Peter wasn't wholly awake yet, which was pretty much the only reason he didn't jump ten feet in the air when someone walked in. By the time he'd registered there was someone there, it was kind of too late to be surprised. And slowly, tricklign through the sleep-numbed chambers of his brain, was the memory of Phaedra telling him about how she shared the house. With someone who apparently liked weapons. A lot.
Peter nodded, looking at Dean's gun cautiously. Friend or not, he wasn't so keen on people being armed when he was sitting there with nothing.
"Yeah," he said, his throat gummy. He cleared his throat, taking a sip of coffee as the guy - Dean - explained his presence. And also the fact that Phaedra had apparently been guarding him. Good to know.
"Thanks," he added, watching as Dean - looking like a cheap Clint Eastwood knock-off - headed out the door. People around here weren't getting any more normal.
Draining the rest of his coffee, Peter set to exploring the house a little more, listening to the creaks and groans of the wood settling as the heat of the day leeched out of the bones of the place. Old houses were always his favourite.