The buzz resolves itself into thoughts, multilayered and somehow... brittle. Furtive.
Then they stop, focussing on Peter with laserlike precision. And yet there's a tint of ... fear? The focus is less microscope scrutiny and more deer in headlights.
It shifts, though, to a kind of squinting suspicion.
There's a small whush of displaced air and Peter now has company in his alley.
He's been expecting something like this, after that shock like cold water of his thoughts being met, recognized and zeroed in on. So when the Observer suddenly appears nearby, Peter's ready. It's mostly instinct and reflex that guides his response: he whirls around, hands shooting out toward the other man's shoulders. His momentum will hopefully help pin his adversary against the brick wall.
The breath leaves the Observer's lungs with an explosive whoosh as he's slammed against the wall. His hat tumbles from his head. He remains still, though, hands held up, palms facing outward.
No Observer has ever surrendered before.
"I mean no harm," he wheezes. "I am looking for someone...."
Frankly he doesn't give a crap who the Observer's looking for. "You shouldn't be here," Peter tells him flatly. "We stopped you. Why are you still here?"
It's what he's wanted to know, ever since Walter and Michael disappeared into the temporal rift. Why are they all still here? Why is he here, with vestiges of tech still in his brain, instead of with his family? All the rage he feels at his predicament keeps him holding the Observer there, flattened against the brick, surrender or not. A very large part of him is really enjoying this, wants a fight. They took Etta from him, and now somehow they've taken away his chance to be with her again.
Though his tone is flat, the look in Peter's eyes is clear enough even to an Observer. It's pure hatred. He shakes the other man roughly.
"I do not know," the Observer wheezes. "You are correct--I should not be here... all of the others are gone.... I cannot leave this part of spacetime and I do not know why, I--" He winces as his spine digs painfully into the bricks. "I am looking for September," he finishes, voice strangled-sounding.
At that Peter laughs, the sound giddy and uncontrolled. Because isn't that just great? Not even they know why they're gone. So much for extracting any useful information out of this guy.
"September's dead. Because of your people, actually." He must have fallen off their radar when he became Donald.
The laughter makes the Observer shiver in apprehension, something he never thought he'd do, but right now, it's... instinctive. He should not have come here, he should not have tried to speak to this man, but he's here now, and this man is his closest lead to finding September.
"He is not dead... he is human, he is--" he hears the thought. "Donald... that is his name.... I must find him, I need his help...."
That icy cold feeling of the Observer picking through his brain just makes him angrier. Even more so since it means Donald officially now is on their radar. Peter curses silently; he really needs to remember how to think like one of them.
"He will not help you." Mainly because Peter will do everything he can to make sure Donald never even gets asked for help in the first place. But he is curious, cocks his head in that unconscious, birdlike way as he regards the Observer.
The Observer finds his gaze matching Peter's, head tilting in the same direction. "We were colleagues," he replies. "He... knows this place. How to survive. Finding a way to leave will take time...."
He tries to pry his way loose from Peter's grip. "I--I only wish to leave this time. It is not safe."
The Observer winces again as the bricks dig harder into his back. "I do not know.... This is what I must find out. I need to find Septe--Donald, so that I can find a safe place to work. Th--the others... the others may still be out there. The rest of the scientific team...."
Peter hesitates, loosening his grip. It's a troubling slippery slope, because if more of the science team are out there, it might mean some of the more nasty ones are still out there too. After a moment's calculation, he sighs.
"I weighed the advantages against the disadvantages," Peter replies, "and I found helping you more to my advantage." It's a non-answer, but really the only kind an Observer would probably respect. Cold, logical, and completely beholden to that logic, desires be damned.
He doesn't need to know the whole truth, that Peter knows rounding up the rest of the Observers is the first step to eliminating them. After he utilizes their knowledge, of course, to find a way out of this hellhole.
The Observer in question nods once. "I am... grateful," he murmurs, sounding as though he suspects that isn't quite the right thing to say, but that he can't think of anything else. He does not wish to be rude, after all.
He reaches down to pick up his hat and places it on his head, not reacting at all when Peter's phone rings.
Peter, too, ignores the phone. Instead he lets it go to voicemail, because if it's really important, whoever it is will leave a message. Right now he's got his hands full with watching Baldy. He'll have to call back after he's gotten him off the streets.
"We shouldn't be out in the open. Follow me." He doesn't trust the Observer enough to simply give him the address to his apartment and wait for him to appear. They're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way, by walking. Doubtless through back alleys too, since neither of them really needs to draw attention right now.
This earns Peter a second or two of blinking before the Observer falls into step behind him. Indeed, back alleys are a big part of this journey, and the Observer appears to have pushed his hat further down on his head and flipped up the collar of his overcoat. It... just about does the trick. There's a bit of wary staring here and there, but the trip goes uneventfully as a whole.
Peter hasn't really... ever invited anyone to his current place until now. As it is, he's not really worried about the Observer criticizing the way he's been living the past few months. If you could call it that.
He eases open the door, letting the Observer go ahead of him. The apartment is pretty much devoid of furniture, save a table and two chairs in the front room and a bed in the back. Everything is mismatched, and the decor is whatever was left on the walls by the previous occupants-- in this case peeling floral paper and the occasional painting, covered in dust. The shades are drawn, the early morning light peeking through the cracks.
"Please, sit," he encourages his first guest, gesturing to the armchair that, like the rest of the place, has seen better days.
No commentary here, at all. It's someone else's home and, really, some of the science team didn't end up much better off during the Occupation. They were seen as a bit renegade, after all.
Somehow the Observer suspects that sitting is an invitation best taken. He quietly removes his hat and then sits, looking very stiff and awkward. It's entirely possible that he will stay right there, his hands on his knees, until told to do something else. He's got that deer-in-headlights look to him, again.
The fact Peter is basically living like an Observer hasn't entirely escaped him, and he knows he'd get a much different reaction from a human. Say, Olivia, for instance. He watches the Observer for a few moments, assuring himself he's likely not going anywhere, and then pulls out his phone.
Looks like Astrid gave him a call last. Peter lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, glances at the Observer again just to be sure he hasn't moved, and listens to the message.
Nope. The Observer isn't moving, wave to turn his head and watch Peter, like a mouse watches a cat.
"Hi, Peter," the message goes. Astrid's voice is oddly quiet, as though trying to be discreet. "I figure you've seen the news about an Observer being sighted. Donald thinks he knows who he is. Have you seen anything? Call me back, this is weird. Bye."
Weird doesn't even begin to cover it, Astrid. After exiting the voicemail system Peter considers a moment, staring down at the phone display... and then before he loses his nerve he dials Astrid back, still watching the Observer in the chair out of the corner of his eye as he does so. He already knows he's going to have to lie; it's just a question of how much.
"Donald is certain that it's October, someone he used to work with."
And then, from the other side of the room, there's a loud THUMP. The Observer is no longer in the chair, but stretched out on the floor as though he'd just hit the deck.
"What was that?" Clearly, it was loud enough for Astrid to hear over the phone. "Is someone there?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninetydegrees
(no subject)
Then they stop, focussing on Peter with laserlike precision. And yet there's a tint of ... fear? The focus is less microscope scrutiny and more deer in headlights.
It shifts, though, to a kind of squinting suspicion.
There's a small whush of displaced air and Peter now has company in his alley.
(no subject)
(no subject)
No Observer has ever surrendered before.
"I mean no harm," he wheezes. "I am looking for someone...."
(no subject)
It's what he's wanted to know, ever since Walter and Michael disappeared into the temporal rift. Why are they all still here? Why is he here, with vestiges of tech still in his brain, instead of with his family? All the rage he feels at his predicament keeps him holding the Observer there, flattened against the brick, surrender or not. A very large part of him is really enjoying this, wants a fight. They took Etta from him, and now somehow they've taken away his chance to be with her again.
Though his tone is flat, the look in Peter's eyes is clear enough even to an Observer. It's pure hatred. He shakes the other man roughly.
"Answer me!"
whups, replied with the wrong account, there...
(no subject)
"September's dead. Because of your people, actually." He must have fallen off their radar when he became Donald.
"You should really check your records."
(no subject)
"He is not dead... he is human, he is--" he hears the thought. "Donald... that is his name.... I must find him, I need his help...."
The Observer suspects he's digging his own grave.
(no subject)
"He will not help you." Mainly because Peter will do everything he can to make sure Donald never even gets asked for help in the first place. But he is curious, cocks his head in that unconscious, birdlike way as he regards the Observer.
"Why do you need him?"
(no subject)
He tries to pry his way loose from Peter's grip. "I--I only wish to leave this time. It is not safe."
(no subject)
"How? Where will you go?"
(no subject)
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"Maybe I can help you find them."
(no subject)
"You changed your mind," he says softly, mystefied. "Why?"
(no subject)
He doesn't need to know the whole truth, that Peter knows rounding up the rest of the Observers is the first step to eliminating them. After he utilizes their knowledge, of course, to find a way out of this hellhole.
(no subject)
He reaches down to pick up his hat and places it on his head, not reacting at all when Peter's phone rings.
(no subject)
"We shouldn't be out in the open. Follow me." He doesn't trust the Observer enough to simply give him the address to his apartment and wait for him to appear. They're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way, by walking. Doubtless through back alleys too, since neither of them really needs to draw attention right now.
(no subject)
(no subject)
He eases open the door, letting the Observer go ahead of him. The apartment is pretty much devoid of furniture, save a table and two chairs in the front room and a bed in the back. Everything is mismatched, and the decor is whatever was left on the walls by the previous occupants-- in this case peeling floral paper and the occasional painting, covered in dust. The shades are drawn, the early morning light peeking through the cracks.
"Please, sit," he encourages his first guest, gesturing to the armchair that, like the rest of the place, has seen better days.
(no subject)
Somehow the Observer suspects that sitting is an invitation best taken. He quietly removes his hat and then sits, looking very stiff and awkward. It's entirely possible that he will stay right there, his hands on his knees, until told to do something else. He's got that deer-in-headlights look to him, again.
Not quite the arrogant conqueror.
aw cutie
Looks like Astrid gave him a call last. Peter lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, glances at the Observer again just to be sure he hasn't moved, and listens to the message.
I'm afraid the entire remainder of the scientific team will be like this....
"Hi, Peter," the message goes. Astrid's voice is oddly quiet, as though trying to be discreet. "I figure you've seen the news about an Observer being sighted. Donald thinks he knows who he is. Have you seen anything? Call me back, this is weird. Bye."
observer mice are the best kind
Now I'm imagining mice in wee suits and fedoras
"Peter? Oh, good. Have you seen anything?"
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And then, from the other side of the room, there's a loud THUMP. The Observer is no longer in the chair, but stretched out on the floor as though he'd just hit the deck.
"What was that?" Clearly, it was loud enough for Astrid to hear over the phone. "Is someone there?"
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Posted by:ha, he rhymed
Posted by:He'll go on to develop those mad rhymin skillz. Become DJBaldo.
Posted by: