my girlfriend disappeared on monday (I forgot to send you your sex facts. sorry.) I cut my hand at work with a box cutter because my sister just died? having a bit of a panic attack too sooo
I didn't tell my boss. i haven't told anyone except you I just found out from like her boyfriend? who i haven't spoken to before in my life I don't think
[He doesn't answer. Peter looks down at his phone and he sees it ringing and he knows he should answer, but he doesn't. He just watches the graphic move and can't bring himself to slide his thumb across the screen. As it skips voicemail a minute later, he types:]
[he can't do long distance seidr; that's not how it works. he wishes he could, though, in this moment]
I'm on my way over. [he thinks of Alex, the way she's talked him down, from his own panic attacks. he feels like he can't remember what she said, only that her voice was calm and she told him to breathe. Magnus keeps his voice calm, but asks] Is your hand badly cut?
I don't know. [His default response to a lot of questions today, the first thing that comes out of his mouth.
But after a beat and a shaky inhale, he's able to offer a second - better - answer though he speaks fast, with an anxious lilt his words.] I can't tell, can't really feel it. Pretty sure I cut through the webbing on my thumb but I've got a Dora the Explorer dish towel around it.
Dora's seen better days. [An auto-pilotly delivered joke, which sounds a little spacey and offbeat.]
[It's a gross Dora the Explorer towel in the back room of a pizza joint, Magnus Chase. Of course it's got pizza grease and God Knows What Else on it. And now Peter's blood, which stains through Dora's ever staring face and frozen smile. He watches it do that, fidgeting for a quiet few seconds. Voices are in the background, shop owners calling out orders and the muffled ringing of a telephone.
Peter takes a few breaths, which are shaky and shallow.] Not, not great? It's like... like someone's sitting on my chest.
Kinda hurts. [Can't feel his hand but he can feel his hammering heart freaking him out as he sits on the ground, curled forward with his arms on his knees. Head bowing against them, he tries again to take a deeper breath. Tries to think of something that isn't his dead sister and miserable life. He ends up laughing, just a few chuckling breaths that are completely void of humor. They're freak out laughs.]
[Magnus moves more quickly. it shouldn't take him much longer, with his Odin-given speed (no match, even remotely, for Peter's, but useful in a crisis, of which -- gods, it seemed like there was one of, every other day, anymore. December does, in fact, suck)]
Put your hand -- not the fucked one -- on your stomach. Try to fill it up with air, slowly. And then let it all out again. Can you do that?
You're giving me breathing exercises? You're giving me breathing exercises. [Affronted but - alright, in the midst of a freak out it's kind of warranted.
He gives it a try. Doesn't do it properly, ends up hissing.] This is stupid? Fuck. Fuck, fuck - fuck, this is stupid.
This is stupid and I still feel like I'm gonna die. [Talking about dying isn't helping. Being dead would be preferable to feeling like this. That'll be Things I Can't Say Aloud Right Now for 400, Alex.]
It's... It's worse - than before. [A little bit gasping, sight unseen is Peter massaging the center of his chest after a pang of pain. Unlike before when it felt slow and sluggish, this is like anxiety turned up to max volume. His heart pounds and his head hurts and, oh - good - his hand starts to throb after he curls his fingers into a fist.
Shuffling, he tries again. Let's breathe. Just do what Magnus says and breathe.] Talk... talk to me about something. Anything.
[he racks his brain for something to say. like always in a time when it's important, he gets tongue-tied for a moment, forgets everything he's ever done or heard or read or said in his life -- before finally seizing on something. it's just a scatter of details from his life, for some reason at the top of his memories]
When I was little, before I died, or, um, was homeless, one time I just like, left school in the middle of the day, at like six years old. And I decided I was going to teach myself to ice skate. So I got on a city bus and went across town to this place in Boston, um, called Frog Pond. And I rented skates. Who the hel rents skates out to a six year old alone? So I put them on, and just, went. It took 10 minutes for me to fall on my face and knock out a tooth, spurt blood everywhere, it was a total murder scene.
I didn't want to get in trouble, so I buried the tooth in the snow, so my mom wouldn't know. Like the bloody clothes and gap smile wouldn't give me away.
[Peter tries to focus on listening to Magnus' voice, half to the story and half just to the tone of his voice for something to grasp on to. The high and the low notes, the feel of the moment. Cool winter air, something chilly to combat the flush of heat in his skin from his heart beating too fast. Skates on ice, the feel of... blood. He's bleeding, he remembers, looking at his hand and loosening his fist after blood drops speckle the floor.
His voice is hollowed out and distant, but Peter replies:] What did she say when she saw?
[His breath catches and it could almost have been a laugh, though he follows it with deep breaths. He reaches down to run his fingers through the droplets of blood, smearing them like paint across the floor. His hand alternates between throbbing with pain and feeling nothing; he wraps the rag around it again and sighs.]
Yeah. That'd be cool. Would... would Alex come? Odin too, maybe?
[This conversation feels so distant. Like someone else is talking for him and he just gets to sit back and listen to his own autopilot.]
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(I forgot to send you your sex facts. sorry.)
I cut my hand at work with a box cutter because
my sister just died?
having a bit of a panic attack too sooo
december's not great.
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I just found out from like her boyfriend? who i haven't spoken to before in my life I don't think
but yeah. okay
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you don't have to actually come, i'll be fine
[biggest lie of all lies]
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sorry. try again?
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[ring a ding]
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Hey. [His voice is hollow, even he can tell that.]
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[he can't do long distance seidr; that's not how it works. he wishes he could, though, in this moment]
I'm on my way over. [he thinks of Alex, the way she's talked him down, from his own panic attacks. he feels like he can't remember what she said, only that her voice was calm and she told him to breathe. Magnus keeps his voice calm, but asks] Is your hand badly cut?
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But after a beat and a shaky inhale, he's able to offer a second - better - answer though he speaks fast, with an anxious lilt his words.] I can't tell, can't really feel it. Pretty sure I cut through the webbing on my thumb but I've got a Dora the Explorer dish towel around it.
Dora's seen better days. [An auto-pilotly delivered joke, which sounds a little spacey and offbeat.]
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[he hopes the dish towel was somewhat clean, at least, and not covered in pizza grease]
...I'll heal it. Your hand. Are you breathing okay, or is it hard?
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Peter takes a few breaths, which are shaky and shallow.] Not, not great? It's like... like someone's sitting on my chest.
Kinda hurts. [Can't feel his hand but he can feel his hammering heart freaking him out as he sits on the ground, curled forward with his arms on his knees. Head bowing against them, he tries again to take a deeper breath. Tries to think of something that isn't his dead sister and miserable life. He ends up laughing, just a few chuckling breaths that are completely void of humor. They're freak out laughs.]
Could be worse. I haven't passed out yet.
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Put your hand -- not the fucked one -- on your stomach. Try to fill it up with air, slowly. And then let it all out again. Can you do that?
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He gives it a try. Doesn't do it properly, ends up hissing.] This is stupid? Fuck. Fuck, fuck - fuck, this is stupid.
This is stupid and I still feel like I'm gonna die. [Talking about dying isn't helping. Being dead would be preferable to feeling like this. That'll be Things I Can't Say Aloud Right Now for 400, Alex.]
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It's not stupid and you won't die. I promise it helps. I get these. I used to get them all the time.
[he's always had trouble breathing; panic attacks, asthma. in both cases, related to death, somehow]
It'll calm you down. Keep trying. Take a breath, Peter.
[almost there. not long now, but too long]
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Shuffling, he tries again. Let's breathe. Just do what Magnus says and breathe.] Talk... talk to me about something. Anything.
[Deep breath, ragged exhale:] Please.
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[he racks his brain for something to say. like always in a time when it's important, he gets tongue-tied for a moment, forgets everything he's ever done or heard or read or said in his life -- before finally seizing on something. it's just a scatter of details from his life, for some reason at the top of his memories]
When I was little, before I died, or, um, was homeless, one time I just like, left school in the middle of the day, at like six years old. And I decided I was going to teach myself to ice skate. So I got on a city bus and went across town to this place in Boston, um, called Frog Pond. And I rented skates. Who the hel rents skates out to a six year old alone? So I put them on, and just, went. It took 10 minutes for me to fall on my face and knock out a tooth, spurt blood everywhere, it was a total murder scene.
I didn't want to get in trouble, so I buried the tooth in the snow, so my mom wouldn't know. Like the bloody clothes and gap smile wouldn't give me away.
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His voice is hollowed out and distant, but Peter replies:] What did she say when she saw?
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[he runs his hand through his hair]
And then she took me ice skating the next day again. It was fun. We should go sometime, while it's cold...
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Yeah. That'd be cool. Would... would Alex come? Odin too, maybe?
[This conversation feels so distant. Like someone else is talking for him and he just gets to sit back and listen to his own autopilot.]