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[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

[OOC: Spoilers for 1.1, "Genesis," in the first link.]

When Peter stepped through the door, the first thing he saw was Nathan.

Now he's sitting by himself at a table, staring moodily into his drink.

Comments

[wolflord_andain]

Winter-grey eyes study him for a moment, and then Galadan approaches, smile small but apparently sincere.

He seems amused.

"Is your drink not to your liking, then?"

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

Peter looks up, startled.

"Is my -- oh." He shoves his hair out his eyes with a self-deprecating smile. "No. Just, ah, just thinking."

He kicks out a chair; not even the combined and formidable forces of New York City and his parents could stamp out Peter's inclination to strike up conversations with strangers.

[wolflord_andain]

Galadan pulls it out a little farther, every movement graceful, and takes a seat.

"And what sort of thinking does one do in a bar at the end of the universe? I find myself curious, I suppose, as to what that answer might be."

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

"'Bout the same thinking you do anywhere, I guess," Peter says, after a moment's thought and a curious once-over of Galadan. He rubs his forehead. "Just...family stuff." And a moment later: "Dreams."

[wolflord_andain]

Galadan's interest is piqued, though the only sign of it is in the slight rise of his eyebrows.

And, perhaps, the increase in the intentness of his gaze.

"Dreams?"

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

"Yeah," he says, "I keep having these, these dreams that I'm flying, and..." He breaks off and leans forward on sudden impulse, watching Galadan just as intently. "Do you ever -- get the feeling that maybe you're...meant for something...extraordinary?"

[wolflord_andain]

Galadan's wolf-eyes do not leave Peter's own.

"There have been occasions that I have been made aware of such a predilection on my part, yes. Might I assume you're asking because your own feelings are occasionally much the same?"

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, I --"

He looks about to confide something, but he cuts off abruptly, easing back in his chair. "I'm Peter, sorry."

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

"Someone looks like they lost their favorite pet puppy," Chloe comments as she walks by his table with her latte.

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

It takes Peter a moment to realize that he's being (obliquely) addressed. "Sorry?" he say, starting out of his moping reverie.

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

Chloe tilts her head, staring at him. "That whole kicked puppy routine you have going on right now?"

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

Peter looks offended.

In much the way a kicked puppy would look offended, it's true.

"I'm not a puppy."

It's not his best comeback ever.

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

"You could have fooled me," Chloe answers with a grin. "You could probably give Clark a run for his money and that's saying something."

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

Peter grins back despite himself, and brushes his hair out of his eyes.

"Who's Clark?" he says, not sure whether he's expecting: My labrador, or: My boyfriend.

[torch-reporter.livejournal.com]

"My best friend," she replies, scanning the bar as she speaks. "He's around here, uh, somewhere. Tall, dark hair, farmboy written all over him?"

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

Farmboy. Not in the man's best friend sense, then.

"And...I take it he does a lot of..." This is a weird conversation. "Looking like a kicked puppy?"

[goinghost.livejournal.com]

There was a boy in Peter's line of sight, a few tables over, bent over a book (http://leftthecradle.livejournal.com/3452.html). It was somewhat elegantly bound, and not the kind of book you'd expect a teenage boy to be reading (nor would anyone expect this particular teenage boy to read much, anyhow, if they knew him), but this was part of his hero training.

His lips were moving as he read.

At some point, black hair hanging in his face, he happened to look up and around, at first for a convenient wait rat, but then he spotted the man in the booth.

And stared.

Ha.

Haha.

Oh wow.

Brown eyes, not blue, and Danny'd probably grow up stockier than that, thanks to his dad's genes, but holy hell, for half a second there, Danny'd been sure the bar had pulled a fast one and that he was looking at an older version of himself.

"Dude, I pull off the hair so much better than you," he said pointing at his, which was also hanging in his eyes.

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

Peter stops moving with his glass halfway to his mouth, and stares. Oddly enough, he doesn't get that a lot.

Then he sets the glass down again, and says, "Okay?"

[goinghost.livejournal.com]

"Sorry," he said, looking faintly embarrassed. "I guess insulting your hair, uh, probably wasn't the best conversation-starter." Forgive him; he's fifteen. And completely and utterly socially inept.

"You new or someone I just haven't seen before?"

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

"My brother'd probably disagree with you," Peter says dryly, and notices that his hand is rising unconsciously toward his hair. He quickly lowers it.

"No," he adds, after a moment, "no, I'm new. Are you...are you old enough to be here by yourself?"

Sure, there was the eleven year old, but Peter has the feeling she could take care of herself in a war zone.

[goinghost.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, well, your brother probably has doofy hair," Danny remarked. "And this place drags in toddlers sometimes, so yeah, I'm cool. I can't get anything alcoholic from the bar unless I get one of my older friends to do it, but I'm cool."

That older friend just happened to be who-knew-how-old fox spirit.

"Besides, I can take care of myself better than a lot of people can."

So said the really scrawny, tiny, nerdy kid.

But right after he said it, he marked the page of his book the little tassel attached to it (there was no way he was dog-earing the pages of this thing), closed it--

"Name's Danny."

--And floated right out of his seat, over to Peter's booth, holding out his hand for shaking, as he set himself down again.

"You are...?"

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

Peter gapes.

"You -- you just --"

[goinghost.livejournal.com]

"--I just did the least weird thing I can do," Danny said with a grin. "Get used to it. This place is full of whacky stuff. Gods, superheroes right out of the comics, wizards and witches, space rangers--you name it. Some of my best buds here are guys who strap nuclear reactors to their backs and hunt ghosts for a living, and an ancient fox spirit that goes around looking like a 50's icon of Cool. You're going to see a lot of weird stuff while you're here, to the point where the perfectly normal people are the ones that seem out of place."

Personally, he though some of them were the lucky ones, though, when it came to some things.

His hand was still hanging there.

"So. You are...?"

[will_scarlett]

Will recognizes the look of unhappiness and decides to see if he can help, "Evenin', what's so bad a drink won't cure it?"

A red haired man in scruffy medieval clothing holding a mug of hot chocolate is leaning over Peter's table.

[morelikeasponge.livejournal.com]

"Just, ah," Peter says, looking up, "just...family stuff." He tips his head to one side, suddenly sheepish. "You're not the first person to ask. Do I really look that upset?"

[OOC: Sorry, I had already gone to bed when you tagged.]