Conversation with Christopher: Peter (and Others) Part 3

Paul shudders in the silence, hugging himself, trying to still his own trembling. 

It’s a silence Christopher felt compelled to give into, relaxing all movement, anything which might make noise. Never mind that he’s supposed to be having a conversation. Let the silence breathe for a moment. To interrupt would be rude. No, worse. Unkind. 

Peter has no such reservations. He walks over to Paul, drops to his knees, and hugs him, murmuring something into his ear. 

They look more like brothers than former lovers, holding each other. There’s a stamp of similiarity to their features; same generous mouth, same up-turned nose, same delicate jawline, the same lustrous dark eyes, filled with emotions. Even the way their hair curls, falling in locks over their foreheads is the same, even if Peter’s is more russet. 

For a moment Paul allows himself to be hugged. Allows himself to relax, to release a hissing breath.

Paul: No. (He pulls away, pushes Peter away.) Just because the ugliest part of me has taken on a separate form means you’re safe from me. Quite the contrary.

Peter: When did I ever want to be safe? Especially from you? (He reaches for Paul again.)

Paul accepts his hand, rising to his feet, lifting Peter to his as he does. The two of them stand and turn toward the bust. 

Paul: I don’t know why you brought Suetonian here. 

Peter: He represents our talent for self-deception, but also for re-invention. 

Paul: Do you want to re-invent yourself, Peter? 

Peter: (tightening his grip on Paul’s hand, eye bright with a hunger he doesn’t bother to hide) Always. 

Paul: (smiling with a measure of scorn) A pity. I don’t. Not now that I’ve cast off my ugliest feathers.

He pulls his hand free of his former lover’s with a violent anger that makes Peter stumble. He stares at Christopher, sitting silently in the audience.

Paul: We’ve all got something to hide, deep outside, wanting to come out. You’ve seen what I’ve got. When are you going to show yours?

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spreads his arms, transforming into a blur of spiralling black feathers. The feathers become birds. They fly in all directions, seeking the exits, not stopping to dive at anyone on the way. 

Christopher watches them go. He looks back at the stage, to see Peter gazing at him. 

Peter: When are you going to show me?

Christopher: What makes you think I haven’t?

Peter lets out a chuckle at this. He runs a finger over Suetonian’s stone head. 

The bust silently scowls. 

(To be continued…)


Conversations with Christopher: Peter (And Others) Part 2

The damask wall behind begins to bleed. A blood tear runs from the stone eye of Suetonian’s bust. 

Peter: (looking from wall to stone face) Why are you crying? Is the desire to be loved so wrong? I’m willing to change in order to wine that love. 

A second tear runs down from Suetonian’s other eye. 

Peter turns to look at Christopher still sitting in the empty theatre. The slender boy is very still, keeping his hands laced tight in his lap. 

Peter: Are you listening? Am I so wrong?

Christopher: No, but I’m not you.

Peter: What’s that supposed to me? (He gestures to the wall and the bust.) Do you think I’m the one doing this?

Paul: Always. 

His voice comes from everywhere in the theater, surrounding the stage. 

Peter spins around, looking here and there, trying to spot his former lover. 

A raven flies down from rafters hidden in the darkness above to alight on Suetonian’s bust. It deliver a single derisive peck to the liar, err, historian’s head. 

Peter: Now that’s just rude. (He wiped his brow, tossing his auburn curls over his shoulder.) Not to mention hypocritical. 

The raven fixes its beady eye upon Peter. There’s something both lascivious and contemptuous about its stare. 

Peter: (backs away) You have no right to look at me like that. 

The bird flies down to the ground and puffs out its chest, hunching within its wings. The feathered dark body begins to grow. Its shadow expands along with its body, drawing in the darkness swarming around the threater to swirl in its body. Too much darkness for whatever is forming. Some of it drips sodden feathers, turning into a pools of a reddish-brown ooze. The ooze smells like rot, mildew, and something sickeningly sweet. 

The body swells to man-size, wings folding to reveal a young man’s pale slender body. Paul raises his glossy dark head, fixing a reproachful ebon eye upon Peter. 

Paul: Don’t I? Who amongst us isn’t a hypocrite? Certainly not you, flinching from this form. Do you detest yourself that much?

Peter: (mouth half-open in shock) Do you even need to ask that question? You’re the one who made me hate myself. 

Paul: I’ve never been able to make you do anything. No matter how hard I tried. 

Peter: Is that why you left me?

Paul: I left you because I was trying to protect you from all this!

Paul drops to his knees. The wings vanish from his back, leaving a few feather to flutter in their wake. 

One of them drifts toward Christopher, hovering around his face. 

Christopher: (shutting his eyes) No. I’m not going to feed on you. Not now. 

The feather vanishes in a shower of golden dust which clings to Christopher’s face, lips, and tightly clasped hands. 

Christopher: No. 

Some of the dust slips into his mouth when he speaks, making him choke, making him lose his grip on himself. 

Paul: There’s no such thing as refusing to feed for a shadow. Not for very long. Even if you say no, we can’t help but throw ourselves at you when you’re hungry. 

Peter: Leave him alone. You’re here to torment me, aren’t you?

The pools of ooze slid across the floor, become one. A figure rises, dripping reddish brown slime  which disappears before it hits the ground. It disappears into the man’s black beard, his pale skin, his dark robes. 

The man grins a yellow-toothed grin, filled with ugly glee. He lacks Paul’s beauty, yet he looks very much like Paul might, given added years and a life of malice. 

Gryluxx: Oh, I’m here to torment everyone I can. It’s my pleasure. 

Christopher: Gryluxx. 

Peter: Gryluxx? The feather-brained gossip of the Shadow Forest? 

Gryluxx: Watch who you call feather-brained, my pretty pervert. It’s only too close to insulting yourself, is it not? 

Gryluxx walks over to Paul to lay a hand upon his head. 

Paul shivers, shutting his eyes, a look of revulsion distorting his delicate features, features which are very like Gryluxx’s own. It’s their expressions which change them into something very different. 

Peter: What are you doing? Leave him alone!

Gryluxx: Why should I do that? Why should I do anything you say? Because this is your stage and you are the star? Just how long can you wallow in that delusion? 

Christopher: (standing up) What do you want, Gryluxx?

Gryluxx: Peace, little shadow. Your part in this conversation is only as the audience. You might choke on a spoiler if you’re not silent. 

Christopher: One might say your entire appearance here with Paul is a spoiler. 

Gryluxx: One might say many things. (He runs his fingers through Paul’s lustrous dark hair.) One might speak of weakness, of eternal youth and beauty as a plaything to a god. Or worse, a goddess. 

He gives Christopher and Peter both meaningful smirks, making them flush in response.

Gryluxx: Yes, we might speak of passion for pretty perverts and time wasted trying to save them from their own debasement. We might speak of distractions from the hunt.

It is Paul’s turn to flinch, shivering under Gryluxx’s caress. 

Peter: You’re a fine one to speak of perverts, touching him like that. (He advances, hands balled in a fist.) Who do you think you are?

Gryluxx: Who do I think I am? (He stopped, fixing Peter with an angry glare.) Don’t you see, you foppish little fool? You with your set, your bust, and your need to be loved. Well, you were loved and I’m bored of it. (He looks the auburn-haired youth up and down with a sneer.) 

Paul looks up at the man touching him with sheer revulsion. 

Paul: No. It’s a lie. I never stopped loving Peter, no matter how much he exasperated me. You’re not part of me. You’re not part of me.

Gryluxx: (stooping to lean close to whisper in Paul’s ear) No, I’m not. You rejected me. You’ve released me. Now I’m free to do as I please. (He lets out an ugly caw to rend the air, piercing everyone’s ears.)

Christopher claps his hands over his, feeling his skin crawl. Peter takes a step back, flinching at the sound. Paul swallows, his face twisting in revulsion. 

Gryluxx: Oh, how you scorn my cries! Cringe all you wish before me, but I exist. I am ambition. I am frustration. I am everything you find too petty you acknowledge, but I am here.

Paul: No. (Paul slowly gets to his feet, glowering at Gryluxx. The golden light in his eyes is hellish.) You have no place here.

Gryluxx: (wagging a finger under Paul’s nose) Deny me all you wish. You’ve created that place. Your own disgust with yourself summoned me forth. 

Paul: Why? What do you want? To destroy me?

Gryluxx: To destroy you. To live for you. To do all the things you would not. Everything Jupitre would not let you do. Everything you were afraid of showing Peter.

Paul: (becomes very still, still as a statue) What do you mean? 

Gryluxx: Now, now. If I spoiled the surprise, it would certainly be a spoiler. Just wait and find out!

He spreads his arms, disappearing into a flock of black birds, all cawing in mockery. The raven take flight, going up and in all directions.

Some of them dive bomb Christopher, beaks aimed at his face. He ducks, shielding his head. The theatre is filled with their cries, their discordant laughter, the flap of birds’s wings before the ravens find the unseen exits in this place not visible in the dark. 

The silence they leave behind is a living, breathing thing. 

(To be continued…) 

Conversations with Christopher: Peter

Troubled by Paul and Hebe’s words about Peter, Christopher walks into ever-darkening mist, sensing his own desires are guiding him as much as the Cauldron’s next guest’s. 

The darkness doesn’t abate. He finds himself in an enclosed space yet space is all around him, filled with rows of seats and a stage standing before him. 

Lights illuminate the theatre, the single wall of crimson damask which forms the set. Peter paces in front of it, wearing a high-necked yellow shirt, a loose cravat, a red waistcoat, and matching breeches. He pauses next to a marble bust of man wtih a stern, frowning face. 

Christopher stops in the middle of the aisle, looking across the empty theatre. There’s no one here, but Peter and himself. 

Christopher: That’s a new look for you.

Peter: (not looking at him) I was trying to figure out what to say to you. Trying to rehearse the words as if they were lines in a play. Behold! (He spreads his arms wide and does a little spin.) I found myself here, on stage! (He pats the bust upon the head.) Quite the amusing little turn of the surreal, isn’t it, you old rogue?

Christopher gives the bust a wary look. You never know who or what might speak in the Cauldron.

The bust remains silent, all dour frowns. That doesn’t mean it…or he…isn’t listening.

Christopher takes a seat in the front row. 

Christopher: Who’s that? (waving at the bust)

Peter: A liar. Or a historian. (He shrugs.) For Suetonian, they were one and the same. It wasn’t about painting an accurate picture of the past for this particular record-keeper. It was about telling an entertaining tale which would be passed from listener to listener. Embellishments were welcome, especially if they suited his needs. 

Christopher: Why is he here?

Peter: Old Suetonian? (He let out a strained giggle.) Strange to hear myself speak of him thus. How I admired him when I was younger! Paul thought I was mad to do so. Now he’s nothing more than a prop, a reminder of my own compulsion to tell a pleasing tale with only enough truth to make it nourishing. 

Christopher: Is that what you want to tell me, Peter? A pleasing tale?

Peter: Someone has to do it. I’m sure Paul won’t. 

Christopher: He’s worried about you. Worried about what he might do to you, what he might have done. 

Peter: (letting out another strained chuckle) A little late for that. 

Christopher: He’s also worried about what I might do to you.

Peter: What you might do to me? (He throws his head back and laughs.) 

Christopher: (flushing) He’s right. At least he is about me. I have a bad feeling he’s right about himself, too. 

Peter: The shadow and the hunter, oh no! (He raises a hand in a mocking gesture of stage fear and swooning.) 

Christopher: It’s true. 

Peter: Oh, yes, it’s so truthfully one side of the truth! (He paces across the stage and make a turn.) If there’s one thing you and Paul have in common, it’s a tendency to shy away from everyone else out of fear of how scary you are. I’ve never been scared of you. Either of you. 

Christopher: Maybe you should be. 

Peter: And maybe there’s a gentleness, a vulnerability in both of you you’re unaware of. A certain tenderness that puts you in as much danger from me. 

Christopher: Is that what you think?

Peter: I’m the one that lures you into Once Upon a Time’s mouth.

Christopher: I have a bad feeling that was a spoiler. 

Peter: He’s the beginning of all stories so it should be expected. Stories involve conflict, even outright hell. Hell has at times been a mouth. Why shouldn’t Once Upon a Time, everyone’s beginning be a mouth ready to swallow them?

Christopher: It’s a frightening image. I much prefer to think of Once Upon a Time as a Door opening to a path which takes us where we wish to go. Even if it’s the wrong path. 

Peter: That, too. It’s all metaphor, only metaphor, yet metaphor means more than anyone realizes until it’s too late. 

Christopher: (sighs) I’m afraid that’s true.

Peter: (pacing back until he returns to Suetonian) All my lies are true. Unlike this old fellow. (He pats the bust on the head.)

Christopher: (smiles, shaking his head) There you go again. Distracting me from your contradictory words with a joke. 

Peter: My dear Christopher, I’ve never met a more contradictory child than you. (He makes a sweeping bow to his audience of one.) Everything you do is a contradiction. 

Christopher: (frowning) How so?

Peter: You feed on the living, you feed on other shadows. You feed on life, vitality, passion, memory, and thought. All the while you scheme to give those things back. 

Christopher: Scheme?

Peter: Carrying the stone, the egg, giving life to those delectable twins. That was quite the mythological scheme worthy of an old god. Or godling. 

Christopher: (squirming uncomfortably in his seat) Not my scheme alone. 

Peter: No, it was quite collaborative. You helped a lot of half-empty people achieve their own dreams, get at least a piece of them back in the process. Stealing Myself From Shadows, indeed! 

Christopher: (straightening his shoulders) Perhaps I define myself differently than you do. 

Peter: Don’t be so sure of that. We were were both happy in the Navel, giving people what they didn’t even want back. 

Christopher: Are you saying you’re like me?

Peter: Yes and no. I’m not sure if I’d give as generously as you, although I may have to be brave enough to try. 

Christopher: Why?

Peter: For my wish to be granted. Like I said, you were entirely too generous, but I want more. 

Christopher: Generous? I don’t remember giving you what you wanted. 

Peter: Yes, you did. You and Paul are alike in this as well. You’re willing to give away everything you have, everything you are, yet you’re hungry void ready to swallow everything

Christopher: Which is why we’re dangerous to you, no matter how gentle or generous you believe us to be. 

Peter: No matter how gentle, generous, or hungry you might be, you’re no match for me. 

Christopher: What do you mean?

Peter: I was happier than I’ve ever been in my life with Paul. The closest I’ve come to that happiness was with you. At the same time I wasn’t satisfied. 

Christopher: Why not?

Peter: (taking a deep breath, pausing center stage) I want to make everyone happy. I want to make everyone love and worship me. 

Christopher: (sighed) I’ve tried making everyone happy. Or perhaps I’m going to try making everyone happy. I’m not happy with my chances of success. 

Peter: Neither am I, but it’s what I want. No matter how small my chances of success are. 

(To be continued) 

Secondary Characters Speak Out: Quartz and Paul

Quartz stumbles out of the fog, batting away a twig which landed almost directly on his nose. 

Quartz: Ruddy Shadow Forest. Makes me almost miss the Forest of Tears. No matter. Whatever trees loom over me, the twigs are rude. 

Paul: I’m sure the twigs regard you with equal courtesy. As for the trees, they are not part of the Shadow Forest, even if they have a similar nature, due to their shared mercurial creatrix. As you are well aware. 

Quartz starts at the voice, the youth sitting lotus style in the clearing by the river and at the golden dragons crouched on each corner of the temple’s blue roof. 

Quartz: Right. Now there’s ruddy dragons.

Paul: It’s not as if you haven’t made the acquaintance of dragons before. (He takes a sniff of the air without turning to face Quartz.) There’s a trace of brimstone still clinging to you. 

Quartz: Of course there is. (sniffs his own sleeve warily) Can’t say I smell it. What’s your dragons’s story?

For a moment the golden dragons seem to snap playfully at Quartz before settling down upon the roof. 

Paul: You said it yourself. There are mine, a manifestation of part of me. I couldn’t let seductive shadows and doubtful dwarves be the only ones with draconic allies. These may be small, but they’re young and fierce, stirring when I say. 

Quartz: Right. (He gives the dragons on the roof a sharp glance. They don’t respond.)

Paul: Either that or they’re simply part of the achitecture, animated by the strange nature of this Cauldron.

Quartz: So which is it?

Paul: Far be it from me to spoil your fun. I’ll let you decide.

Quartz: Right. And who are you anyway?

Paul: A secondary character. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Talk to secondary characters?

Quartz: Among other things, aye. (He smooths his beard.) Got something to say, do you? 

Paul: I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.

Quartz: Not very pleasant, are you? Coming from me, that’s saying something?

Paul: I’ve lost my more pleasant half. Peter was the one who wanted to please people. Without him, I grow increasingly unpleasant. 

Quartz: That what you want to talk about?

Paul: Among other things. You know the little shadow quite well, don’t you?

Quartz: There’s more than one little shadow running around in our scribbler’s scrambled imagination. You’ll have to more specific. 

Paul: The one who hosts this Cauldron when you’re not doing it. 

Quartz: Aye, Christopher. We’re from different worlds, he and I. Different stories. We meet here from time to time. Not sure if that’s the same as knowing him well. 

Paul: You have talked to him more than once. And he’s talked to you about the people from his world. 

Quartz: Aye, from time to time. 

Paul: What does he want with Peter?

Quartz: Why don’t you ask him yourself?

Paul: I’m asking you. A shadow’s words are as insubstantial as his memories. 

Quartz: (snorts) Got a low opinion of shadows, eh?

Paul: Am I wrong?

Quartz: Want keeps a shadow lingering beneath the trees in that Forest of theirs. From what I’ve seen, it gives them substance.

Paul: Right. (He turns his head to offer Quartz a humorless smile.) And what does Christopher want?

Quartz: From what I’ve heard? (He gives Paul a vicious grin.) Damian. Or the twins. He’s never mentioned Peter.

Paul: Of course not. (A flicker of sadness softens the beautiful mask of his face for a moment.)

Quartz: (his manner a little gentler) Just what do you want to know?

Paul: Shadows lure dreamers off their chosen paths to devour them. 

Quartz: Aye, if they can catch them. Makes me glad I’m just visiting this weird dreamworld of yours. Or a shadow of it. 

Paul: (nodding his head at the irony of this) Peter is one of the most hopeless dreamers I’ve ever met. (His full lips part in contemplation of a vision of something or someone far away.)

Quartz: Huh. Ever think it might be the other way around?

Paul: (dark eyes sharpening as they fix upon his companion) What do you mean?

Quartz: Maybe you’re the hopeless dreamer. 

Paul stares at him for a long moment and begins to laugh. 

Paul: Maybe you’re right. Peter certainly thought I was. 

Quartz: Here’s another thought. Maybe you should be asking what Peter wants with Christopher. Not what Christopher wants with Peter.

Paul: (turning his head back toward the river) I already know. Peter thinks Christopher is the key to his dreams, to opening a Door to the Shadow Forest.

Quartz: A shadow key to a Shadow Forest, eh? 

Paul: (grimacing) That and Peter always had an eye for a pretty face.

Quartz: Not a great beard. No accounting for taste.

Paul: (almost smiles and stops himself) I’m inclined to agree with you even while I disagree with you, dwarf.

Quartz: So your Peter wants Christopher and you’re worried what Christopher is going to do about it. 

Paul: I suppose I am. 

Quartz: What are you going to do about it?

Paul: Put a stop to whatever hold that little shadow has over my Peter.

Quartz: How’re you going to do that?

Paul: The moment Christopher lures Peter across the threshold of a Door, entering the Shadow Forest, I’ll snatch Peter. 

Quartz: Sounds like you’re a shadow yourself. 

Paul doesn’t reply. 

Quartz: Also sounds like you’re jealous as well as worried. 

Paul: (turning his head again toward Quartz with a bitter smile) Many monsters are jealous. Does this surprise you?

Quartz: Can’t say it does. 

He waits, half-anticipating Nimmie Not to pop out and say something. For once his kobold is silent. 

Something about this particular secondary character makes Nimmie Not uneasy. Too uneasy to make his usual claims to Quartz. This does not reassure Quartz.

Christopher and Peter had better be careful. 

Conversations with Christopher: Paul

Tayel turns to run through the flowers. Danyel with a backward glance, follows him.

Christopher wishes he could chase after the twins, but the mist rises beneath his feet, swallowing the floating flowers, cutting him off from the way Danyel and Tayel have taken. There’s a bite and a sting to this haze. 

Christopher closes his eyes and walks forward. He opens them, seeing a little green clearing with a stream trickling over rocks. A small green temple with a curved blue roof sits amidst the grass. Four golden dragons poke their snouths out of the four corners of the cerulean tiles. Small and silent, they spy out the land below. 

Christopher presses his hand to his breast, feeling more than hearing Crowne hiss within. 

Paul: (not that Christopher knows who he is, not yet) Calm yourself, little shadow. I have no intention of hurting you. 

A young man sits, shapely calves curved in the lotus position, a position Christopher recalls in a memory flash he doesn’t remember. The young man’s curly russet hair reminds him of Peter, only it’s darker, less red, and curls of his ears and the nape of his neck, rather than falling to his shoulders. 

The young man looks at him with soulful dark eyes which again make Christopher think of Peter. Only there’s a flash of gold in those eyes akin to the silver triangles which glitter within Tayel’s.

Christopher: Who are you?

Paul: (without looking at him, smiling without mirth) I’m certain Peter mentioned me at some point. 

Christopher: (recalling Peter’s rare moments of seriousness when he mentioned the lover who left him) You’re not Paul?

Paul: Peter might question that, but I am. I wasn’t sure if he’d remember me, considering the reckless way he wandered off into the mists, only to seek shelter at the Navel of all places. 

Christopher: Why wouldn’t he seek shelter with us? You broke his heart, didn’t you?

Paul: And you’ve stolen at least one of the fragments of that broken heart, haven’t you? For all I’ve tried to keep the pieces safe. 

Christopher: Just how have you tried to keep any part of Peter safe?!

Paul: By breaking his heart rather than getting him involved in my dangerous existence. By sending him away. Only he’s willingly walked into greater peril than he would have faced at my side, I fear. 

Christopher: If you feared this, you shouldn’t have sent Peter away. You should have protected Peter. Every part of him. 

Paul: A far more difficult task than you realize, little shadow. Peter is drawn to dangerous objects of desire. Like me. Like you. Like the spider lady you once worshipped. 

Christopher: You mean the Lady Duessa Ashelocke? I didn’t want Peter to go with her. I tried to warn him.

Paul: You needed to do more than warn him. If I had an arachnocrat in my Place of Power, I would not permit an arachnocrat to walk in. Let alone walk out with anything or anyone I deemed precious. 

Christopher: The Navel isn’t that sort of Place of Power. Anyone can walk in if they need to. 

Paul: You’re saying my Peter needed you?

Christopher: He needed the Navel. As for he knew, he wasn’t yours anymore. 

Paul: He’ll always be mine. I can feel his pain, even from afar. His longing to be loved by everyone. (He wrinkles his nose.) An impossible thing to do unless he shatters himself into many pieces. 

Christopher: (shivers) Impossible is possible in some places.

Paul: Yes, you’ve done is, haven’t you? This is why Peter is so drawn to you. You’re the embodiment of his wish. 

Christopher: No, I’m not. No matter what he thinks.

Paul: So you say. So you draw away from Peter. Driving him to seek a Door to the Shadow Forest.

Christopher: That’s not my intention. The last thing I want is for Peter to be lost the way Damian was.

Paul: If you mean that, stop him. Is it too much to give him what he wants? To be who he needs you to be?

Christopher: I might ask you the same thing.

Paul: So that’s your answer, little shadow. (He smiles grimly.) Neither of us can give him what he wants. We have both failed him.

Christopher: Just because we’ve failed him doesn’t mean he has to fail himself. 

Paul: Oh? You’re saying we cannot help him. Or we shouldn’t. 

Christopher: I’m saying that Peter found the Navel. There’s a reason he came to Omphalos.

Paul: Or a reason he came to you.

Christopher: The same reason he came to you?

Paul: Don’t speak as if we’re alike, little shadow. One night I’ll come for you as I come for every monster.

Christopher: I thought you wouldn’t hurt me. 

Paul: Here and now, no. Not during this conversation, but you are still a shadow. A creature that hungers for the memories, dreams, and desires of your victims. Just as I hunger for you and other predators. 

Christopher: You sound like a monster yourself. 

Paul: Perhaps it takes a monster to hunt other monsters. Peter, however, is not a monster. 

Christopher: And yet he’s drawn to monsters if he’s drawn to both of us. 

Paul: That makes him a fool and an innocent. It would be only too easy for you to hurt him. You will hurt him, little shadow, if you haven’t already.

Christopher: Haven’t you?

Paul turns his head to look at Christopher for the first time. For a long moment, they just gaze at each other. 

Paul: Even monsters can care about their victims.

Christopher: Funny. I was just about to say the same thing. 

P is Peter

Like Christopher, I was born in music, particularly the songs by a pop band our scribbler enjoyed. I was a little playful, a little mischievous, and had an eye for a pretty youth right from the beginning. I laughed, mocked, and teased the world, never wasting my time in rage the way Damian did. My initial concept was as an actor playing the part of one of the scribbler’s favorite vampires in a surreal fanfic. I’ve collected quirks over the years like wearing velvet doublets, owning a knock-off bust, being dumped by an eccentric spirtualist and club-hopper in search of monsters, to name a few. Some of this has made its way into Tales of the Navel. I’ve flourished at the Navel, languishing in the shadow of Damian, getting very attached to Christopher and ‘Brie. I’ve taken some twists and turns since I decide to help Christopher to return to the Shadow Forest. I’ve found out I’m up to many things, in bed with some people (literally) which caught me with my pants down (again literally) No, I’m no longer me at the end of this journey (again literally) if it ever ends. No matter what, I do my best to enjoy the road and what company I find along it.