Day 58: Sun Room (Fourth Shift)

[human-sponge.livejournal.com]

Peter's lunch meeting with Tear had gone far better than he could have even expected. It was a good thing that he wasn't the sort of person who judged by age, seeing how the girl had proved herself to be very capable despite the fact that she was only a teenager. Not that Peter would ever admit it out loud, but Tear was a lot more mature than his own niece. He could only assume that Tear's circumstances had forced that onto her, though, which was the downside to the whole thing.

Or maybe it had something to do with her being a healer. She'd probably seen a lot of horrific things in her life already, things that some other people would never experience. Then again, Claire had seen her own body mutilated, so personality might have something to do with it too.

Either way, they had a basic plan. He was going to try and look into safe areas while Tear was going to work on their alliance with Search and Rescue. He wasn't too worried about the latter, but the former might be a pipe dream. Seeing how he had no interest in playing with beads and glitter, Peter chose to remain in the Sun Room.

It didn't take him long to draft up a message with his question, and once he'd posted it up (covering a few other replies in the process, but at the end of the day the board was low on real estate) he went ahead and found himself a seat. This way he could keep a careful eye on the replies that he got.

While he had already agreed to meet with Max tonight, Peter realized that the earliest this paramedic group could get going was the following night anyway. That was something to aim for, at least. Even if it was just him and Tear taking care of things at first, that was a start.

[For Haruno Sakura.]

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[deadlyjuliet.livejournal.com]

"As if you are one to talk," the god retorted, blowing a strand of red hair out of his face. Someone who went around dressed as a woman at times and then talked to himself (herself? Lord knew which one to use with this child) on the bulletin as if it were completely normal had no business telling someone else they were crazy. Let alone someone who did all that AND had tried to eat his face some nights past.

Kenny sat up and Grell turned toward him, one hand on his hip, smile spreading across his face. The boy was injured still and grave enough that his movements were slowed. If Grell took this evening as an opportunity to strike, the battle would likely fall in his favor. Good to know.

"At least I know the ones I talk to aren't real, Kenny." Somewhat. Grell knew the voices were there. He knew he knew the owners of those voices. He knew that it was entirely possible the owners of those voices were actually right here and just invisible to the eye. But there was something strange about it all and so Grell was doing his damnedest to ignore it. "How about you? Still cannibalizing faces or have we moved on to the newest hobby of passing love-hate notes to ourselves and gallivanting about as our 'other half' at night?"

[tightsofmight]

That sickening smile only got wider. Peter couldn't remember having a more physical repulsion to seeing someone grin - perhaps because no one he'd met had been so flamboyantly psychotic. Oh, he knew some stellar crazies. By the dozen. Frankly, in a cuckoo pageant he would still give Norman Osborn the tiara because his synapses were misfiring in at least twenty different directions. Grell was insane, but at least he made some sense. It was just the dramatics of it, the cloying 'dears' and 'darlings' and the precious dainty English lady act that really set Peter off. It was like crossing over Scarlet O'Hara with Jack the Ripper. The result was about an ugly a combination as anyone could imagine.

There was a neat retort ready for fire half a nanosecond after Grell drawled out the name 'Kenny' (he was going to have to apologize to Kong for that one someday), but it dropped anchor before reaching freedom. In its place was a suddenly wide-eyed fumble. "My - my what?"

Okay. Backtrack. Yes, Jessica had jumped in on Grell's crazy train the other day on the bulletin. Things were said that shouldn't be said and the aftermath had possibly screwed both them and Brainy over for the rest of their stay here. Grell hadn't been that ticked since Peter first tacked a waffle on his note. But not once had he caught onto the fact that there were two people he was arguing with. So maybe the comment about passing love notes to himself wasn't totally unfounded. (Neither was the cannibal thing, but if Grell was too stupid to figure out that it was all some gaseous hallucinogen then Peter was no longer obligated to correct him.) But the thing with the gallivanting. Other halves.

Jessica? Had he actually seen Jessica? Then why did he imply that it was him?

Peter's eyes narrowed without suspicion. This time the squint was purely 'What the hell are you going on about, you butternut crunch bar.' "What...okay, when was this? What are you talking about, Grell? What other half?"

[deadlyjuliet.livejournal.com]

Either Kenny really was that bat-brained crazy or his other self was a compartmentalized identity that the poor teen really had no idea about. But to be honest, Grell had gotten the exact same feeling of that busty brunette as he had from this loser, so it was hard to think they were simply identical twins. It was something else entirely and since people didn't just go about having the exact same feeling as another person, the only logical conclusion was that Kenny was absolutely nutters.

"Oh, am I not supposed to mention her?" Hypocrite. Grell wanted to spit the word at the teen like acid, but that just wasn't ladylike. Also the guards were watching and provoking the face-eater into a fight here would be unwise. The last thing the death god wanted was to be reprimanded for the human child's craziness. "You know, if you weren't a complete brat, I might sympathize with you, but sadly your other half is just as horrible as you are. Such a shame, but at least you two are nice and cozy with your insanity."

Grell shrugged and tossed his hair over his shoulder, examining the stitching on his gloves as he spoke. "And since you don't seem to recall, it was last night. With your little boyfriend. The one you nearly killed a few nights past. Not that you likely remember. Psychopathy tends to do that."