exsiliumlogs | (no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She's never investigated the VR rooms all that closely. Used them for training, sure, but she doesn't have anywhere that she'd particularly like to call up to remember, which seems to be what a lot of people like to do.

But it's pretty useful for other purposes, though today she's more just taking the first door that presents itself as she tries to duck away from people and take a quick break from people's general presence. It's not until she's halfway in that she realizes she's walked into someone's simulation, but after a long moment she relaxes and considers it.

It's nice to see trees and the sun again, and she takes a step forward and holds her hand out, head tilted up to catch the fake light. She's forgotten the constantly present gun holstered at her side, the grime and dirt of the station. Just for a little bit, she's a little more relaxed.

If Peter was making a mental list of people that he expected to show up in his VR, Chasseur would definitely, definitely not have been on it. But there she is, standing there looking like the sunlight is a brand new thing. Peter's heart stutters in his chest. The last time he'd seen her, she'd shot him full of tranquilizers and threatened to slit his throat. And then...well, Peter didn't know. He'd woken up unharmed other than a wicked tranq hangover and where Chasseur had ended up hadn't been on his priority list at all. There had been far more important things to worry about.

But there she is. Could she have been one of the new arrivals, and somehow he didn't notice? Somehow she didn't notice him? That seems weird. He's pretty sure Chasseur wouldn't have missed him.

This is too damn surreal.

Peter climbs up the steps toward the road, a friendly smile pasted on his face. "Officer," he calls. "What brings you to this fine simulated neck of the woods today?"

The presence of a person doesn't register until he speaks, really. It would be unusual but she's become desensitized somewhat to their constant presence, is having some slight trouble distinguishing between individuals until they're closer.

She doesn't quite jump but her glance over is immediately sharp and calculating, unsure. He's addressed her like he knows her, and she's never seen him before in her life.

"Officer?" The confusion in her voice is genuine. She's never pretended to be an officer here like she had at home, and she's almost positive he's not from home. "Do we know each other?"

For a moment he just blinks, stunned, before something in the set of his posture relaxes faintly. Either she doesn't know him yet or it's just an uncanny resemblance. Either way, he's safe for the moment. Probably. He scratches the back of his neck with an air of faint embarrassment.

"Guess not! You just happen to bear an uncanny resemblance to someone I know. I'm Peter, anyway. Peter Rumancek." He gestures at the mailbox, where the peeling letters spell out his surname.

The wariness doesn't leave her body, because people recognizing her when she doesn't recognize them has so far gone very poorly. Last time Starbuck threatened to shoot her, so.

She's a little paranoid.

"I'm Max. Who do I look like?" It's a little blunt, sure, but it's a question she'd quite like an answer to.

"Dr. Clementine Chasseur." He says it in a slightly different accent--an imitation, although it's not really mocking. "She was working with the police around here." He waves a hand, meaning the place in the VR, not Exsilium. "Some girls died in the woods out this way, they thought it might be an animal attack."

Peter shrugs, hooks his thumbs in his pockets. He's not lying, but he's definitely not telling the entire truth, either. And he's had a lot of practice at that, it's all very natural.

"But it must just be an uncanny resemblance, because you're obviously not her."

"Well, I don't really work with police at all, so. Yeah, not me. Definitely not."

But seriously, this is a thing that doesn't need to happen again. He seems to be much more casual about it, but she rarely trusts people who look casual. They're the ones most likely to wait until you turn around and, you know, actually.

"Okay, question. If I turned around right now, would you try to shoot me just in case I was her?"

Peter looks stunned at the question. Gobsmacked, even, and the surprised confusion extends right down to the core of him. It takes a moment to get his mouth moving, he's a little preoccupied being quietly horrified.

"Lady, I don't have a gun, and even if I did I don't know how to use one worth a goddamn. I am the guy that gets shot at, not the guy who does the shooting."

She's watching him, paying close attention to the emotion coming off of him both in expression and mentally, and after a moment she relaxes, nods slowly. Okay, then.

"Sorry. Just had a bad run in with someone who thought they'd met me before here." But he does seem genuinely shocked at the idea of shooting her, and that's a pretty good sign. "I really prefer not to get shot at, which I guess you also prefer."

"Yeah. I have enough shit going on without adding high-speed projectiles onto the list."

Peter has the kind of aversion to guns that might be particular to a non-combatant who has had a gun pointed at them and a genuine fear of someone pulling the trigger. And perhaps oddly, he just believes Max when she says she's not Chasseur. Not that he's unwary, because there's not much about her manner that would set someone like him at ease, but he believes what she's said thus far.

"I can't really think of a situation where adding high speed projectiles actually helps things." Well, she can, but not any kind of situation normal people think of much. Not that he seems entirely normal, which is actually somewhat interesting. Most people here aren't, but still.

She turns a little, glances around where they've ended up. "Is this where you're from?"