hh_mirror | Application: Peter Petrelli (Heroes)

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Application: Peter Petrelli (Heroes)

(Permission given by the lovely fellow Heroes-muns. Spoiler Warning: Major spoilers for Heroes, including the finale!)

(Second warning under cut for potential series spoiler: If your character is thinking particularly loudly, beware, Peter will hear their thoughts :P)

It turned out that exploding from radioactive power hurt like a bitch. And falling from roughly 6 feet onto a stone floor wasn't terribly pleasant, either.

At least - Peter reflected hazily, blinking as his eyes regrew - he had one thing working for him. Already he could feel what little remained of his skin duplicating from what few healthy cells were left, growing back over exposed muscle and bone. It was an odd feeling; like the tingling sensation felt after all the blood had drained out of a limb. Pins and needles. Nerves reforming with tiny sparks of sensation. Kinda painful, really.

For a while, he just lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, his brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened. It was slow in coming, so instead he just reflected on the spiderweb he could see gathering in one corner of the ceiling.

When the application paper fluttered into existence and appeared on a table next to him, Peter decided he couldn't be bothered moving his neck, let alone his whole body. With a gesture, he floated the paper over and let it hover a few inches away from his face, squinting to read it.

1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?

"Mozzarella," he answered absently. "Food should be fun, and mozzarella is kind of challenging in a fun way seeing how it's so stringy."

Why the hell was he answering questions about cheese? As a break in his skull sealed over, Peter inhaled sharply in surprise. Shit, he'd blown up. His dreams came true, and he really had absorbed Ted's power and been unable to control it. Peter scrambled upwards, accidentally smacking his face into the paper in a particularly dorky move, and threw one hand out to grasp the table for balance.

Nathan. Shouldn't Nathan be here? They'd been together when he'd blown up, he thought, and... oh, shit. Nathan wouldn't survive that. He might have saved the cheerleader, saved the world (or, really, just New York city to be precise), but he'd killed his brother. He'd killed Nathan. All because he couldn't control a little nuclear power.

2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?

After glancing at the next question, it struck Peter as being rather ironic. "I don't want to kill any more people," he answered, the shock of the situation so overwhelming that he still didn't really understand what was going on.

"I just helped kill Sylar, and..." His brother. "I don't really want any more blood on my hands. I don't know if Barney actually has blood," he took a moment to babble, "But even if he did, I wouldn't. Wouldn't, couldn't, and shouldn't."

3. What time is it where you are?

That was a good question, actually. A look at his wrist confirmed that his watch had likely melted off in the explosion. Which meant... oh god. Suddenly panicked, Peter stared down at himself. His clothes definitely didn't survive the explosion. On the fortunate side, 90% of his body was still mostly unrecognizable as even being human - still black and twisted and burnt. He'd been ignoring the pain so far.

"I don't know the time, but... I-I, um, I think I need some clothes," Peter answered, his voice strangled, trying in vain to cover himself and looking horribly embarrassed. He wasn't sure what the small, deformed things that brought them were, but at soon as provided clothes appeared on the table, Peter fled (which meant he mostly stumbled) behind a curtain that the same weird-ass creatures had set up. The still-floating application bobbed along after him.

Eventually he wandered back out, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt far too large for him. With a frown, Peter lifted his shirt and pressed his hands down on a few ribs that had broken the skin, popping them back into place so that they could heal properly. Finally, he was almost back to human.

4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.

"Uh." Peter scratched the back of head, not noticing when flakes of burnt skin and dried blood fluttered to the floor. "I don't really... know any of them, so, I dunno. I don't think I'd want to sexually harass someone anyway, that's kind of crazy."

He looked at his hand and grimaced, trying to scrape dried blood out from under his fingernails. Just because he was completely healed now, it didn't mean that he wasn't covered in dirt and blood. He really needed a shower.

...Thank god his hair was okay!

5. If you are pushing to be in:

A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.

"Why would you bartend in the dark?" Peter screwed up his face in confusion, grabbing the application out of the air and holding it in his hand. He glared at it as if it were the source of his problems, which it really was, when he thought about it.

This was really confusing. And not at all what he'd been expecting after blowing up. Well, to be honest, he hadn't really though about what would happen post-explosion, he'd been so bent on trying to prevent it. Peter knew he wasn't dead (...though Nathan might be...), but this was just strange. "I'd name it Simone's," he finished, trying for 'impatient' but mostly ending up with ~~emo~~ 'nostalgic'.

B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.

"I don't know!" Peter threw his hands up the air in exasperation, his forehead creasing in the beginnings of frustration. "I don't even know where the hell I am, let alone who this Harry guy should marry!

Lowering his arms, Peter exhaled a measured breath, trying to calm himself down. It was hard, with the post-explosion and not knowing if Nathan was alive and hoping that everybody else was alive, but he managed. "Okay, maybe he should just wait a year and see what happens. Relationships change, and so does destiny. He might grow closer to one and not the other, and then he can get married. ...I was never the best mythology student, that's all I've got."

C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.

"Oh, man, paperwork sucks," Peter sympathized. Who he was sympathizing with, he didn't know, but the question called for it. "My brother used to deal with it all the time," he paused awkwardly, "Or maybe he still does, I don't know. And back when I was a hospice nurse, there was way too much of it to deal with. I swear it just kept multiplying. So, if you don't want heaps of it, you should probably just quit your job and become a hobo."

D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

Abruptly, Peter's expression darkened, and he raked his hands through his hair. That was an interesting question. Could he prove he wasn't useless? Sure, he had the powers he'd picked up from other people. And he'd saved New York. But he'd earned himself exactly one dead brother.

...But maybe Nathan wasn't dead. Maybe Peter was just missing time, and they'd separated at the last moment, far enough away. Maybe. Too many maybes.

"I don't know if I can." Peter frowned at the application paper. "I mean, I can do stuff, and I think I just saved a lot of lives, but... I don't know. I hope I'm not."

6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe.

Now that was going to be interesting. Everything Peter had had on his person had been burned to a crisp. He wasn't sure about this bribe business - in a family involved with the government, one tended not to look too kindly upon bribes - but perhaps he should at least offer something. Maybe, if he did, he could prove he wasn't useless.

"I guess I can help with things. Uh, moving big objects... interrogating people..." Peter struggled to find applications for his powers for more menial tasks. "I can probably melt metal now. Or... melt anything. Oh, and I can paint okay." Thanks to Isaac - though it might not be a particularly pleasant subject, depending on what the future held.

But to hell with the future, Peter wanted to know what was happening right now.

I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. ______PP______
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. _____PP______.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. _____PP______.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ______PP_______

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Sylar... wasn't that the asshole who threw me across the room? Nny watched the healing process with fascination and idly wondered what it'd be like for Certain Despised People to have that capability... he'd be able to torment them endlessly!

Finally, he shook himself out of his reverie. "You paint?" he asked softly.

((Yes, Nny's thinking loudly... he's a loud guy *g*))

I think that guy just popped his ribs back into place, Mel thinks, a little amazed. I thought only angels could do that.

But listening to the rest of his answers proves he's definitely not human, at least.

The angel spreads her hands, as if trying to figure out what to ask this...oh, god, superhero.

'You're in Scotland,' Mel eventually manages. 'I know it's a weird place to end up...' Mind you, this guy was probably the posterboy for weird.

((Okay, supposed to be on hiatus but damn I can't resist tagging to this. PETER! Yay! Oh, and May's got a recognizable Queens accent - not heavy, but any New Yorker could pick up on it.))

May was on her way back to her room when she found herself in the Sorting Room instead. Geez, it was so easy to get lost in this school. She was about to turn and try another route, but the application and the applicant gave her pause. Wow. Well, at least she could help with the "where you are" part.

"Hi. Um, I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess you didn't mean to come here, right? Are - are you okay?" Probably a stupid question, but she really wanted to help the guy. He sounded like he'd been through hell.

To call Sylar 'not a happy camper' would be a severe understatement. He'd been humiliated. This Susan Sto Helit. He'd tried twice now, to take her abilities for himself. Twice. And yet he managed to fail, each attempt. First time (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1378619.html), he'd been warded off by the power of persuasion, given a detention and a nice douse of what the body-binding curse felt like.

Not that he was a man easily discouraged, because it only took him a few days to go after Susan again (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1388821.html), despite the warnings of Lily Evans. He'd ended up in the lake. Waterlogged and rather cranky. Susan Sto Helit was in for it. He was going to end her. She had no idea what she was in for, did she? Angry, humiliated, and over-all entirely vengeful Sylar.

Needless to say, the appearance of Peter Petrelli? Was not helping matters.

No, Sylar was freezing in the door of the Sorting Room, hands shoved into the pockets of a hoody sweatshirt (http://members.shaw.ca/vmu/krew_blackjack.jpg), unzipped just enough to show the rather ironic (http://i160.photobucket.com/albums/t197/DeanPants/Sylar/131315269v4_240x240_Front_Color-Bla.jpg) t-shirt underneath. "No," he growled under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the boy. Bumbling idiot. He was pushing his ribs back into his chest. Healing. He had been near Claire. It didn't dull the fact that he had what Sylar wanted. What Peter didn't deserve.

"Funny thing, I thought you'd died twice by now," he announced, starting into the room and rounding in on the other man. "Peter Petrelli. You're like a bad penny, aren't you? You just keep coming back."

Sam simply watched the proceedings with increasingly narrow eyes, his hands straying to touch the butt of the revolver he normally kept in the waistband of his jeans when out on a hunt.

...Except he wasn't on a hunt, therefore the gun wasn't there, and Sam was left to suspiciously gape at Peter's rapidly regenerating form sans weapon. His dad would kick his ass if he'd seen Sam now, but this guy... Sam didn't think he was demon or possessed or anything like that. Though, really, the only people he'd ever seen who could heal like that had been carting around a little something extra in the form of a demon possession. But Peter was...

Like him. He had gifts. And, even in a school of magic, that was rare.

Ambling over, not reaching out his hand or really doing anything else remotely welcoming (if he was wrong and this Peter guy was a demon or something less than friendly, it wouldn't be good to be offering up limbs for the ripping off of), Sam nonetheless managed to look friendly. "Hey. I'm Sam. Um... You okay?"

((Sam has fledgling psychic powers and a bit of unruly TK happening. So Peter may or may not be able to hear his thoughts - up to you if he picks up pieces here and there or totes knows what Sam is thinking. :p))

If Jack's thoughts could be read he'd be thinking happy thoughts how it was good to see someone else who could heal themselves outside this place. But there was a snag with that and Jack, being kinda a Fact really messed this up and working for Torchwood had given him some knowledge of what it was when people were trying to do that, he knew when it had been one of his own team that had been trying. But the most Jack's thoughts to anyone but himself were just darkness, nothing, empty. Kinda like he found death to be. All very emo, which was nice. It could be used to explain a lot about him.

"You paint?" Jack could be interested in the arts that didn't always involve nakedness. "What sort of thing?"

Holy shit!

Mouth literally dropped open, I watched wonder kid totally freaking grow back his skin. Like... No, there were no words. Only holy shit.

"Um."

What do you even say to that? My mind registered that the wonder kid was kind of cute. When, you know, he had skin covering his bones. Turn it if this wasn't the absolute freakiest thing I'd ever seen.

Holding out my hand and then dropping it and then holding it out again, I cleared my throat. "I think you have something," I gestured to the side of my nose, "here."

What the hell.

((Rachel = loud as hell. :p))

Damn.

And... I repeat. Damn.

His skin... was... and he... God! I thought I'd seen weird stuff here before! Trick staircases and house elves had nothin' on this. I was definitely not watching with mouth agape. I was a professional! Even when... he was getting shape again and... Wow, those were actually pretty nice abs he had going on there.

God, Veronica, Earth to freaking Mars! Shut up!

I have a boyfriend. Not checking out the incredible Mr. Miracle Grow going on right here. "Jesus," I breathed aloud to him, eyes wide. Okay, so I was gaping. And trying to appear nonchalant by pulling at the bottom of my shirt (http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/images/us/local/products/productsall/p346994b.jpg) and adjusting the strap of my messenger bag. "What the hell happened?"

Carrie watched Peter's regeneration in amazement. Wish I could do that, she thought. Maybe I wouldn't'a had t'die when Mama stabbed me.

"You believe in destiny?" she asked, once he'd pulled himself together. So to speak.

Well. That was a nice distraction. Not something one sees everyday (unless you hang around Jack, which he did), even with time and space travel. Certainly unusual for a Human, assuming this guy was Human.

The Doctor would have to know more. "You can do stuff like regrow skin an' bones is what you mean there, I think, mate. Fancy trick. What else is there?"

Gods, poor guy... Susan had seen many things, but watching someone heal themselves, especially so quickly, was not one of them. It really was fascinating, and she'd have to ask him about it, once she'd got one little thing out of the way.

"You know Sylar? He's not dead, unfortunately--I don't suppose you'd know of anything that could distract him from brains, would you?" Two run-ins with the bastard were more than enough, really.

She eyed him, his dirty face, and her inner governess took over. Fishing a handkerchief from her pocket (black, naturally) she held it out. "Spit," she ordered.

Yes. She really just did that.

"...Peter Petrelli?" Noah hadn't been sure that he had survived that... incident in New York. "You're all right?"

Healing from massive damage was a sight that Rogue had seen many, many times before. Between Logan, Sabertooth, and her own near-death experiences that had been aided along by absorbing from one of the two at various points in time, it was practically an every day occurance. She frowned, though. "You know Sylar? You tried to kill him?"

"Any particular reason why you're so jittery?"

ohsweetthatguyoohlookaflyhetotallyitsspiralingupwardshealedhimselfthatandthedragcoeffcientishealedhimselfinfrontofmymomshouldbehereiwonderifheswhereismaxmaxshouldbeagoodguyorabadguyishouldaskjeopardy!
Thats Bart, staring eagerly at the guy who just showed to be a metahuman. See, his mind moves so fast, he's got a couple dozen trains of thought going at any one time. To anyone without superspeed, it's probably quite difficult to understand.

"Hi there, are youa good guy, ro a bad guy?"

Stephen had spent the morning experimenting with Transfiguration. As a result, whereas he had begun with a basket of muffins, he now carried a basket of sleeping baby meerkats (http://www.imagestation.com/news/wp-content/uploads/2006/06/f20e7605.jpg).

Forget the application. Maybe this man could help him deal with the meerkats.

"Do you know anything about these animals?" he asked Peter, unfolding the napkin from over the basket to reveal the slumbering pile of baby animals.

I walked through fire and I didn’t get burned.

In her life, Sandra had seen truly amazing things. Her daughter’s first steps. Her son’s birth. ~~Anything involving Mr. Muggles.~~

There’s amazing things, and then there’s miracles. There’s your child coming back from the dead. There’s Claire’s skin regrowing as she walks away from an exploding man. There’s the realization that nothing on earth can harm your daughter, and the ironic knowledge of how much danger that puts her in.

"How did you do that?" She stood rigid, arms crossed squarely over her chest.

Mr. Muggles sniffed around at her feet, unimpressed. Eh. He’d seen better.

Pam was finding that she was often intrigued by people's answers to the Ravenclaw question, and this time was no exception. "That's a pretty big step - to quit your job and become a hobo. Do you think some people start by becoming a hobo first and then quitting their job? Like, to make the transition more smooth?"

Obviously, Pam had a certain person (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creed_Bratton_%28The_Office_character%29) in mind.

Though Ned's Sorting overlapped Peter's, Ned had been too busy ~~emoing~~ reuniting with his family to notice the young man spontaneously regenerating elsewhere in the Sorting Room. Not yet aware of anything extraordinary about the man, he held his head carefully above the table where a stray copy of Peter's application lay. He wondered whether the Westerosi alphabet were identical to that used in this strange land, or whether the same sorcery that allowed him to speak despite his severed neck had also somehow given him the power of translation both visual and auditory. It was only a fleeting thought, before Ned turned his interest to more practical concerns.

"You say you want no more blood on your hands, ser," he addressed the applicant. "How then comes it that you offer to assist in interrogations?"

His voice was stern. The fact that it issued from a severed head held between the speaker's hands made it somewhat sterner yet.

Pensive, Camilla mulled over the answer to the second question for a moment before approaching the applicant.

"I understand what you mean," she said. "About not wanting any more blood on your hands. But ... don't you think maybe sometimes, there isn't any other choice?"

"You can paint? Buildings, or portraits? We've been looking for just the right painter for a very important commission -- a portrait of our Headmistress!"

You're just too hot to put in any other House!

Your bribe has been accepted!

Welcome to Slytherin!

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