It was frustrating how his senses rebelled against him, but after the near-sensory deprivation he lived in prior to being dropped here, Peter wasn't exactly surprised. Trapped not only in that cell, in the basement of a mental institution, he had been trapped in something he could only describe as limbo, pinned down by his cellmate's supernatural third eye.
Every sound was the loudest thing he had ever heard, every scent overpowering, every object too sharp and the colors too bright. What made these attacks so debilitating for him was the fact he couldn't predict when they would crash over him. One minute all of his years of mental screens and control of his senses would work perfectly and then, in an instant, it was like he was new to all of this. The overwhelming sensations hadn't affected him like this since he was just a boy, decades ago.
"Stop... talking," Peter said between gritted teeth. Usually, Peter didn't use such direct comments, but every single word cut into his ears like the man was shouting from inside his brain, a loud and reverberating echo, and he couldn't hear anything else. It was throwing off whatever concentration he was trying to build.
As he slowly regained control, the werewolf took a few, slow deep breaths. Soon, the sounds of heartbeats and breathing, change rattling in people's bags and the rustling of a newspaper somewhere three blocks away starting to fade into the background.
"I don't like anything sweet." Especially so soon after a sensory overload, any pungent or strong taste or odor was likely to dump him back into that uncomfortable state. That meant, for the time being, the coffee was out of the question. It was a small miracle that he hadn't crushed the cup in his hand or spilled any of it, so it was almost depressing that he had to drop the whole thing into the trash can. "What did you mean I 'would have got you'," he asked, curiosity still ever-present.