Walter is listening thoughtfully at first. Yeah, he can understand. Pyotr had reminded him that Trevor was clearly an alcoholic as well, and Walter is feeling empathetic to their "mutual friend's" pain, how lost he is away from everything he knew.
As Pyotr starts to explain that he and Trevor had a talk, or rather two talks, Walter can tell this is definitely... strange. Not like Pyotr's expression of lofty ideas where it's natural to chat in paragraphs. No, this is almost like the speech Walter is rehearsing for Malcolm about how this is a cult. Pyotr, who keeps so much to himself, who barely uses the network despite his chattiness, has something very detailed to tell him because he is so direly in need of someone to understand. To see exactly what happened, something plain that he's left faithless about. Seeing it'll be needed to listen longer, Walter sits down in the pew of the chapel when Pyotr rubs at his forehead, and it's a good thing he did. Because Walter's first thought when his friend relates such a terrible thing that happened is to want to hug him.
That would have been the wrong move, he can feel in the next moment when the wave of concern that crashed across his face falls away. Pyotr is comparatively stiff at the best of times, let alone when he's so detached from some terrible occurrence; he'd probably hate to be touched even more now, "pitied"...
Walter is a bit of a fidgeter by nature, a pacer, what have you. It was good that he sat down. His gaze shifts away restlessly at several moments, no sign he isn't truly listening, but he's trying to organize all this in his mind to understand that he really missed it, and that Trevor had acted like everything was normal. Walter is getting the impression this occurred before "I started avoiding you more", yet he missed physical signs of this. A single stab wound, perhaps Pyotr could be that stubborn. A death toll seems impossible to hide. But multiple, was Pyotr hurt so badly that he resorted to magical healing despite it all? Or did Blitzø use an infernal power to stab him and "heal" him over and over for the attack to occur with impunity? Something else? Walter won't press for this detail, reopen the young man's wound, it's all just... so horrible...
Because clearly the worst part had been getting rejected by Trevor yet again. If Blitzø had just been acting on his own in what the other validated as a genuinely unacceptable way—god, Walter's thinking some modern "secure attachment" bullshit. Maybe it's not the worst thing that Trevor is jaded and reckless, that he didn't manage to stick a band-aid on the wound that stemmed from his own coldness. Because that's how the wardens... all get you.
"Holy shit," he says. Walter reaches up to point almost shakily. "So that was you. That was not just some abstract demon hieroglyph, that drawing was... literally you. Because he did that."
What the fuck? Who else knew about this? Someone else who wrote in the ledger praising Trevor and is his good friend on monster breakfast shift so much more important than monitoring now, Sebastian?? Archer? The friends and wardens of the other gremlins?
They are demons, he remembers now. Demons from hell that are the playthings of those watching down from heaven.
Walter exhales for a second, his face losing the tension of sheer horror at Blitzø's direct actions. He doesn't want to accept the cosmic scale of their predicament, tries to take advantage of his less affected position and think something. "Maybe Trevor was right about one part. Maybe if anyone upstairs thought he was ever going to actually help, he'd be 'demoted' already."
That word came out twisted with contempt. What the hell. He probably shouldn't make very specific assumptions, but what part of a downright milquetoast plan for the monitor, for a single warden to be held accountable by inmates and even then still out of the goodness of their heart, was so difficult to understand!? It feels fundamentally impossible that wardens and inmates can actually work together to common goals, not when they're observed so closely and only promoted when the time is right for the Admiral. Walter has always thought that his salon will be easy to explain when push comes to shove, and now he has reason to fear retaliation for nothing more than an actual speakeasy, an actual refuge from the relentless expectation to open up and accept fate and change. He sits back, shoulders slumping against the furniture. Says something that he figures will hand control back over to Pyotr, how he wants to be respected, Walter not yet steamrolling with his own thoughts.
"Well, it's a good thing we didn't write down anything."
no subject
As Pyotr starts to explain that he and Trevor had a talk, or rather two talks, Walter can tell this is definitely... strange. Not like Pyotr's expression of lofty ideas where it's natural to chat in paragraphs. No, this is almost like the speech Walter is rehearsing for Malcolm about how this is a cult. Pyotr, who keeps so much to himself, who barely uses the network despite his chattiness, has something very detailed to tell him because he is so direly in need of someone to understand. To see exactly what happened, something plain that he's left faithless about. Seeing it'll be needed to listen longer, Walter sits down in the pew of the chapel when Pyotr rubs at his forehead, and it's a good thing he did. Because Walter's first thought when his friend relates such a terrible thing that happened is to want to hug him.
That would have been the wrong move, he can feel in the next moment when the wave of concern that crashed across his face falls away. Pyotr is comparatively stiff at the best of times, let alone when he's so detached from some terrible occurrence; he'd probably hate to be touched even more now, "pitied"...
Walter is a bit of a fidgeter by nature, a pacer, what have you. It was good that he sat down. His gaze shifts away restlessly at several moments, no sign he isn't truly listening, but he's trying to organize all this in his mind to understand that he really missed it, and that Trevor had acted like everything was normal. Walter is getting the impression this occurred before "I started avoiding you more", yet he missed physical signs of this. A single stab wound, perhaps Pyotr could be that stubborn. A death toll seems impossible to hide. But multiple, was Pyotr hurt so badly that he resorted to magical healing despite it all? Or did Blitzø use an infernal power to stab him and "heal" him over and over for the attack to occur with impunity? Something else? Walter won't press for this detail, reopen the young man's wound, it's all just... so horrible...
Because clearly the worst part had been getting rejected by Trevor yet again. If Blitzø had just been acting on his own in what the other validated as a genuinely unacceptable way—god, Walter's thinking some modern "secure attachment" bullshit. Maybe it's not the worst thing that Trevor is jaded and reckless, that he didn't manage to stick a band-aid on the wound that stemmed from his own coldness. Because that's how the wardens... all get you.
"Holy shit," he says. Walter reaches up to point almost shakily. "So that was you. That was not just some abstract demon hieroglyph, that drawing was... literally you. Because he did that."
What the fuck? Who else knew about this? Someone else who wrote in the ledger praising Trevor and is his good friend on monster breakfast shift so much more important than monitoring now, Sebastian?? Archer? The friends and wardens of the other gremlins?
They are demons, he remembers now. Demons from hell that are the playthings of those watching down from heaven.
Walter exhales for a second, his face losing the tension of sheer horror at Blitzø's direct actions. He doesn't want to accept the cosmic scale of their predicament, tries to take advantage of his less affected position and think something. "Maybe Trevor was right about one part. Maybe if anyone upstairs thought he was ever going to actually help, he'd be 'demoted' already."
That word came out twisted with contempt. What the hell. He probably shouldn't make very specific assumptions, but what part of a downright milquetoast plan for the monitor, for a single warden to be held accountable by inmates and even then still out of the goodness of their heart, was so difficult to understand!? It feels fundamentally impossible that wardens and inmates can actually work together to common goals, not when they're observed so closely and only promoted when the time is right for the Admiral. Walter has always thought that his salon will be easy to explain when push comes to shove, and now he has reason to fear retaliation for nothing more than an actual speakeasy, an actual refuge from the relentless expectation to open up and accept fate and change. He sits back, shoulders slumping against the furniture. Says something that he figures will hand control back over to Pyotr, how he wants to be respected, Walter not yet steamrolling with his own thoughts.
"Well, it's a good thing we didn't write down anything."