Because it's absolutely his aesthetic! ]

december 24th

[creidim]

[ The package is unassuming: small and soft to handle, wrapped in plain brown paper but tied with a delicate silvery ribbon. Inside is a hand-made striped scarf in the colours of one of the four Hogwarts houses — the one Luna thought best the receiver of her gift belonged to.

When worn, the scarf will radiate a low-level warming magic to keep the chilly weather away from its wearer.

Inside is a handwritten note, the verse of one of the Sorting Hat's many songs —]

To Peter,

'... you might belong in Hufflepuff,
where they are just and loyal.
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
and unafraid of toil.'

Merry Christmas,

— Luna.

Just linking this here to keep track!

[possessum]

[ A couple of days after opening the gift, Peter'll be texting Luna. It's a little late, but it just takes him some time. ]

( closed to Will Graham ) — Titanic event

[possessum]

— SHIP DECK, NIGHT content warnings: demonic possession, familial death, effects of physical sickness including death ideation, allusion to mental illness and institutionalisation (not descriptive!)

[ Like his cousin has once, Peter has been drawn up onto the deck by some other force, though it isn't sleepwalking, not exactly. What half-guides Peter's body is no subconscious auto-pilot, no parasomnia. It is something else, something out of place and confused, coated in layers of fog, its confusion amplified by the sudden existence in this place.

It's weak— but when Peter sleeps, it can emerge more easily, filling into the spaces of the body in ways that... shouldn't be. Contorting some nights, drifting upwards others. It's an awful sight, the way a body can move at its limits, how far a spine can curve inwards without snapping, how tangled limbs can become. Mercifully, Peter generally sleeps through these periods, and they largely go unnoticed — though the young man he's rooming with may have come across them once or twice and, just as mercifully, seems in no hurry to cast him out for what he is.

— Possessed by the devil.

Or, a devil. Some dark thing. Peter believes it to be true, and has hidden it. The malady began some unknown time ago, he can't quite remember; it just seems to his mind that he knows of it, and he knows it has grown worse after the deaths of his family. After the brutal puncture of abrupt, ultimate loss weakened him, and let dark things sink their claws into him more deeply. Emotionally, he's an ideal host for it, but his body hasn't been able to cope well with the intrusion. Peter's— sick, very sick. It's a parasite sucking at him from the inside, hollowing him out.

Truthfully, he thinks he will die from it.

For now, he passes it off as "a chronic illness", one that has him faint and weak most days, falling into things as he loses autonomy over his body. Dizziness, dissociation, loss of self... Coughing, violently, smelling blood and bile and rot that seems to come from his own throat, and at times his shaky hand removes the handkerchief with dread, half-expecting to see worms curling there against the cloth — but after a second or two, the putrid smell and taste have vanished. Is it all in his mind? Is his mind what's afflicted, damaged? Surely others would think so, and he could be locked away. It's what he fears most, to be taken and held in those white rooms, the way his mother had been for awhile. The way his mother had been.... unwell.

So he hides his affliction for what it really is, while quietly seeking any who might be able to offer insight or answers. This place is...not all it seems. The people are layered, here. Everyone has a story, and many stories involve the strange, the unusual. He's already glimpsed that.

He won't remember his strange, only barely-conscious journey up to the deck when the sun begins to set. Perhaps the thing inside of him seeks familiarity, and the ocean is... a comfort for it. Peter ends up curled in on himself, long-limbed, behind some thick roping near the deck's edge, tucked mostly out of sight. If he stays quiet, it's likely that no one would see him.

The sun has long-since set by then, and the air is black and frigid now, bitterly cold. The ocean wind is a harsh sting against the young man's cheek, but he stays sleeping the way no one should be able to out here — too deeply sunken into himself, in the blackness. The nightmares have him, nightmares and memories and aches that threaten to rip him to pieces from the inside outwards. The softer whimpers behind his trembling lips become moans after awhile, and then — cries. Like an animal or a... child, the muscles of his face tight, mouth tugged back at the corners, he cries out, chest lifting and falling quickly with those whimpers bordering on panic. His fingers scrape like claws against the wood of the deck below, but he doesn't wake. He's trapped inside himself. ]

[wontgraham]

[ Will's dreams since he arrived have been comparatively calm, a fact he's still yet to make peace with. Instead of his mansion, always bothered through with clients he can't seem to get rid of no matter how rude he is; or his townhouse in England, even more overrun with distant family and guests, especially in the aftermath of the deaths; or even compared to the dull hum of the full ship that he (at least nominally) has such an expansive section of to himself; the dreams take place somewhere...sleepy. Quiet, ringed in fog and the damp silence of an ancient forest he doesn't recognize. It's more pines than Will's ever seen all at once, the sort of evergreens that only grow in the places where they're most needed - in places that spend half the year so cold that the rest of the trees are bare.

There, in the dreams, Will has the strangest sensation: one of not being alone.

For the first time in his life...he's sometimes eager to sleep, on this ship.

Which makes the nights when his insomnia is still acting up all the more annoying. Will's not happy when he tosses aside his sheets and stiffly changes out of his pajamas. Slacks go on - fit for being at home in, not for walking about around strangers, but it's the middle of the night and Will would rather offend than be spoken to by anyone he might come across - suspenders, a shirt. He doesn't bother with any kind of tie before he drags a jacket on over all of it.

He remembers how cold it is, above deck. But the wind and the scent of the ocean relaxes him, and he's hoping it will help him sleep.

At the very least, being that cold for that long might make his bed seem more appealing, once he finally tries again.

Will's mostly correct in his assumption that no one will be around. He arrives under the stars and, in the minimal light of a few gas lamps and the moon, there's the dim confirmation that it's just him in this section. He walks with an angry pace at first, one that slows down as he feels himself unwind.

He's nearly reached some sort of peace when he hears the sound. Will freezes mid-step as if caught, slowly putting his foot down as he continues to listen. It happens again and this time he doesn't move until the third call. They're random; Will doesn't think it's on purpose. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it's not words at all, in fact it sounds almost like someone's just crying to themselves, up here in the dark, someone with a plan similar to Will's but whose evening is going a hell of a lot worse--

And then Will gets to come face to face with the singular surprise of seeing who, exactly, is managing to have a worse evening than himself. ]

--Peter. [ On a short burst of surprised air. Will comes forward immediately but stops short of reaching a hand onto his shoulder. He pauses, crouching down so that he's closer to him, and has to consciously overcome his hesitation. It's not fear of Peter, who is scratching at the deck like an animal and making sounds that are just to the left of human-- but it's fear of overstepping and the rejection that will chase it.

Will touches his shoulder, and he speaks loudly, with a boldness only born of some familiarity with how hard nightmares can be to get dragged out of: ] Peter.

backdated to pre-sinking

[nakedsingularity]

What the fuck is going on?

[possessum]

[ Peter hasn't touched the strange device he found in his luggage. It's been kept hidden away, some strange, in-explainable thing, and already has more than enough of those in his life, thank you.

But then he hears a.. buzzing, and when he sifts through his clothes, sees a light shining, and now he's holding the device in his hands staring down at it as though it's the most terrifying thing he's ever seen.

And someone is talking to him through it.

Or, writing, rather. Peter's sat there for a good fifteen minutes or so before he types something into it. ]

What

— rapture

[creidim]

[ They've spent little time apart since their reunion in Arcadia. In some ways, it's almost like being back at school in Deerington — Peter looming behind her in corridors, silent and solemn and trailing after her. But it's been different, too — she's noticed. He trails behind her less, quick to take her hand or arm and keep at her side — less like a shadow and more like... something else. Some strange reflection, as if she stood with her hand pressed against a mirror — existing in tandem.

Luna... likes this. There's a great deal of comfort in his presence at her side; it makes the void of his absence for so many weeks seem more of a distant memory. There's a feeling of continuation that means she isn't looking back, she isn't thinking about how difficult the start of the year has been — letting her push forward. And mostly, she just feels a whole lot less lonely.

It's been a successful day's scavenging, picking through abandoned apartments and shops of Rapture. Difficult work, considering the dangers here — keeping hidden and low to avoid any of the strange machines and monstrous people who inhabit this place. And with that — the need for breaks every so often. The brunt of illness that came following her death may have eased — but there's a constant exhaustion that hangs onto her. Luna feels weary, aches terribly — and while she'd explained it to her companion as the slow recovery of some vague illness following the sinking, she never seems to look as if she's getting better. It's etched into skin, pale and sickly — dark circles under her eyes and still somewhat feverish. She's able, but it's slow-going most days, limited in what she can do.

On the floor of the refuge Peter shares with Ben, they lay out their finds of the day: tinned goods, mostly. A few other dried good items of food, a little water and rudimentary medical supplies. Luna kneels on the floor, too tired to stand for now, sharing out the items between them into equal-sized piles. She'll take her share back to Newt and Theseus, their apartment a little further on from where Peter's staying.

With an accomplished smile, quietly pleased by their efforts, she sits back — her hands resting on her knees. She looks across to Peter, still smiling and nods. ]

Quite a good haul, I think. Oh, and— [ Luna turns and pulls out a small circular tin from a side pocket on her bag. She places it down at Peter's pile — it's half-full with earl grey tea. Sadly not full, but they'll take what they can get, in all honesty. And if anything, it's a small luxury within the limited resources and scarce food down here in this place. ] give this to Ben, he'll appreciate it. I'll even let you take the credit for it.

[ She might have been the one who found it, but she doesn't mind. She's happy for Peter to take credit for it when Ben comes back.

Luna goes quiet for a short while, just looking at their finds — not moving. She's... tired, though. Even with breaks, and as nice as it is to be with Peter, she just wants to get back — get some sleep. If she can manage that, that is. Despite the bone-deep exhaustion she feels, she can't seem to manage it with sleep. Sometimes she sleeps too much, sometimes too little — lies awake for hours on end amongst the artificial lights of Rapture. Even in the dead of night, the ocean outside is lit up with a constant blue gloom — it's hard to tell when it's night or day without their Fluids to hand.

But it's evening now, and even if it's probably too early to go to bed — she wants nothing more than to curl up and at least try to sleep for a while in hope of easing how she feels. Slowly, she leans forward again and starts to pack up her share of items, tucking them neatly in her bag. ]

I— should go. Head back. [ Newt and Theseus already know she's here — she'd let them know with a text that they'd at least made it back to here since it's on the way. That it's a safe place — and she's been making sure they know where she is, all things considering for them. ] I'm— I'm quite tired now.

[possessum]

[ For the most part, Peter's skewed memories have returned to normal. There are still times he has to think about someone's face, or ask someone else about them, sift through a fog to place the people he knows. Perhaps it's even harder for him in some ways due to the fact that he's already had such difficulties with his memories beforehand. Returning to himself is... returning to his darknesses, in a different form than they had been while on the Titanic. A more convoluted form, one with more nooks and crannies to lose himself in.

But ever since coming to this place, it's been...easier, in some ways. The anxiety and danger are no less here; there's an entire new set of difficulties to face, but mentally, Peter's been a bit more stabilised. It could be that the restlessness inside of him has calmed for a while, doesn't feel a need to act out, can stay quiet and restful. But another part of it is the fact that Peter... is consciously making an effort to be more present, more focused.

Losing the people he's grown to care so deeply about has... affected him. Their loss was mental for him — losing his memories of them, his experiences — and becoming aware of that sense of loss has been an incredibly odd, upsetting ache he's not quite used to at all. It's made him more emotionally receptive, and that extends to the physical; Peter's been practically... clingy towards those he's close with, and among them, Luna especially. He's still sorry, so sorry, for forgetting her, but it isn't his usual sense of guilt compelling him to act. No, Peter wants to spend time with her, as much time as he can — he's stayed by her side, reaching out for her, keeping close to his friend. It isn't guilt that's made him so protective; it's how aware he is of how precious Luna truly is to him. He wants to keep her safe, to help her as much as he can. It isn't some frenzied, desperate act. He's been... calmer, more at ease. He still has his strange moments — an oddly misplaced shudder, a fluttering of the eyelids, strange movements in the pools of his eyes.

But she hasn't had to coax him down much at all, here. And as they sit on the floor together, sorting out their haul for the day, despite the distressing nature of their circumstances here, Peter is... placid. He sits cross-legged on the floor, watching Luna quietly, always watching her. That much hasn't changed, but... in a way, the shape of it has. He thinks of how small and delicate she is — it's not weakness; Luna is anything but that. But she's now someone who has been taken from him once before, and someone he actively fears losing again. Something has changed.

He sees how tired, how ill, she still is. The dark beneath her eyes, the ache of her body, skin porcelain white. She's exhausted even in her gentle way — and yet she still smiles. Still tugs out a little surprise, a special, thoughtful gift for someone, and makes an offer for his benefit.

It's— so very Luna, so very sweet, that Peter feels a blossom of affection in his chest, a flower opening its petals for her. His fondness leaks through in new ways now, into his dark eyes — forming half moons as they smile for him. Sometimes, he's stricken by his recent awareness of how utterly adorable Luna is. ]

I'll give it to him and tell him it's from you. I think it'll be special to him because of that.

[ As they both fall quiet, he sees that exhaustion in his friend seeping outwards again, some dark thing slowly starting to take hold of her. The affection in his chest bleeds into concern, a form of both that prompts him to set the can he was holding down, reach to her instead. There wasn't much space between them, only a couple of feet, and the distance is easily crossed — Peter extending his hands to touch Luna's wrists, gently. ]

Why don't you rest here? That way you don't have to walk back when you're tired. Ben and Will won't be back for awhile.

[ It's often the three of them here, with Ben and Will sticking together. ]

You can take a nap if you want to. There's already blankets and everything. [ Not much, granted: a small few of them have formed a thin sort of pallet on the floor, which Peter is sitting near now, and he'd tugged the corner of one blanket over his lap, as it's chilly down here. Chilly, but— he can feel the warmth of Luna's wrists beneath his fingers, the tips of them moving upwards to kiss her knuckles softly as they brush across the still-fevered skin. It worries him, a soft frown shifting his mouth into concern. She looks so tired. ]

text; un: quibbler

[creidim]

[ She could just speak to him via their red string, in all honesty. But she's missed texting him, really. Not to mention she's been wondering about something else since they got back to Deerington, and it's probably better to ask him over text. ]

Are you still alright to come over on Thursday so we can look over the new semester work together?

[possessum]

[ It feels like ages since they've texted — and when Peter gets the little alert, it perks him up. He's gotten used to Luna being in his head a lot, but this... he missed this, too. ]

Hey
Yeah, I'll definitely be there
You need me to bring anything?

also gently puts this here for the post-Rapture return

[nakedsingularity]

<sub>[She happens to spy his six feet of curly hair rising above the jumble of groaning bodies at the hotel, like bedraggled Godzilla rising from the deep (and that's a comparison she forbids her brain ever make again, after the Titanic insanity). That's more or less how they end up making the trek across town together.

She supposes... they're headed to the same place. The same home. It somehow feels more surreal than being back in Deerington, and that already feels a bit like one of her sleepwalking stints. She hasn't lived in the house on Howard Hill in a while.

And it's not her home. It was never that. She's untethered to any one person or place now; proof she doesn't have a home in any world.]</sub>

It's weird to be back.

_{[The townspeople's strangely friendly behavior on the bus ride back poses a distraction sufficient enough to keep small talk to a minimum, even if either of them were inclined to it. It isn't until they cross the bridge on foot in sight of their old street that she voices the reservation bubbling up in the back of her head.]}

[possessum]

[ It's like waking up from a dream — that period of time where you're sitting up in bed trying to remember what's real and what isn't, and already you're forgetting what you dreamed about, but you haven't quite touched full reality yet. It's like that period, only extended. Peter's been stuck there ever since unraveling himself from the others at the hotel, ever since sitting down beside Henry on the bus, gazing out in silence, wide-eyed, glazy.

Now they're walking slowly down the familiar street, the one he'd trespassed several times by now ever since waking up all bruised and broken in Deerington. Walks to and from school, the only place he ever really ventured to outside of the walls of the home he shares with Henry.

'It's weird to be back.'

He looks over at her, blinking in the sunshine. The weather feels weird, too: bright and light and free. ...A stark contrast to where they'd been for awhile, deep down under the ocean in damp darkness only ever dimly-lit at best. ]

...Yeah. [ He agrees, and his voice comes out a little hoarse, like he hasn't used it in awhile. He's still in the ridiculously fancy tuxedo he'd worn to the New Year's thing, coattails and gloves and all, and Peter feels so disconnected from himself that he almost has to laugh. Has time really stood still here for months? Or has it passed by with them? ]

Wonder if all our food rotted.

[ Light-hearted on the surface, but his voice is weighted with something. In the unknown, and he's... afraid of what they might find when they get back? After all that... it feels almost like there might not even be a house to come back to. Might not be anything. ]

text; un: cinderella

[zwhack]

[ she's not surprised he passed out when he did, especially since the whole chain of events didn't exactly happen with the kind of care it should, if done under the right circumstances. but she comes from a gritty world where you work with what you have; maybe if the right medical care was possible, she'd still have both eyes.

unfortunately, shit is the way it is, and you learn to deal.

at the very least, she'd managed to get the gross thing out of him, but she'd left him in the care of some friend of his before waiting to see if he woke back up. keeping track of anything was nearly impossible in rapture, but since they've been back, addy's at least been able to look him up. ]

hey

you're the slug kid, right?

you still kicking?

[possessum]

[ It takes Peter a while, trying to piece two and two together. There were a couple of people he'd bumped into in the midst of slug encounters — of which he'd had more than one....

When you tend to zone out and fall asleep in random places with your mouth wide open, you're sort of prime real estate for parasitic slugs looking for a host. Oh Peter...

He isn't sure who this is yet, but he's pretty sure "the slug kid" is an appropriate (if not unfortunate) title for him, so it must not be a misfire. ]

Oh hey that's me
Sadly

Is this the girl with the spear or the girl with the eyepatch?
Sorry
There's a couple people I bumped into back there when I had
slugs

text; un: silver - misfire

[hiyosilver]

Alright i think i get the "yas queen" thing but what the fuck does "yeet" mean?

text | un: P.Graham

[possessum]

[ What... is this
Who is this?
And how do they know him? Paranoia kicking into gear now.... ]

I'm sorry but why are you asking me this

Text UN: CrescentRose Misfire

[clickclickbloom]

OMG I FINALLY FOUND YOU

text | un: P.Graham

[possessum]

[ Okay, this is the second thing he's gotten from a name he doesn't recognise, out of nowhere... Peter's paranoia has immediately gone from the lower end of the spectrum to through the roof, because "I FINALLY FOUND YOU" freaks him out (....enough to completely miss the context of the photo). ]

What are you trying to do to me
I dont want any trouble
Would you just levae me alone

[ Levae him alone ]

text | misfire

[deadboywalking]

[behold, a completely contextless picture text, just for you, peter.]

text | un: P.Graham

[possessum]

[ Third unknown text of the day, and he's about to start walking

Never mind that this is a cute, seemingly harmless photo of a hedgehog wrapped in a towel with a single tooth sticking out. It might as well be a picture of a bomb with his name on it for the way Peter's reacting.... which is panic. ]

Okay
I'm going to the police

[ There are no police here. He doesn't even know that much. He thinks maybe this threat will be effective ]

Text; un:blackmoths; misfire

[blackmothwings]

My apologies for sending this at such an hour, but you wouldn't happen to have an axe, would you?

[possessum]

[ Oh, this is awkward. THIS IS THE SAME USERNAME HE ACCIDENTALLY TEXTED LAST NIGHT....

...and he's kind of thinking she might be intentionally trying to scare him now, because she seemed really severe-sounding... Look, there are some really frightening people around here. ]

Sorry, no axes here
What do u need it for

[ ......Is it his head

Also when he's typing in a hurry, the chatspeak comes out. ]

un: q.coldwater; misfire

[volunteertomatoes]

can you water the basement
i'm going to be late at school and eliots out of commish
i 'm not going to lie sticking my hand into the pencil sharpener instead of grading is just
so tempting

[possessum]

Quentin?

[ HE ACTUALLY REMEMBERED THAT QUENTIN TOLD HIM TO CALL HIM QUENTIN. HE REMEMBERED A DETAIL.

...Wait, did this man just ask him to water his basement ]

Did you mean
drain the water out the basement?

[ That's probably it, right ]

text | un: kd6-3.7 (the absolute best misfire for peter)

[obeir]

I helped to reunite her body with her head.

[ K is referring to helping the AI, Arid, put herself back together. Not that Peter could possibly know that. ]

text | un: P.Graham (I'M SCREAMING)

[possessum]

[ This has got to be a nightmare. These... strange texts coming in have all been disorienting, frightening, but this is....

Peter throws his Fluid down onto his bed, stumbling away from it. It's quite some time later that he sends a reply as though in a daze, stunned, fingers trembling. ]

Why are you doing thdis

👀 text | un: quibbler

[creidim]

What if someone did, though?

[possessum]

[ Peter's had plenty of experience with mishaps, misfires, and other such weird text behaviour, so he's half-inclined to think this might be that, simply for the fact he doesn't know the context. ]

Luna? [ Just to make sure it's really her. ]

Did you mean to send me this?

text. un: hardsell

[oldhound]

[ backdated to 7/31. ]

peter? paimon, whichever. it's john. call me as soon as you get this, lad. let me know you're all right.

voice | un: P.Graham

[possessum]

[ It's Peter who gets the message. As the month draws to an end, he's... been coming back, sifting back into consciousness following weeks of being taken over by Paimon. Everything's strange and convoluted and so much has happened.

He calls him, feeling dazed. There are memories that don't quite belong to him, but they're still some part of him, filtered through from Paimon. They're confusing and he's still trying to make sense of things.

....He doesn't know that John's been dead. ]

Mr. Constantine? It's Peter. I...

I'm here. I think I'm coming back.

audio; late july

[fayzedandconfused]

Hey, um, I'm just calling to tell you that I moved in with some friends, so you don't have to bring me food anymore, or anything.

[possessum]

[ By now, Peter's barely Peter most days. His memories are all strange and skewed, and it takes him a moment too long to remember the context of this. But when he does, it hits him that Brianna's actually calling to let him know how she is. He's... touched by that, and relieved to hear that she's not on her own anymore. ]

Hey— that's good, really good. I'm glad. Thanks, uh, for letting me know.

[ He's awkward and pleased and hopes she really is doing okay. ]

Are you still tiny?

text; un: quibbler

[creidim]

[ To say things have been... difficult, is an understatement. The last month's taken a lot out of her: the magic, the deal with Paimon, to find out Ruby had died, and then to spend several days unconscious? The days following waking up in the home of Mrs. Sheringham have been spent quietly, and then weathering out the storm and subsequent power-cut.

Part of her's glad July's over, to know Peter's back in control of himself again. But August is quick to bring its own challenges, and Luna already feels exhausted by it. They'll have to talk about things properly soon. But today, as she sits perched on top of a familiar old trunk, she can bring perhaps a helpful and welcome distraction. She'd seen Julia's message. She'd known about Kady already, but Eliot and Quentin, too? ]

How are you feeling?

I saw Quentin's gone, Eliot too. I'm sorry.

[possessum]

[ It's definitely been..... pretty horrible. Most months in this place involve some degree of terror, but July is high up there on Peter's list for sure. After waking up from being fully possessed by Paimon, he's been spending his time alone as well, quietly trying to recover from that a bit, and face what... happened.

He's actually cleaning his own room up a little — not because he's suddenly had a change of heart regarding his lifestyle, but because.... a lot of things got thrown around and damaged in the process of Paimon being all over the place. He takes a break now though, settling on his own bed, glad for a little distraction in the form of Luna. ]

Like I need..... a 100 year nap
What about you, are you doing okay?

[ Luna's been through the ringer too, he knows. ]

I'm sorry, too. It's weird that they disappeared around the same time, but maybe this means they ended up back home all together?

[ It's an ache, a huge, huge ache to lose them — especially Quentin, whom he'd been growing quite close to. He knows it's hit Luna hard, too. It seems like.... they just keep losing people, adults. Wade's gone, too. ]

text;

[nakedsingularity]

_{[After this, Henry can't be the only one thinking the obvious.]}

Are you talking to the weird demon doctor?

[possessum]

[ It takes Peter a moment to work out who she might be talking about, because admittedly, he's been reaching out to a few people who fall under the category of "this is terrifying". But he's a little more desperate these days. ]

Getting some information
Shit's crazy right now

[ You know. With all the possessed people running around. ]

just lives here now, ig

[nakedsingularity]

Are you going back to school?

SETS OUT THROW PILLOWS

[possessum]

Yeah, for the most part, I think

[ Aka lots of playing hooky because nobody around here cares. ]

Senior year... exciting

What about you?