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Date & Time: about 10/25 on
Location: VR room
Characters: Peter and whoever
Summary: Peter's made some of Hemlock Grove in the VR. he might show some people, but anyone can wander in.
Warnings: Peter has a dirty mouth?

It takes him the better part of two weeks, but after a lot of trial and error and database combing, he finally manages to get it right. Home. Well, home for the moment. The VR opens right into the middle of a winding, nearly-shoulderless Pennsylvania road, facing a rusty mailbox that reads Rumancek in peeling reflective letter stickers. There's a break in the metal shoulder-guard and a set of stairs leading down a rather steep hill to a flat area below, where an old blue trailer sits in a bit of clearing upon which the woods is definitely encroaching. It's nothing much to look at; whoever lives there obviously does not value any sort of lawn maintenance. The backyard has a hammock stretched between two trees and an ancient fridge that's entirely purposed for beer storage, judging by the bottles littered nearby. There's a creek nearby, and on the other side of it and up the hill a bit is a pond overlooked by a huge house. Mostly there's just a lot of trees, though, and the occasional low rumble of a train passing in the distance.

Sometimes it's summer, all verdant green and buzzing cicadas and humid heat that just barely avoids being oppressive. Other times it's autumn, and the trees are ablaze in red and orange and brown. Either way, there's almost always a breeze making the leaves whisper overhead and the screened back door of the trailer is always propped open.

Peter can often be found in the hammock, but sometimes there's no sign of any human presence in the VR at all. Sometimes, the only hint of another presence might be the brown blur of a wolf running near-silent through the trees.

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"Yeah, like, they had the little bonnets and everything. I had to dress up to blend in," He's free to imagine Steph dressed in traditional Amish clothes and laugh, she won't hold it against him.

As for the weirdest thing, she hums thoughtfully, casting a glance at the sky, wracking her memory. For all that she's a superhero, she's tends to have dealt with the more mundance stuff, "I think that might actually be it. I mean, my ex dated Zeus' daughter and my best friend's an alien, but I tended to stick to your run of the mill criminals and non-powered supervillains. Seeing Clayface turn into me was pretty fucking weird, and I got hit by a drug made from a plant from another world that put me in a coma and made me live out about twenty differnt lives, but..." A shrug, "That's pretty small scale stuff, considering what some of my friends have dealt with."

There's something she's leaving out, a dream that feels more like a memory, snatches of images and Cass's hand in hers, when she was in close to death those few months after Sionis. But she's not sure how to talk about that, or if it was even real.

Edited 2013-10-29 12:30 (UTC)

"You'd look cute in the little bonnet. And you have an excellent capacity for weird." He says that like it's high praise, which is exactly how he means it. Most people ignored the magic happening right in front of their faces, it seems like Steph didn't do that even before she ended up in the post-apocalyptic alternate future or on the moon.

"As far as undercover goes, I preferred the school girl uniform, but I did rock the bonnet," The praise gets a genuine smile, because she does pride herself on being able to handle anything that gets thrown her way, "It helps if you start young, I got, uh--" She flops onto her back, floating on the water, so Peter can see where she taps the scars on her left leg, "That, when I was sixteen, after a dude possessed by a magical staff that he'd plunged into his chest threw a bike at me."

Sixteen isn't that young, really, but it feels like so long ago that she kind of thinks it is.

"Schoolgirl uniform beats bonnet, hands down." Steph seems much more the rolled-up skirt Catholic school type than the modest farmer sort. Or maybe Peter just thinks she has really great legs. One of those.

But the sixteen part makes him shake his head and chuckle. "I'm seventeen. But I guess we all gotta get our formative years in sometime. Rough entrance into the world of magic, though."

"A lot easier to fight in, too," Which is the most legitimate concern she has when picking out clothes, and tends to come second after whether it'll cover up her scars, "Which was handy, since the other girls tried to hang me."

Yep.

"I would've pegged you as eighteen," So close, "But yeah, I spent my childhood dealing with murderers and thieves, the magic didn't come 'till later."

"Jesus, Steph, you really know how to fall in with the right people." By which, of course, he means the wrong ones. Peter's been picked on for most of his life, but nobody in school has ever made a good shot at killing him. "Bullies in Gotham don't fuck around."

"That was in Britain, actually," Not that he doesn't have a good point about her falling in with the right people, or bullies in Gotham, but still, "The school was training girls to be assassins and brainwashing them into a cult, and I was sent to stop it. But they caught on that someone was sending messages from inside the school, so..."

So they tried to hang her.

"Assassin bullies, even better." He throws up his hands, kicking his legs hard enough that he bobs a bit out of the water instead of going under. "Guess it's never boring being you." On one hand, he can appreciate the desire for a life that's never boring. On the other, Peter is pretty comfortable with the lack of constant mortal danger in his existence. He'd like to be done with heroics already almost as much as Steph thrives in that place.

"You'd think that, but the downtime when I get injured is a killer," Being practically bedridden with a broken leg was the worst, second only to being stuck in hospital after Sionis, "I think I've watched more daytime TV than any sane person should."

"It's not too bad until you can follow the soaps. Then you're in trouble." He shakes his head, pushes his hair back. "I'll take my relatively ordinary life of lycanthropy with the occasional side of semi-legal activities, though, thanks. People only try to kill me sometimes, if kind of a lot lately."

"Nah, it's when you're hooked on the telenovelas," Although it helped that she can speak Spanish, so she could actually follow those.

She laughs at the lycanthropy comment, "Lately as in Exsilium, or did you get yourself into trouble back home?"

"Spanish is not my second language of choice, but I see your point."

He waves a hand. "Home. You know how it is, crazed werewolf comes to town and starts eating teenaged girls, people start rumors, get you framed for murder. The normal stuff." Except it's not normal stuff, and he doesn't entirely manage as causal a tone as he was aiming for. It's not amish witches or schoolgirl assassins, but it was still pretty fucked up.

"Romani?" She might not be a detective on the same level as Bruce or Tim, but she knows how to put a few clues together.

And no, it's not amish witches or schoolgirl assassins, but that doesn't make it any less shitty, and she winces sympathetically, "Jesus, did it all get cleared up?"

She's been framed for murder before, and she can't imagine having it hanging over her head while being stuck here.

"You got it. Halfbreed, but that's good enough for me." He shrugs. "Technically, yeah. Vargulf's dead, no more girls are dying, public has someone to blame who was actually a better person than all the rest of us put together." And as much as it was his ass that was saved by that framing, it still chafes that everyone in town was so ready to take for a monster the girl with the sweetest soul in all of Hemlock Grove. "But people don't just forget. Not like that whole story's ever coming out for real. Cops are cops, they'll take any excuse to harass us. The Man's got a real hard-on for persecuting my people." That's just a plain old fact of life.

Steph's silent for a little while, just digesting that, idly treading water and not quite looking at Peter, even though it's clear she was paying attention. Words aren't really her strong point, for all that she's feeling a little more confident with them in the last couple of months. And there probably aren't words for all that, anyway.

"I'm sorry," It's not enough, but there's something almost painfully genuine in her tone. She knows she wouldn't ever be able to understand exactly what it's like to be in Peter's position, but she can empathize.

He looks over at her. Peter's got some mixed opinions on apologies. On one hand, they're an admission that someone fucked up. On the other, that doesn't fix anything, especially since the people most willing to apologize aren't the ones who had anything to do with the fucking up. And that's true here, too. But Steph's not just some rich white girl who's never had to do anything hard or seen what it looks like from the other side of that carefully gated community of class privilege.

"Yeah, thanks. It sucked." He tilts his head back, soaking his hair and slicking it off his face. "But things keep going, y'know? Life keeps trucking along."

There's a huff of breath that could be a laugh, if there was any humour in it, "I haven't figured out if that's better or worse, yet."

That life keeps moving despite all the awful things that happen, institutionalized or not. After Sionis, it felt like the whole world had come to a halt, like she'd stepped outside of time, until the front page of a newspaper informed her that Superboy was dead.

Maybe that's why it's so easy to tun when bad things happen, she's just trying to escape from the fact that life keeps trucking along.

"Better. I prefer being cosmically insignificant to thinking that whatever might be running this show is keeping an eye on me." He bobs up onto his back again, kicking his feet a bit to get there. "Shit that happens between people, that's personal. But the universe isn't out to get anybody, or to help anybody either. I mean, if it was, could you even imagine the collateral damage?"

"We have gods, back home, and they fuck with us all the time," It's not exactly a response to what he said, but it feels like something to mention when the idea of being cosmically insignificant comes up.

That makes him raise an eyebrow, because seriously, what the hell isn't in Steph's world, at this point?

"God gods? Like created the universe gods? Or like...something else, I don't know. Faery kings or the Greeks or whatever."

"Uh...." That's a little tricky to answer, because she knows bits and pieces from her own experiences and Bruce's files, but she's not sure how to put it all together, "There's the Greek gods, definitely; I know a girl who's Zeus' daughter. And there's Egyptian gods, sort of, I think."

She makes a face, a little apologetic because she knows how ridiculous this all is.

"And then there's the New Gods, who are aliens but they're really powerful and there's the whole Anti-life equation, which lets someone control any sentient being, and Darkseid's a New God who can like, fuck with reality."

Excuse her while she huffs out a breath and disappears under the water, trying to focus her thoughts, when she resurfaces again she's still making that face.

"My world is really fucked up."

No shit.

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