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Peter Petrelli
26 August 2020 @ 10:21 pm


--

" Hey, you've reached Peter Petrelli. Sorry I missed your call - I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks. "

text || picture || message || web
 
 
Peter Petrelli
12 June 2020 @ 11:58 pm
This'd be my obligatory HMD post for... well, everything Peter related. Which basically means that i'm happy to hear anything you might want to tell me about regarding character my interactions.

For the most part.

While all questions, comments, concerns, and constructive criticism are welcome here, be considerate. Anonymous commenting will be on but that doesn't mean I want to leave myself wide open for any sort of.. unpleasantness. So just, be courteous, please? But that doesn't mean don't be honest when it comes to concrit, because i'm happy to hear it.
 
 
Peter Petrelli
05 September 2011 @ 06:16 pm
[ phone ]
So, uh- anyone else get something in the mail? Something from the mayor? Don’t really know if I trust it enough to open it. It’s not like i’ve got any reason to get anything from the guy.


[ action for 503 ricardo st & open ]
[ Peter’ll be opening his regain box oh so cautiously on the front porch. Feel free to ask him why the card in his box has got a little person on it that’s bleeding profusely... or whatnot.

Peter’s gettin’ back his rapid cellular regeneration, aww yeah.
]
 
 
Peter Petrelli
19 August 2011 @ 08:10 pm
[ thursday - friday; action for 503 ricardo st & open ]
[ Peter’s dosage of milk is of the special variety, and it’s got him holed up in various corners of the house that he has no intention of leaving. Hallucinations and paranoia are running rampant through his head, curled into himself for as long as he can get away with. He doesn't want to see the devastation he thinks he's caused.

At one point though, he makes it outside where he stands, watching anybody who walks by with an unmeasurable amount of fear, somehow expecting everyone who pasts to drop dead. Especially since while he's looking.. that's exactly what he's seeing.
]


[ friday; phone ]
The virus was released, wasn’t it.

I didn’t stop it. I couldn’t get to it in time.

That’s why this is all- [ he’s panicking, and it shows in the sound of his voice. ] Everybody’s dying.

[ a beat ] I was supposed to save the world.
 
 
Peter Petrelli
08 August 2011 @ 09:13 am
[ action; for 503 Ricardo Street ]
[ Upon waking, Peter goes into quiet panic mode, staring at the person next to him and shoving himself out of bed about as fast as he can possibly manage. He's out of the bedroom and wandering around his house mere seconds later, eyes wide obviously in some form of shock.

This isn't New York. This isn't him.

But then who is it? There are pictures of him on the wall. It looks like he lives here, it looks like he's married, like he has kids, like he's done all these things. But he hasn't. Maybe he'd be more quick to sneak out of here if it just looked like he had been kidnapped, but this was something different. It was all wrong. He didn't even want to touch anything, lest it become even more real. As long as he didn't run into any of his so called family members, maybe it'd be okay.
]


[ open action; Ricardo Street ]
[ Stepping out the front door, he makes his way at least all the way to the end of Ricardo street, not looking any less confused as he goes. Nearly oblivious to everything around him, he's staring at the passing houses, and then ducking his face to the sidewalk. Being outside the house was supposed to make it better, but he only felt worse. What was with these houses, why did everything look so perfect?

Awkwardly avoiding contact as he walks by someone, he glanced at one more house, looking pointedly miserable. Peter was hideous at keeping his heart from being on his sleeve, and he tugged at his collared shirt, feeling completely out of place.
]


[ phone; later ]
[ Even though he's connected, there's an incredibly long pause. Peter's unsure about using a phone to connect to a city en masse, but it's about the only option he's got left. ]

Can anyone- [ another pause. ] Can anyone hear me?

I'm not supposed to be here. I'm from New York, I'm not even- Someone's gotta know what's going on around here. I need to get back home. Is there someone, anyone I can talk to about it?

Anyone I can talk to about how I got here in the first place?
 
 
 
 
Peter Petrelli
18 June 2011 @ 11:29 pm
[ Much to Peter's utmost chagrin, his least favourite part of the day had arrived and he was forced to return to his apartment, the place he really couldn't even call a home anymore. It wasn't; he'd taken away every part of it that could be called even remotely comforting and turned his walls into the constant reminder of the guilt that was consuming him. He'd been told more than enough times lately to stop trying to spend the night in the break room, that his life couldn't become his job, that he needed to stop glory hounding. As if any of those things were going to happen any time soon.

Tossing his keys on the counter and toeing out of his shoes, he was beyond exhausted and yet still hyped up on too much adrenaline and not enough sleep. And even then, Peter hangs back by the door for a few moments too long, staring into the depths of his empty apartment. It felt cold, sterile at best, and he didn't want to be here. He didn't want the constant reminders of anything that had happened with Adam and if he didn't get to sleep soon, he'd have to deal with the impending thoughts he tried so hard to filter out of his mind.

Instead, he turns to the newspaper he'd brought inside with him and settles himself on the floor with a water bottle. If there was another article about an accident that he'd been on call for, then he was ready to cut it out and add it to the others. But he already knew it would register no emotion, that it would still mean next to nothing in the grand scheme of things. There was no amount of people he could save anymore that would make up for all he'd done wrong.
]
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Peter Petrelli
[ It was really a good thing that he'd brought a jacket to that kids house; he hadn't been expecting to be shot at close range by a rifle and walking into a hospital a bloody mess was likely to send off alarms. But even if he hadn't, it wouldn't have stopped him. All of this provided a distraction from the virus and Adam and the Company and everything else Peter wanted to ignore, so in the grand scheme of things, he didn't particularly mind.

And seeing as he was on a mission to save Hiro? Stopping to clean up wasn't on the schedule.

Making his way through the hospital to Hiro's room, Peter keeps his hands balled in his pockets, working on perfecting his nonchalant act, so that by the time he's poking his head into Hiro's room, he's got it down cold. Sort of.
]

Hey, Hiro.
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Peter Petrelli
[ Peter had snagged the newspaper at the first opportunity after they'd gotten up far past the sunrise, dropping down onto his awful couch with it. Ignoring all the usual pages he turned to first and beginning to peruse the wanted ads for other apartments, Peter realized that he had absolutely no idea what he was looking for. What he even potentially wanted out of another apartment. Except for it being... not here.

He'd been wanting to move ever since Sylar's invasion of his home. But that still didn't mean that Peter had really wanted to move. This had still been his home for a number of years -- he'd gotten used to it. And he'd sort of forgotten what looking for an apartment entailed to begin with. And if he was going to be moving along with Adam-- well, then the decision wasn't entirely up to him. Looking up from his paper and looking around for Adam, Peter realized that he was quite possibly rushing things a little bit. Flipping back to the front page didn't help matters and finally he just flops the paper back on his coffee table, concluding it might be time for coffee.
]
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