He looked ten degrees of ill, pale and murky and eyes darkened from lack of sleep - or more accurately, from too much of it - and he'd practically plastered himself to the wall of the shuttle, trying to figure out where he was and if he'd gotten here of his own volition or somebody else's. It hardly made sense when it made all the sense in the world at the same time. He was supposed to blow up New York, why was ending up... well, here, be any different? Maybe not the reason, but the action. Impossible means that had become possible, but neither of them were supposed to happen.
As it landed, Peter was practically shuffled out onto the landing pad on wobbling legs, not wanting to follow the herd of people's movements but not wanting to stay either. Staring at the thing in his hand for a second before he turned and hesitated, Peter tipped slightly and stared towards the horizon, his eyes widening in degrees. He stared for a few long moments before the reality of it nearly bowled him over and he froze, unable to even try and look away. ]
Did I do this?
[ Whipping his attention back to the shuttle and then once more towards the city set into the distance, the roots of buildings as tall as those in New York, Peter stayed glued to the spot, refusing to go any further without a significant amount of encouragement. Because the thing was, not all the buildings were set into the ground -- the tops of others were hanging down like stalactites and none of the others shuttles landed came even close to being distracting enough to rip him away from the sight. Not that he was expecting anyone to push him along, not really, but he wasn't going anywhere until he got his bearings, and that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon. Trying to inconspicuously look at what others were doing, Peter scrambled and started digging into his pockets, looking for his cell phone. ]
This can't be happening, I can't be here. I can't.
open!
He looked ten degrees of ill, pale and murky and eyes darkened from lack of sleep - or more accurately, from too much of it - and he'd practically plastered himself to the wall of the shuttle, trying to figure out where he was and if he'd gotten here of his own volition or somebody else's. It hardly made sense when it made all the sense in the world at the same time. He was supposed to blow up New York, why was ending up... well, here, be any different? Maybe not the reason, but the action. Impossible means that had become possible, but neither of them were supposed to happen.
As it landed, Peter was practically shuffled out onto the landing pad on wobbling legs, not wanting to follow the herd of people's movements but not wanting to stay either. Staring at the thing in his hand for a second before he turned and hesitated, Peter tipped slightly and stared towards the horizon, his eyes widening in degrees. He stared for a few long moments before the reality of it nearly bowled him over and he froze, unable to even try and look away. ]
Did I do this?
[ Whipping his attention back to the shuttle and then once more towards the city set into the distance, the roots of buildings as tall as those in New York, Peter stayed glued to the spot, refusing to go any further without a significant amount of encouragement. Because the thing was, not all the buildings were set into the ground -- the tops of others were hanging down like stalactites and none of the others shuttles landed came even close to being distracting enough to rip him away from the sight. Not that he was expecting anyone to push him along, not really, but he wasn't going anywhere until he got his bearings, and that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon. Trying to inconspicuously look at what others were doing, Peter scrambled and started digging into his pockets, looking for his cell phone. ]
This can't be happening, I can't be here. I can't.