Who: Peter Vincent and Robin Hood What: Trying to deal with things, brooding and silence. Where: The complex roof When: the wee hours of the morning, Friday, March 22, 2012 Warnings: Brooding and mentions of emo-inducing things. Foul language. Status: In progress!
As much as Peter hated the cold, the solitude the roof of the complex offered was something he couldn't pass up right now. The past month had of course not been one of his better times and he needed the calm, needed to just be up there and look out over Lawrence and not have to worry about holding it together for a while.
It had been very nearly two weeks now, since the witch's death. The overwhelming shock that he was the spy had been slow to ease, but at least it had, the raging guilt settling into something quieter. Other pains and fears still lingered, but now new ones accompanied them. Vampires, pain and exhaustion, guilt and regret... these were familiar enemies, no less painful for it, but at least something he was accustomed to. Now there were new ones, as if he didn't have enough issues already. Ones that Peter had no prior experience with and had no idea how to process.
She had been in his head. Turned him into a marionette and watched him dance on her strings. He had been a toy to her as much as a tool, his own mind betraying itself. The visions he'd seen of Jerry, the things the monster had said... it all had come from him. She had drawn all his fears, all his regrets, all of the roots of all his problems out into the open, leaving them torn raw... and he hadn't even been aware of that she had done it. She had manipulated him so easily and so completely he hadn't even known what she had done.
It was a disturbing thought, how quickly and easily one could lose their free will. Peter could remember, back in his home world, the taste of vampire blood on his tongue and the the chill feeling as he'd started to turn, but Jerry had never had a chance to exert any control over him, not the way he had with Amy. Just the tiniest drop of blood could have given him that edge, hypnotizing Peter, but he'd found it far more entertaining to allow Peter his head, to feel him grow more afraid and watch him try to struggle.
Most likely, if Charley hadn't taken him out, the leech would have used his influence over Peter as his sire, controlled him. But it hadn't happened and Peter had thought himself relatively safe from such a thing. Maleficent had torn that illusion of safety to shreds and pissed on it, along with everything else she'd done to him.
Almost more disturbing than what the psychowitch had done to him was the fact that people he knew and trusted willingly did the same fucking thing. When Sam posted on the board asking for help the other day, Peter had been shocked into silence; he had been going to reply, but by the time he'd reached the post and read through it, there had been not one, not two, but six different people suggesting magical or psychic tampering with the poor asshole's memory to cover up Sam's continued existence.
It had hit Peter like a freight train, just how quickly and casually everyone in Lawrence turned to these quick fixes for everything. Even he himself, taking Epiphany's hangover cures and dreamless sleep potions... it was an instant fix apparently free of consequences, so why the fuck not?
Objectively, after reading everything on the post, he knew that this was the best option in a bad situation. They could not risk exposure. Just one of them getting caught put dozens of people, families, children, at risk. Wiping the memory away would protect everyone here, and the poor sod would never be the wiser.
The action itself just inherently made Peter uncomfortable. He had been there, been the man that, to further someone else's goals, it was decided to manipulate his mind and wipe away undesirable memories. No one should ever have to have such a thing done to them. No asking, no explaining, no reaching out to this man who, if they were lucky, could even become an ally, the way Lois had talked about not too long ago. Just a bunch of strangers with strange powers from other worlds, calmly discussing his mind and memory on a fucking message board, as though any of them had the right to decide what this man was allowed to know or think. For the greater good or no, it made Peter sick to think about.
To make things even harder, it was Lexi who was going to carry it out. Lexi, the one vampire who had somehow gained his trust and become his friend. And she was going to mindfuck someone. Had mindfucked someone, by now. She probably had done so many times before he'd ever even met her.
Peter had religiously taken the vervain daily since he'd found out about it, but that didn't help. This action, it shook the fragile trust between them, was setting off all the alarm bells in Peter's head. He should have expected something like this; she was a vampire after all. He knew full well that they tended to learn to be good at faking. How could he truly trust Lexi ever, knowing what she was and what she was capable of?
This turmoil combined with all the multitude of other problems that had been aggravated by the psychowitch was exhausting to deal with. Peter kept trying to hold it together, to not fall apart, to not just let it drown him. He kept slipping. He was so tired of slipping. He was planning to look into that cafe for a potential magic show, wanting that control and peace that performing gave him. It would be nothing compared to what he was accustomed to, but he needed it.
Tonight though, he couldn't deal with people's eyes on him. He could deal with trying to hold the veneer up. So he'd gotten his warm coat and a few bottles and made his way upstairs, leaning against the low wall and watching the city slowly become shrouded in a thin fog. He could wait out the wave of misery and upset here and then go back to working out a way to handle it all tomorrow.