Peter Hale is basically satan in a v-neck. (notfireproof) wrote in magicalworld, @ 2015-11-16 16:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, !in progress, char: peter hale, char: sheriff stilinski |
ᴡʜᴏ: Peter Hale + Sheriff Stilinski
ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: The sheriff's station
ᴡʜᴇɴ: [ʙᴀᴄᴋᴅᴀᴛᴇᴅ] 8th November, mid-morning.
ᴡʜᴀᴛ: Demanding answers.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: References to the fire.
sᴛᴀᴛᴜs: Closed, ongoing.
Following his release from the deceptively named tea house, the rooms in Peter's once-carefully manicured house became a mess. Across the walls, spread on the floors were stacks of paperwork, data… evidence. The police tape had not been enough to stop him returning to what was left of the proud old home, had not been enough to stop him from taking those things that he knew they would overlook. Few things survived the blaze and the majority of what had was likely locked in some evidence room at the sheriff's department until further notice. Peter could theoretically take legal action to have the items returned and most likely would in the near future, but what the police had collected would not have much bearing on his current goal now that they have manipulated them. Any scent trace that might have lingered under the smell of the fire likely dissipated sitting in that back room, rendering them more or less useless. Peter still couldn't shake the feeling of his heart almost stopping when he first saw the wreckage of his childhood home. The once-daunting facade was charred black and unrecognisable, the heavy roof completely burned through in some places and sunken in leaving wide gaping holes in their wake. It seemed as if the entire structure could collapse at any moment and the air surrounding it felt bated in anticipation of the final blow. The heavy smell of smoke lingered still, as did other scents that Peter knew better than to name. In spite of (or perhaps because of) the obvious danger, Peter had gone into the dilapidated building, overturning rubble in search of anything of use. Though he had not really thought about it, it was a blessing for his already damaged psyche that the sheriff's department and the coroner's office had already salvaged all the bodies of his family members. Stumbling across the mangled corpse of his sister would have driven right to the edge again and unceremoniously pushed him over. The uneasy balancing act that kept him calm enough to function was delicate and Peter realised that he needed to be more careful if he wanted to maintain it. His search of the house had yielded very little, but even amid the still glowing embers and the smell of death, Peter could still sense remnants of mountain ash. Whoever had set the house ablaze not only knew what the Hale family was, but how to completely and mercilessly trap them inside their own tomb in order to burn them alive. The trail of bread crumbs came to a halt there, however and Peter was left with more questions than answers. Soon, it became apparent that with the scene trampled on by the local police, Peter could not gather all the information on his own. He would have to give in and head to the station to his annoyance and beg information from them. Gathering up his strength to actually leave the house again was taxing, his body and mind still exhausted and very much wounded. The toll the fire had taken on him was still showing prominently on his face and arms and back but where it really hurt was where it still burned in his mind, taunting him with its power that even a werewolf stood no chance against. With a sigh, Peter spared one last look at his healing face before getting into his car and driving the half an hour back into the heart of Beacon Hills where the Sheriff's Department sat. Ignoring the looks of shock, Peter pushed through the doors of the station and walked straight for Stilinski's office without bothering to listen to anyone attempting to stop him. |