Peter Rumancek (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
velveteenwolf) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2013-09-19 01:35 pm
velveteenwolf) wrote in tampered2013-09-19 01:35 pm
He's not just a man / He's so much more, he's better
When: September 19th.
Rating: Unknown, I'll say R just in case.
Characters: Anyone with a reason to be out in the forest on the night of the full moon.
Summary: It's the full moon and Peter's first shift in a new place.
Log: It was the Harvest Moon.
The white globe of it still hung low in the sky, yellowed by errant particles of dust in the air in dazzling contrast against the deep, midnight sky. Peter stood on black paws that left light prints on the earth as he surveyed the unfamiliar forest. His eyes burned bright, bright gold, his gaze with its sharp eyes held that worldly look to them that Peter got sometimes. As if he was older than the seventeen year old boy with bright blues who smoked too much and made off-color jokes and relished in the fact of being an outsider. He was large, sleek and powerful and too big to be a wolf, and he wasn't. He was lupus sapiens, the wise wolf.
The papers had called Christina the demonwolf, and maybe they had been right. She had been broken, an abomination. She had been full of too much hate and too much pain when she had turned, and she had never even heard the call of her own true name. Sometimes he wonders if he was the broken one. Was there something wrong with him that when she'd turned herself, from him, it had gone so wrong? Letha was dead, and there have been nights since he came here, when he wonders if she died for him.
When he howls, this time, it's for the loss he doesn't know how to say. In his human skin he ignores it, pushes it down, but as a wolf, he's maybe smarter. He shares the death that surrounds him with the moon, It's round, swollen with plenty, and it takes his pain as surely as it gives him his name.
Gypsy boy that he is, it's hard for him to turn down a party, especially with the prospect of sea-side entertainment, and maybe even free drinks. He might not take charity, but a party is something else altogether. But, it's the night of the full moon, and in a strange place, and Peter is so shaky with anticipation that his fingers can hardly hold a cigarette. His clothes feel itchy and like they're scratching at his skin, and the taste in his mouth is metallic and he licks at his white, human teeth and he grins. He heads out to the forest a little early, and he finds himself wishing that Roman had his car. That he could just curl up in the passenger seat of that cherry cherry red convertible and watch the blond as trees swung into view. The thing was fucking metal and as much a part of Roman in Peter's head as his green roofie eyes or his fucking last name.
He watches the sun, but more than that he's listening. Listening for the way the world calls to him in the old tongue, calls him by a name that carries more weight and just as much a product of gravity as the moon and the tides themselves. He tugs off his rings, his bracelets, yanking his shirt off over his head as he grins wolfishly at the other teen. Peter loves this. Not even the death, and the fighting, and the girl with a broken neck, the scent of which some nights still feels heavy on his skin, can ruin this for him: the nights where he sheds his human skin, and walks the forest with his senses magnified; stronger, faster. Once a month where all the bullshit, and his human cares are devoured like his pale skin.
"I didn't really think you'd want to keep watching. Figured it was too messy for a fucking Godfrey."
He's teasing, something to take the edge off, because there's always this tension, where he's stripping in front of Roman and he's always way too fucking aware of how it could all go wrong. That if they aren't snarking at one another he might do something he might not regret until after.
The sun has just barely hit the horizon, the day is still warm and the sun is still blue, and there comes a howl that carries loud and long. A wolf, a werewolf, the forever howl as his voice throws to the sky, to the world that whispers his name. He's left Roman behind in the clearing, because there's no way the Upyr can keep up with Peter when he's like this. His legs spring forward and he might not be Nicolae, not so fast you could never be sure his paws touched the ground at all, but he's still faster than anything on two legs, than anything natural. He is black as midnight, with gold eyes, a thin scent of blood, but it's his own blood. from flesh and bones and a body that disappeared off the floor as if it had never been. Maybe it's a little bit of magic, but it never stays for hunters to find, unlike his pawprints and the occasionally hairs from his coat.
He doesn't know this place, and he lifts his snout, breathing in unfamiliar air, and he still howls. He howls for Nicolae, even though it's been three years since he hasn't run alone. He knows the words Nicolae said, the words Peter tells himself when the world around him seems empty: about how werewolves don't need a pack. But Peter doesn't always believe it. He misses having his uncle at his side, the white wolf that ran ahead of him, and tolerated his gangly idiot self for the better part of a year, until that night where he left Peter behind, alone, howling like the lost cub he was until he made his way home to curl up by his mother's bed.
The first howl of every moon is for Nicolae.
The nearest familiar scent turns out to be a beautiful redhead with eyes bright but different from Peter's own gold. He seems strange and out of place -- a giant black wolf with searching gold eyes, but the juxtoposition of the familiar and the strange only last a moment. The sun creeps just a little higher in the sky, and in a sight Roman had once described as beautiful, jet dark fur changes to white-pink human skin, gold eyes are replaced with blue, and instead of a wolf, there's a very naked, vulnerable boy that collapses at her feet with a soft whine.
Shifting always exhausts him, though Nicolae always made it sound like that was his fault. As if he was somehow irresponsible; stayed out too long or didn't exhibit control or some shit that Peter's never quite worried about. His mother has always been there to keep him safe. Except this place is different, and all he has to rely on is the girl that Roman might like. His long eyelashes flutter and his blues look up at her, trying to haul himself up onto hands and knees, but then he wobbles and just kind of collapses on the ground.
Well, shit.
Rating: Unknown, I'll say R just in case.
Characters: Anyone with a reason to be out in the forest on the night of the full moon.
Summary: It's the full moon and Peter's first shift in a new place.
Log: It was the Harvest Moon.
The white globe of it still hung low in the sky, yellowed by errant particles of dust in the air in dazzling contrast against the deep, midnight sky. Peter stood on black paws that left light prints on the earth as he surveyed the unfamiliar forest. His eyes burned bright, bright gold, his gaze with its sharp eyes held that worldly look to them that Peter got sometimes. As if he was older than the seventeen year old boy with bright blues who smoked too much and made off-color jokes and relished in the fact of being an outsider. He was large, sleek and powerful and too big to be a wolf, and he wasn't. He was lupus sapiens, the wise wolf.
The papers had called Christina the demonwolf, and maybe they had been right. She had been broken, an abomination. She had been full of too much hate and too much pain when she had turned, and she had never even heard the call of her own true name. Sometimes he wonders if he was the broken one. Was there something wrong with him that when she'd turned herself, from him, it had gone so wrong? Letha was dead, and there have been nights since he came here, when he wonders if she died for him.
When he howls, this time, it's for the loss he doesn't know how to say. In his human skin he ignores it, pushes it down, but as a wolf, he's maybe smarter. He shares the death that surrounds him with the moon, It's round, swollen with plenty, and it takes his pain as surely as it gives him his name.
Gypsy boy that he is, it's hard for him to turn down a party, especially with the prospect of sea-side entertainment, and maybe even free drinks. He might not take charity, but a party is something else altogether. But, it's the night of the full moon, and in a strange place, and Peter is so shaky with anticipation that his fingers can hardly hold a cigarette. His clothes feel itchy and like they're scratching at his skin, and the taste in his mouth is metallic and he licks at his white, human teeth and he grins. He heads out to the forest a little early, and he finds himself wishing that Roman had his car. That he could just curl up in the passenger seat of that cherry cherry red convertible and watch the blond as trees swung into view. The thing was fucking metal and as much a part of Roman in Peter's head as his green roofie eyes or his fucking last name.
He watches the sun, but more than that he's listening. Listening for the way the world calls to him in the old tongue, calls him by a name that carries more weight and just as much a product of gravity as the moon and the tides themselves. He tugs off his rings, his bracelets, yanking his shirt off over his head as he grins wolfishly at the other teen. Peter loves this. Not even the death, and the fighting, and the girl with a broken neck, the scent of which some nights still feels heavy on his skin, can ruin this for him: the nights where he sheds his human skin, and walks the forest with his senses magnified; stronger, faster. Once a month where all the bullshit, and his human cares are devoured like his pale skin.
"I didn't really think you'd want to keep watching. Figured it was too messy for a fucking Godfrey."
He's teasing, something to take the edge off, because there's always this tension, where he's stripping in front of Roman and he's always way too fucking aware of how it could all go wrong. That if they aren't snarking at one another he might do something he might not regret until after.
The sun has just barely hit the horizon, the day is still warm and the sun is still blue, and there comes a howl that carries loud and long. A wolf, a werewolf, the forever howl as his voice throws to the sky, to the world that whispers his name. He's left Roman behind in the clearing, because there's no way the Upyr can keep up with Peter when he's like this. His legs spring forward and he might not be Nicolae, not so fast you could never be sure his paws touched the ground at all, but he's still faster than anything on two legs, than anything natural. He is black as midnight, with gold eyes, a thin scent of blood, but it's his own blood. from flesh and bones and a body that disappeared off the floor as if it had never been. Maybe it's a little bit of magic, but it never stays for hunters to find, unlike his pawprints and the occasionally hairs from his coat.
He doesn't know this place, and he lifts his snout, breathing in unfamiliar air, and he still howls. He howls for Nicolae, even though it's been three years since he hasn't run alone. He knows the words Nicolae said, the words Peter tells himself when the world around him seems empty: about how werewolves don't need a pack. But Peter doesn't always believe it. He misses having his uncle at his side, the white wolf that ran ahead of him, and tolerated his gangly idiot self for the better part of a year, until that night where he left Peter behind, alone, howling like the lost cub he was until he made his way home to curl up by his mother's bed.
The first howl of every moon is for Nicolae.
The nearest familiar scent turns out to be a beautiful redhead with eyes bright but different from Peter's own gold. He seems strange and out of place -- a giant black wolf with searching gold eyes, but the juxtoposition of the familiar and the strange only last a moment. The sun creeps just a little higher in the sky, and in a sight Roman had once described as beautiful, jet dark fur changes to white-pink human skin, gold eyes are replaced with blue, and instead of a wolf, there's a very naked, vulnerable boy that collapses at her feet with a soft whine.
Shifting always exhausts him, though Nicolae always made it sound like that was his fault. As if he was somehow irresponsible; stayed out too long or didn't exhibit control or some shit that Peter's never quite worried about. His mother has always been there to keep him safe. Except this place is different, and all he has to rely on is the girl that Roman might like. His long eyelashes flutter and his blues look up at her, trying to haul himself up onto hands and knees, but then he wobbles and just kind of collapses on the ground.
Well, shit.
when the moon is round and full;
Here in the forest, lagging behind Peter with the white noise of nature he weirdly feels more relaxed. No different to his dulled, mortal senses than the woods around his own home. Perhaps if he stalked it in the same way Peter did he would be better acquainted. It's not a car, but it's private.
"This is not the most disgusting thing I've seen you do. I can have a list."
Slicing open a dead girl's insides is among the big ones.
gotta bust that box gotta gut that fish;
He tosses his shirt as if to punctuate the statement, a smile curving his mouth as his hands drop down to the band of his denims, popping the button, and then he's slipping out of them. He doesn't say upyr, still refuses to say what he is. It's this fear, that if Roman knows, he'll push him into it, tip the scales the wrong way. He wants, perhaps selfishly, to keep him from the darkness. Maybe it's why he let him watch that first time.
He's teasing of course, because if there aren't jokes as he slides his jeans down slender pale legs, the air will crackle and someone might lose a fucking hand. Peter is practiced and easy at making himself seem ambivalent when it comes to the Godfrey richboy idiot standing across from him. Sometimes he makes himself believe it, but not this close to the moon, when his body is all jitters and his body's alive like a cracking wire.
we could jet in a stolen car;
The tension in the other teen can't be missed. Roman shoves the clothes into a bag. "Hey. You okay?" Peter has nothing he hasn't seen. Maybe with a little more hair but he keeps contact at his shoulders, his face.
"I don't have weed but I got smokes." Didn't the gypsy's mom offer up weed last time?
It hits him that last time was a long time ago. That first time.
but I bet we wouldn't get too far;
It always hits him hard, has every inch of skin twitching over shaky muscles that hum with the knowledge of what's to come. Muscle memory, whatever the fuck. He just knew full moons felt like this, like his body couldn't keep from moving. His blue eyes snap up and there's a grin that hums on his lips as he eyes the only teen.
"You used to be a pharmacy, what happened?"
His fingers wave on the air, that signal for a smoke they coined back in highschool. Back what feels like Eons ago, when there was a school for them to worry about going to and classes for them to not attend. Everything could have been easy. If not for the death that had damn near suffocated all of them.
before the transformation takes;
Used to be. Yeah, he used to have money. Without it he feels small, ordinary. Roman Godfrey is not interesting, smart or wholly remarkable without what comes with his last name or so he thinks. It's like that fable of the moth his mother would tell only now out of the cocoon he feels underdeveloped. Peter could drop out of no where and be fine. It's not fair.
"I'm working on it. Give it a week or two." That is if he doesn't spend it all.
and bloodlust tanks;
and crave gets slaked;
Forest near beach
Definitely not fear that made Luke pause in his nightly sojourn to Underground. Senses a faint reminiscence of Millennium's Captain. This certainly wasn't a common animal. Didn't feel like the 'teen pack', either.
He scented the air. Wafting copper tang hint just further added to the tantalizing mystery.]
Forest near beach
Re: Forest near beach
Bright moonlight is enough for them to see by. Places normally foreboding at night take on a different appearance while 'lit up'. Not unusual for some to stroll where they shouldn't. What rendered this occurrence odd is that very few visited this part of the forest even during daylight hours. That one wandered so far....
Pity his vampiric hunger had been sated earlier by a glass of cold bovine. However, fun could still be had.
Vampiric glamour blended Luke's overall white appearance into the surrounding shadows. Moved quickly and soundlessly thru the foliage towards his new intended target.]
Re: Forest near beach
He slows not because he sees or hears anything but some vague sense of presence that he can't place his finger on. Well. Could be a woodland creature. No catch of white or any other color to see. If he did, well, white is always associated with Olivia Godfrey.]
Re: Forest near beach
Picks up the pace, but keeps to a normal-ish speed. Gradually drops the glamour and stealth as he approaches the boy.]
no subject
At first she just stares at the young man who's collapsed at her feet. Her experience with werewolf transformations has its limits, and she's never seen a true transition from animal to human before. Her inner scientist has a hundred questions, but really what hits home is that Peter is naked and vulnerable and needs help.
Also, he has a cute butt.
She bends down in a crouch next to him. "Peter?" she whispers. "If I help you, can you get up? We'll find someplace, I'll get you some clothes." She could take him back to the apartment, though she wonders if Scott might give her crap about it.
no subject
He looks up at her, his blue eyes dilated, lashes fluttering as he focuses on her, his body spent. It's hard to make his body move, at least under his own power, but he's pretty sure that he could do it with her help. "Yeah, I think so," he manages, his voice a little thin just from how exhausted he is.
Of course, if he was going to be passing out on the ground, there weren't many people he'd rather end up looking up at. Lydia was easy on the eyes, certainly. He tries to lift himself up a little, to at least make it easier for her to help him.
no subject
"I think I know where I can take you so you'll be safe. And we can get you some clothes. Do you want me to call Roman? Does he know that you're um, a werewolf?" She uses the term pretty calmly.
She starts to guide him toward the clinic. She's pretty sure the pack's having their post full moon after party there. So to speak.
no subject
"Yeah. He watched me turn," he murmurs breathless and a little slurred in response to the question. He somehow doubts that Roman would worry, exactly, but the last few times Roman watched him turn had all had fucked up endings. Maybe a heads up that he wasn't being dragged off by hunters, or dead was worth the phone call.
He leans on her, stumbling a little, guileless and shameless in his nakedness, his erection jutting from his body carelessly. Isaac calling him the nudist is starting to seem more apt.
no subject
(no subject)
I'm going to alert Scott that he can jack in after this.
Consider it jacked and replied to earlier than planned
And consider me stupidly not asleep oops
OOPS
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
I don't know how I never got the notif for this :/
>Forest
>Forest
Peter is too free himself to really believe that things are owned, except maybe people when they let themselves be caught. It's a fate he tries to run from.]
>Forest
>Forest
>Forest
Peter?
>Forest
>Forest
>Forest
>Forest
Re: >Forest
no subject
He hears the howl and howls back - he doesn't do it often, but he does it now.]
no subject
It makes him move toward the sound, a shadow sprinting toward the location. It's instinctive, that ability to track the sound. He pauses when he comes into sight, and there is nothing about him that's a wolf. Bigger than a wolf, the way he moves is different; not a part of the forest but above it. His coat is black and sleek and his eyes are bright, glowing gold.
He steps carefully closer, but not too close, interested. He scents the air and it smells like werewolf.]
no subject
Peter?
no subject
There's a definite nod at the use of his name, and his gold eyes are sharp, and there's recognition there as he looks him over. It's a distinction that he doesn't allow everyone to see. That behind those gold eyes is just the same seventeen year old gypsy kid. Humans have an easier time with large wolves than they do with wolves that act like humans. But Derek's a werewolf; he thinks the deception would be wasted anyway.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
late :(
She's aware that traipsing through the trees on a full moon in an unpredictable world with unpredictable citizens is a mistake. But is she a witch or isn't she? She can protect herself. And with Remus being the closest thing to family, that takes priority, and she wants to try and find him.]