Even anxious, reclusive homebodies have to leave the house every once in awhile, and Peter actually does enjoy taking walks through the chillier months. The cold moves in and out through his lungs and it's easy to breathe, but it also keeps him numbed down in a way he maybe needs these days. He moves slow and half-lidded through the marketplace, more ghost than person, picking up a couple of items needed back home as supplies dwindle: a bar of soap, a packet of jerky; small things are easily kept in the cloth bag hanging over one arm.
It's somewhere along the way that he stops being Peter at all, and sometimes the transition is brutal and painful, but sometimes it's almost eerily seamless. A shift that can only really be seen in the eyes, warm browns swelling into black as the pupils blow and expand. An alien thing peers out, the way it often does when Peter comes to the marketplace: ever curious by the sights.
For Peter isβ severely possessed, by something with its own mind and will, and so the thing does some shopping of its own... A dramatic-looking candle is added to the bag draped on his arm, and a shiny thing he likes the look of, even if he doesn't understand its function (it's a cheese grater.)
When he meanders his way to an odd little stall, the thing (which is a demon king of Hell) pauses right in front of it, attention immediately captivated by the spread of bottles on display. A sane adult would surely know that nothing being advertised here should ever be consumed. But Paimon, who is often drawn to making weird little concoctions of his own (he's only just recently learned how to make tea that's actually drinkable and won't kill someone via a mix of sugar overdose and mud), and who thinks anything that says Potions on it must be Important, believes that this is Fine.
He is also unperturbed by a child doing the selling. Very seriously, the demon adjusts the bag on his arm and speaks, voice soft and a little slow, as though he has to sound out the words before saying them.
"What function do the potions have?" Perhaps he could get something useful for his witch... She would be so delighted....
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It's somewhere along the way that he stops being Peter at all, and sometimes the transition is brutal and painful, but sometimes it's almost eerily seamless. A shift that can only really be seen in the eyes, warm browns swelling into black as the pupils blow and expand. An alien thing peers out, the way it often does when Peter comes to the marketplace: ever curious by the sights.
For Peter isβ severely possessed, by something with its own mind and will, and so the thing does some shopping of its own... A dramatic-looking candle is added to the bag draped on his arm, and a shiny thing he likes the look of, even if he doesn't understand its function (it's a cheese grater.)
When he meanders his way to an odd little stall, the thing (which is a demon king of Hell) pauses right in front of it, attention immediately captivated by the spread of bottles on display. A sane adult would surely know that nothing being advertised here should ever be consumed. But Paimon, who is often drawn to making weird little concoctions of his own (he's only just recently learned how to make tea that's actually drinkable and won't kill someone via a mix of sugar overdose and mud), and who thinks anything that says Potions on it must be Important, believes that this is Fine.
He is also unperturbed by a child doing the selling. Very seriously, the demon adjusts the bag on his arm and speaks, voice soft and a little slow, as though he has to sound out the words before saying them.
"What function do the potions have?" Perhaps he could get something useful for his witch... She would be so delighted....