[ It's easy for the quick pulse of anxiety to force his mind away from more intentional things, but Peter keeps his eyes closed, keeps thinking about where he's at in his head. He remembers a technique his dad talked about once. Concentrate on what you can see, smell, hear. Choose five each. In this dreamscape scenario, this memory he's created for himself, he can feel the sun against his eyelids. He can hear the coffee pot going in the kitchen. He can smell it. He's aware of his body, how it feels, limp and comfortable on the sofa. He starts to feel calm, even when he hears the woman begin reciting words, and he tries not to think too much about them, doesn't want to risk hearing something that might frighten him out of his calmed state.
But something shifts. Maybe it's when she lights up that strange plant, and he feels something in him flinch a little. It doesn't smell like normal fire (and certainly not like paint thinner), but it's something burning. Maybe it knocks him out of himself just a little, unsettles something within him. Opens up a door where something was already peeking, widens a gap (and in turn, the thing widens its eyes.)
I invoke, the woman says, I consecrate, I protect, I cleanse; these are powerful words, coming from someone with a particular power, and even if things are numbed in this strange city, numbed on both sides — the ancient, powerful, misplaced thing still feels it. Feels her.
Let no harmful thing or ill will remain
Peter's eyes suddenly open as his insides feel like they're coiling, a wave of unexpected nausea rolling through him. He tilts forward where he's sitting, one hand against his middle, eyes widening with a dose of surprise, and seconds after— fear. The fine hairs at the back of his neck are prickling, and he's shivering like he's freezing. Something's... wrong? He feels something, and he doesn't want to interrupt her, but.... he's giving a soft gasp. She said if he felt pain, it could stop. This isn't pain, not exactly, but.... ]
—Um. Ms. Constantine? I feel.... kind of sick. I don't feel good. Is that okay?
no subject
But something shifts. Maybe it's when she lights up that strange plant, and he feels something in him flinch a little. It doesn't smell like normal fire (and certainly not like paint thinner), but it's something burning. Maybe it knocks him out of himself just a little, unsettles something within him. Opens up a door where something was already peeking, widens a gap (and in turn, the thing widens its eyes.)
I invoke, the woman says, I consecrate, I protect, I cleanse; these are powerful words, coming from someone with a particular power, and even if things are numbed in this strange city, numbed on both sides — the ancient, powerful, misplaced thing still feels it. Feels her.
Let no harmful thing or ill will remain
Peter's eyes suddenly open as his insides feel like they're coiling, a wave of unexpected nausea rolling through him. He tilts forward where he's sitting, one hand against his middle, eyes widening with a dose of surprise, and seconds after— fear. The fine hairs at the back of his neck are prickling, and he's shivering like he's freezing. Something's... wrong? He feels something, and he doesn't want to interrupt her, but.... he's giving a soft gasp. She said if he felt pain, it could stop. This isn't pain, not exactly, but.... ]
—Um. Ms. Constantine? I feel.... kind of sick. I don't feel good. Is that okay?