Peter never, for a moment, assumed this place was safe. Not with all of its newness and uncertainties, its strange rules (the first month he was here, something within compelled him to cut his own palm to feed blood to the soil, and sometimes when he walks down the street the townspeople look at him as though he's Something Else Entirely).

Its various horrors. November has brought more of those horrors to light, in ways that are both fresh and.... familiar, a paradoxical blend of the two. Peter's afraid to be outside of the house right now, afraid of what could be lurking in the streets, waiting to snare him. He's brought right back to those people who stalked him from the shadows before all of this, before Trench and Deerington, back in Utah. Those strangers watched him from the corners of his own home: infiltrating, invading. Smiling wide smiles — affectionate towards him, hungry. Now he knows what he hadn't known back then: they were cultists dedicated to the demon, and they'd waited Peter's entire lifetime for the rebirth of their king.

....He doesn't like to leave the house, but unfortunately, things like food don't just magically appear on the dinner table. Even more unfortunate is the fact that Peter doesn't have the ability to turn invisible anymore. So he's bartering for food and picking up a few extra things for the household with the additional discomfort of being perceived.

Still.... it is nice out here, despite Peter's perpetual anxieties. The crisp chill in the air, the trees almost barren of leaves by this point... the damp wet of the ground. The walk back home from Willful Machine is admittedly a pleasant one on that surface level — assuming no cultist.....zealot things try to kidnap him again. Peter does have company this time, at least, in the form of his Omen. The snake is wrapped around Peter's waist, most of his slender, lengthy body hidden underneath the boy's jacket, with only his neck and head peeking out of the front.

With a few bags in his hands, Peter's walking slowly when he spots a familiar figure facing the canals. The man certainly stands out with his shock of light hair that covers half of his face, and the teen freezes, staring over at him. He..... distinctly looks like he's watching the canals, gazing down below at them, but that can't be right, can it? This is the man who had helped an invisible Peter finagle his way through vendors for some foodstuffs, and he'd most certainly been blind.

The teen slowly approaches, hesitant. Break may recognise the voice that speaks up — at nineteen it's more man than boy, but somehow still so soft that it sounds like he might break if someone's too loud in his presence. Despite that, it's concern that leaks through his tone, and he keeps a bit of a distance, like he doesn't want to risk scaring the guy by suddenly popping up too close. ....He's accidentally scared plenty of people who do have their sight, and it's never a good feeling to be reminded that he's become the type of spooky thing that sometimes glides more than walks, that blends into the edges of shadow too well.

"Excuse me. Sorry to bother you, but are you uh... are you okay?"

And the image to go along with the previously invisible boy will reveal... six foot tall and thin, hair a mess of tangled curls, eyes dark and rimmed in circles like he hasn't slept in too long. ....Scuffed Converse sneakers; Peter hasn't exactly assimilated to Trench fashion yet.

Poking out from his torso, Susurrus flicks his tongue curiously at the man.