Peter processed that as he slurped the oatmeal thoughtfully. He took a bite of the fruit and that really did go perfectly with the oatmeal. He couldn't quite place what it tasted like. It was faintly pear-like, but had a firm consistency like an apple, but also had a tart sweetness to it like an orange or a tangerine. It made the meal massively better for being part of it.
Peter wrinkled his nose as a scent wafted towards him. Cigarette smoke. It was faint, but cloying. Somewhat worse for not just being regular tobacco, but there was a distinct scent of cloves added to it. Peter looked towards the source of the smell and noticed that Caliban was likewise looking that way too. Others in the area took one glance, then looked away, mostly keeping to themselves, but some waved to her or nodded in acknowledgement.
It was a woman dressed in a way that evoked a 1920's flapper, interpreted by way of a thrift shop. She was a very thin woman in a straight, sleeveless, rose pink dress that came to her knees that had been lovingly, if amateurishly, patched and repaired. Around her waist was a wide, bright pink ribbon tied off into an elaborate knot at her hip as an accent. She had a pair of loose work boots with no laces and thick woolen socks that had bunched up at her ankles. She had elbow-length blue gloves that clashed with her mostly pink ensemble, but seemed to have been chosen to match the little pillbox hat she had on her head that had a veil all around it that concealed the upper half of her face. She had chains of faux pearls looped around her neck. In her hand was a long, black cigarette holder at the end of which was the source of the smell, a hand-rolled cigarette.
Caliban smiled at her and called out in greeting, "Hello, Beautiful Dreamer."
The woman gave a wan smile, bringing the cigarette holder up to her lips and taking a deep drag. Peter noted with fascination that even as she spoke back to him, no smoke seemed to escape from between her lips.
"It's just Dreamer, Caliban." Her voice was low and husky. Roughened by years of smoking, but vaguely sensual still.
"Not to Caliban." The pale man responded with awkward gallantly, earning a small laugh from the woman, but she turned to face Peter and although he couldn't see her eyes through the veil, he could tell they sharpened their focus on him. A faint warning tingle of being seen as prey running down his spine.
"And who is your friend, Caliban? He seems new." Her voice seemed to drop even lower and Caliban gave Peter a small worried glance before he replied.
"This is Dumas." Caliban said carefully. "He is new."
Dreamer's lips curled into a smile. "I see."
Peter swallowed nervously.
"Did you want something, Beautiful Dreamer?" Caliban asked.
"A trade, Caliban. I'm offering a trade." Dreamer said, punctuating the statement with a movement of her cigarette holder.
"Go on?" Caliban asked, tilting his head slightly.
"For an embrace–" She drew the word out. "I'll give you the memory of a much better breakfast than this." She gestured vaguely towards their bowls of oatmeal.
Caliban leered. "Well, that seems cheap at the price–" He spread his gangly arms towards her, which earned a snort of laughter from Dreamer.
"No, Caliban." She jabbed the cigarette holder towards Peter, sending a waft of smoke drifting Peter's way. "Not you. Him."
One of Caliban's hairless brow ridges rose up in his best impression of a quirked eyebrow as he could manage without actual eyebrows.
Peter's eyes widened, "Wait, wait… hold up. What?"
"For a few minutes of cuddling," Dreamer continued, "You'll remember today's breakfast as, let's say… a mushroom and cheese omelet, a T-bone steak, crispy hash browns and a stack of pancakes with maple syrup. Instead of this sad, grueling affair." She made dismissive gestures towards their half-empty bowls.
Caliban glanced towards Peter who still had a poleaxed expression on his face. "It's not a bad deal." He said begrudgingly.
"I'm underaged." Peter replied indignantly.
Dreamer laughed outright. "It would all be platonic, dear Dumas. Nothing inappropriate. My gift is memories, but in order to give them, I have to have had them, do you see? A little bit of time in the arms of a pretty boy like yourself–"
Peter made choking noises.
"-- is something I can offer in trade to others when the time comes." Dreamer continued. "That's worth a steak breakfast, at least, right?"
"Maybe?" Peter said uncertainly.
Dreamer shrugged, as she leaned in closer towards Peter, the scent of cloves and cigarette smoke swirling around her. Pinkish smoke began to leak out around the corners of her lips as she spoke. "Besides, I think I want to remember how you look up close before Masque can get his hands on you."
Caliban made a noise in the back of his throat and shot Dreamer a hard look.
"What does that mean?" Peter asked.
Dreamer's tone had turned wry and bitter. "Before he makes you ugly like the rest of us."
"Why, Dreamer," A gravelly, dramatic voice declared, "What a cruel thing to say."
Peter glanced over his shoulder to find Masque leering menacingly over their small group. At his side, Sunder loomed.
"We talked about this already, Dreamer," Masque said, walking around the table to approach Dreamer who was now cowering back. "You were told not to smoke where people were eating."
Dreamer flinched back, hurriedly pulling the cigarette from the holder, crumpling it in her haste, and letting it drop to the dirty floor. She crushed it underfoot.
"It's gone! It's gone! I just… I just forgot, okay?" Her voice was almost a wail.
Masque clicked his tongue, shaking his cowl covered head. "We told you and told you." He reached a hand out towards her, Peter was close enough to see that his hands were blunt fingered and calloused, with cracked and broken nails. "We're gonna need to make sure you learn your lesson this time."
Peter glanced around. The other people who had been eating in the area were all looking away. Even the children who'd been somewhat boisterous before that moment had gone deathly silent.
Caliban was chewing on his lower lip and seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but there was a tightness around his eyes. A fear towards the man in the robe.
A small man who was bullying someone.
Right in front of him.
Peter was on his feet even before he realized he'd moved. He put a hand to Masque's shoulder to hold him back. "That's enough." He managed in a firm, level tone.
Masque looked over his shoulder at Peter. This close, he could smell him now. It wasn't pleasant. The clove cigarette smoke had reeked less. The robe was unwashed. Masque himself hadn't taken a bath in a while. The shadows of his hood, up close, were now failing to conceal a massive spreading tumor across the left side of the man's face that rendered him hideously ugly.
"The new boy." Masque sneered. He glanced towards Caliban who had also just started to rise to his feet. "You should have told your new friend that a proper Morlock minds their own business."
"I'm making this my business," Peter growled back, the faint red glow rising within his eyes as he let the power fill him.
Caliban held both hands up placatingly, "He is new, Masque. He has not even decided if he will–"
Masque brusquely jerked his shoulder away from Peter's hand, giving the young man a look that would've been ugly even on a less ravaged face. "Oh, no. I think he's decided already."
"She already put the cigarette out." Peter said, trying to sound reasonable, but a gnawing anger was curling around his heart. He shouldn't have been surprised. Bullies existed everywhere. School hadn't been unique. The streets were rife with them. Why not in this sanctuary for those 'different' as well?
"You don't need to do anything else." Peter finished.
Caliban winced speaking at the same time,"There is no need to–"
Masque gestured towards Dreamer who continued to cower back. The hat had slipped off her head, moving the veil enough for Peter to see her eyes, which looked like a set of bulging compound eyes more fitting of an insect. "But there is a need," Masque hissed, "I gave her those eyes the last time she 'forgot' to put her cigarette out before coming around meal times. I was just going to make the rest of her face match."
Peter forced himself to remain still, even as Dreamer hurried to readjust her hat and veil. She clearly wanted to leave, but seemed frozen in place by her own terror.
Masque gestured dramatically, sweeping an arm to take in Peter and Dreamer. Peter could tell that the man was playing up to the audience. "But now, this isn't just about the smoking anymore, boy. You've chosen to disrespect my authority."
Peter glared at him and Masque seemed to take it as a cue to continue. "I speak with the voice of Calisto. You, a whelp who just got here, are trying to dictate things to me?!" His voice rose to a shriek and others seemed to be shuffling in place, uncomfortable, but Peter could clearly see that they were glad it wasn't being directed at them.
"He does not know the ways, Masque." Caliban said, jabbing a pale finger in Peter's direction, trying to put himself between Masque and Peter, while simultaneously staying out Masque's arm's reach. His voice was placating and calm, but held a definite undercurrent of concern. "He needs time to learn."
"That is true. He is new and must learn." Masque said, facing Caliban fully. "So I shall be merciful and let this be an opportunity to learn." He spread his arms out seemingly in a benediction.
"Thank yo–" Caliban began to say, but Masque cut him off, glancing over to Sunder.
"Hurt him." Masque said to the larger man in a deceptively mild voice. "Show him his place, but only do as much as Healer can fix a session or two."
Peter barely had time to register the sensation of attention fully being turned on him and he whirled to face Sunder, who he realized was already in motion.
The larger man was faster than his bulk should've allowed and a fist shot straight for Peter's face faster than he could move out of the way. He reflexively held a hand up and caught the huge, meaty fist in his palm with a thunderous noise.
The tableau held for a second. Peter standing, holding Sunder's fist in his hand. The larger man's expression was even more surprised than that of the bystanders.
"We don't have to do this." Peter said, trying to sound reasonable, but he could feel the strain in his arm and shoulder, a strain that was beginning to spread across his back. He tried to make this seem effortless, but he knew he couldn't keep matching Sunder's strength for long.
To his surprise, Sunder's face broke into a delighted, mean-spirited grin. "You're strong."
"Thanks." Peter replied, through clenched teeth, he could feel the man pushing at him even harder, the pressure mounting.
"Sunder is stronger." The larger man declared and leaned into his fist, putting even more weight and strength behind it.
Peter's arm quivered from the strain as he found himself not just being moved, but the sheer pressure he was being subjected to was shattering the concrete underneath him as he was inexorably pushed back.
Peter growled back. "No, you aren't." His arm was quivering from the strain and he could feel the cement turning to powder around his ankles as he was dragged through the material. He kept his voice as level as he could. "You can stop this now and I don't have to show you how much stronger I am than you."
Sunder laughed.
Caliban fretted.
Dreamer seemed to be sobbing.
All around the bystanders had begun murmuring excitedly.
Masque glanced around, watching the reactions, and finding them not to his liking. He roared, gesturing dramatically once more, "Stop playing with him, Sunder! You heard me! Hurt him!"
Sunder's smile was eager and he met Peter's eyes. "You heard him."
Peter nodded, returning his gaze in full. "I did. I want you to remember that I asked nicely."
Then he let his power loose to reach out through the point of contact. His eyes flared red as his hungry, stolen power reached through where his hand held off Sunder's fist.
He felt it pull.
Peter's eyes flared red and energy rushed into him. He drew a breath and kept breathing in. A golden stream of energy surged out of Sunder's mouth, out of his eyes, drawn into Peter's mouth and nose.
It was indescribable. Delicious. A steak breakfast couldn't compare to this. The feelings of sunshine and good cheer from Anna Lee couldn't compare to this.
He was drinking in a man's life and it was incredible.
As life flowed out of Sunder, he seemed to visibly wither, his immense muscles slowly shrinking in on themselves and a long, rattling moan of anguish came out of him.
Peter knew he could simply keep breathing the man's life in until he was little more than a dead, desiccated husk. He was intimately familiar with how that process went.
It would be simple, even if he had only used it in that way once, a long time ago.
Even as he kept drawing in more and more, Sunder seemed to take forever to run dry. Peter had rendered people unconscious with the drawing in of life after a second or two. Sometimes it was difficult to judge.
He had to have been breathing in for a minute now? Two minutes? He didn't know anymore.
Sunder seemed like he could take it. There were such massive stores of strength and vitality within the man. Peter was sure he could keep going just a bit more and Sunder would be fine after some rest. Maybe. Mostly.
It was intoxicating.
He could feel where he cradled the man's fist in his hand. No longer pushing. If anything Peter was holding him up by that point of contact.
A single point of contact that let something within him– a part that wasn't drinking the man's life in– to reach out to take hold of something within Sunder. He could feel the shape of it. He recognized the sensation of reaching out. He knew it was Sunder's strength. His gift.
He was already drinking the man dry, why not take that away as well? If Peter kept going, it would just be wasted if he didn't claim it as his own.
Sunder was just using his power to bully those weaker than him, anyway.
He didn't deserve it.
He really didn't, Peter insisted to himself.
But does he deserve to die?
Peter stopped breathing in sharply, almost choking on the last golden tendrils of energy as they flowed into his nostrils.
He released the grip he'd taken on the man's power as well, leaving it where it was.
He released his fist from his hand.
Peter let everything go.
Sunder dropped to his knees and looked half-dead.
Peter could feel a massive amount of strength simply surging through his body. He forced the powers back, forced all that strength, all the riotous, rambunctious energy down deep where the hungry power dwelled when he didn't need it and allowed the glow to leave his eyes.
Calisto came into the area at a dead run and thundered, "What the hell is going on here?!"
Peter looked towards Masque, whose expression was apoplectic with rage. He met the robed man's eyes and said with a malicious smirk, "Masque was just showing me my place."