There's something eerie about walking through an empty New York, a place that's supposed to be the opposite of a cowboy ghost town. At least there aren't any tumbleweeds. But it always leaves Peter feeling hallowed out in all the wrong ways, lost with nothing left to find. He doesn't even bother looking into the windows of empty buildings; he's done this too many times to know that there's nothing there to see, that there won't be anyone else looking back.

The sound of his footsteps echo far too loudly and Peter sighs, trying to ignore the part of him that keeps getting its hopes up at the turn of every corner. There's not going to be anyone there waiting. Not at this street or the next, and yet Peter peers around each street, down every alley, still searching for the remnants of people that might have passed by. Maybe if he listens hard enough he'll hear something outside of the thoughts inside his own head.

He's already done all his shouting, he always tries it, seeing if the sound of his voice might bring any wanderers out from hiding. But he always stops just before going hoarse, there's no point. Turning at another street corner, Peter will never enjoy feeling as if he's the last person left on earth.


[ ooc; feel free to hit up this post however you'd like to -- be it prose or actionspam/brackets. i'll respond accordingly ]

[ snow falls peacefully down in spirals in a large area, seemingly abandoned and destroyed. the walls are high and white, topped with beige borders that close off the entire space before and behind the house. from the gate, it's a long walk in the snow to the dilapidated building. the snow only shows one set of footprints walking past three defeated golems laying in the cold, all the way up the stairs, and into the rubble and what's left of what seemed to originally be a dojo.

hope you brought your jacket. she didn't. the snow catches in her bangs and ponytails as she lights the candles she could find behind her, jutting her sword into the ground. she kneels behind it, only then noting that she's not alone.

and she doesn't even seem to be worried. she looks fairly young, late teens, with an altered blue sailor fuku and a black headband pushing back some of her stark blond hair. she shifts her legs so she's sitting, pulling her silver gun from the holster that hangs from her shoulder. she has no intention of using it on you until you pose a threat, but she does like to keep it for security.

despite the wind, the candles don't go out. ]

What are you looking for?

It's not raining, nothing's going up in flames or coming crashing down in an apocalyptic fashion, and as far as Peter's concerned this is already a good dream. He's aware he has low expectations, but it doesn't matter because this dream is his own and when so few things are good, he'll take what he can get.

Wandering aimlessly through Central Park while dusk sets on the world has slowly started to become enough of a comfort that it's seeping into his unconscious when he needs it most. Nothing's expected of him here except for perhaps the occasional nod in greeting towards a passerby, and there's nothing he can do wrong as much as there's nothing he can do right. Even though somehow he's still ended up in his paramedic gear and the place is far quieter than usual, it doesn't matter. Because this isn't a rooftop, and this isn't work, and sometimes Peter still does actually enjoy taking a moment to watch the world pass by.



[ ooc; feel free to hit up this post however you'd like to -- be it prose or actionspam/brackets. i'll respond accordingly :3 ]

[ To think his dreams might resemble, to the outside viewer, a pleasant storybook reality is purely offensive - but for this one, in particular, there are few more apt descriptors. The sun shines bright, high overhead on this perfectly Spring day, and the world below is all warm, flowering meadow and leafy green forest as far as the eye can see. The terrain is a bit rocky in places, of course, and occasionally ends in a dangerous-looking drop-off, but that's the trouble of living on the mountainside.

At least it makes for some rather breathtaking views - though the dreamer of this rather ordinary (patently unimaginative) dream has no interest in sightseeing, himself. ]

Oi! Over there, don't go wandering off!

[ Scattered throughout the clearing above one rather low, unmenacing cliff edged with wildflowers, a pack of wolves are at rest, at play. His pack, over whom he watches, diligently, businesslike even in his habitually casual style of dress and bare feet. And it's to the stranger on the edge of this clearing that he calls, an individual he would not recognize in the waking world, but for now who his rational subconscious attempts to disguise as a familiar face. Just another member of the group. Family. ]

You know it's dangerous this time of year with humans in the forest.

[ooc: For his intro, Souichi will be seeing any visitors as "wolves" (kemonomimi like him) because he doesn't like change. But immersion in the dream is totally optional (i.e. characters can be entirely themselves and confused by all of this, or aware of having ears and a tail, or just be chill and go with the flow). Play it literally any way you like. ♥]

[ It's an unfamiliar site that you find yourself in tonight. An impossible room with different colors and glass floors, staircases that seem to go nowhere. At the center of the room is a column made of glass with panels filled with nonsense items: a typewriter, levers, hot and cold handles, even a phone! There's even a monitor hanging from the ceiling next to the man dressed in a tweet jacket and a bowtie. ]

No, this is definitely not the Eye of Orion... it doesn't make any sense! You're giving me nonsense, old girl, absolute babble! I know that the transfer might of been a bit confusing and backwards for you, but, no data whatsoever? What sort of nasty thing have you got in your time rotor this time?

[ Suddenly the man stops and turns and looks at you. He glances to the sides, shifting slightly, his hands flexing into small fists as he steps towards the edge of the glass ramp. ]

How did you get in here? No one can just walk into the TARDIS.


((ooc: intro post! ♥ this is a dream taking place within the console room of the TARDIS. if you have any questions regarding it, lemmie know! and, he doesn't know he's dreaming just yet. ))

Hadn't he stepped to this tune already? He's off-meter and the beat is running thin. Not that he had ever been much for music. Adam could appreciate a tune, and even decently carry one, but he'd never been one to see things through. He had foolishly thought things could be different with Peter. Things were always different with Peter.

He confides in the only thing he knows; more accurately, the only thing that knows him: the ocean. Its endless and unchanging face studies his own, and he knows he's been made.

"Peter." His voice doesn't sound like his own, and he doesn't turn - he can't. There's nowhere left to run.

[Buffy is facing this attractive looking bloke in the middle of an abandoned street. She's getting a little winded when one Peter Petrelli appears. Which is making Buffy wig because she's only ever seen this guy from that weird book club dream where they read about zombies.

He's coming closer, but she doesn't exactly have the energy to fight him and Big Ugly, so she really hopes he comes in peace. She feels his hand on her arm, and oh, she's - getting helped back to her feet. She quickly brushes some hair behind her ear and smiles a little through the ouch.]

Uh, thanks. [The demon comes back around, angrier than before, and she tries to shove him out of the way but her timing's off. Peter grabs the axe she dropped and rushes the creature--] No, I'm the only one who can-- [She cuts herself off as Peter lands a kick. What was this? Was Peter a vampire? She settles in to watch, and it's easy to see Peter's stronger than a vamp. He's exactly as strong as Buffy. After a few minutes he wears the thing down and manages to cut off its head, spraying everything around with a thick gooey substance. It has the consistency of Gushers and Buffy knows one shower won't take that out of her hair, but she turns her interest to Peter as the demon's enormous body crashes to the street.]

Okay, Buddy, spill. How'd you do that?

[Feel free to interrupt this little ~scene~ in any way you choose. Buffy and Peter are just going to derp around and try to figure this out 8D]

[ Peter is, as he's want to do from time to time, standing outside in the pouring rain on some city street. This is a pretty common occurrence in his life, truth be told, which is why he's yet to go anywhere. At least the world isn't falling down around him while it rains, which is a definite improvement to many of the moments in his life.

Oh, he's definitely about to start walking, considering it's... raining, just give him a few more seconds.

Until then, he's just going to stand and start looking only mostly drenched, head tipped down to at least keep the water out of his eyes. And anyway, he's got his coat on, so what more could he possibly need? Peter doesn't really do umbrella's. ]