Beacon Harbor Boardwalk This street forms a long, lazy semi circle along the south east coast of Beacon Harbor Bay. The boardwalk begins just after the long stretch of rubble and boulders that separates the beach and boardwalk from the docks to the west. The boardwalk follows the curve of the coastline, with a number of shops and restaurants scattered among residences. A wild variety of shops, catering to the beach and surfer crowd, begin to pop up as the boardwalk fades into the beach the further to the east one travels along. As the coastline turns northward, the beach becomes more rocky, a wild, and dangerous place for surfers. --Piotr-- A very tall and well-built Caucasian man that looks to be in his mid- to late twenties, Piotr has short black hair and piercing dark eyes that, upon closer inspection, lend you to thinking that he bears a tragic burden at all times, no matter what his words or deeds are to the contrary. He speaks with a thick Russian accent in a deep, impressive voice. He is currently wearing a loose-fitting (not baggy) pair of jeans, big black combat boots, a blank grey sweatshirt that stretches across his massive chest and a weather-worn brown jacket that doesn't look like much in the way of style, but looks like plenty in the way of warmth and comfort. --Pete Wisdom-- Rather tall, but standing with an eternal slouch, Wisdom carries with him an aura of disreputability even when he's shaven and his clothes are clean and pressed. His left eye is covered unceremoniously by a black patch, a nasty scar running from above his eyebrow through down to his nose; other, lesser scars appear elsewhere. His remaining eye is a distractingly bright blue, and reflects a bitter cynicism, and it's apparent from the lines around it that he's likely earned the right to be jaded. The man's face is thin and pale, and his nose looks to be a bit thicker than it should be at the top, as though it'd been broken before but set correctly. His hair is jet black and somewhat long on top, though it's been cut recently and is short enough in the back; it has a tendency to fall into his face and shade his expression. Suits look absolutely natural on Pete, which is good, because it's all he'll ever wear. The one he's wearing now (which bears a remarkable resemblance to the one he wore yesterday, and the day before that, et cetera) is black, made of a fairly respectable fabric, and cut to a 'modern' style (which isn't the same as a modern style). Both the jacket and the trousers look almost streamlined; their lines coincide with Wisdom's. The lapels are narrow and point a bit upward, there're three buttons down the front instead of two, and his tie (made of matching material) is narrow. Around his neck, sometimes visible, is a thin silver chain from which conflicting pendants hang: a silver Star of David, smooth from age, and a tiny St. Jude medal. It's approaching sunset; Wisdom isn't actually /in/ the harbor. He can't swim, and doesn't have a boat. So. He's really actually on the boardwalk closest to the docks, leaning on the rail and watching the colors in the sky. Because he's Mr Paranoia, however, he's not lost in it; he's got his attention split, partially focused on the walk behind him, partially on any monitorable approaches to him, and whatever's left over is what gets spent on the Red Sky At Night, gleaming over the city's lower buildings, getting dark over the water itself. He straightens, fishing in his pocket; his movements are efficient, restricted. Oho. Cigarette. For its lighting, he leans back on the rail, because no one's likely to try and shoot him from the water. If the walk behind him is being monitored, he is more than likely to detect the quiet approach of a hulking fellow who's happened to pick the same walk to take in the seaside view. He tries to walk gently, but it's made harder to do on the occasionally rickety wood, especially by a man this size. His face, however, harbors no intentions that would cause alarm. In fact, he's in standard American 'ignore strangers' mode. He does, however, carry a backpack... and he slings it off his shoulders for a moment, preparing to dig inside it... Cigarette lit, Pete glances up, and freezes. It took him a moment to place Scott, because hello, no visor - but there's no way. There's no way Wisdom would ever fail to recognise the face of the man who ruined his life, destroyed Kitty's, and, in turn, had his cut short by the spy himself. The jacket helps, too. It looks an /awful/ lot like one someone else wore, a long time ago, where he came from. But it was much bigger on her. He's frozen, though, because as much as everything in his head screams for an attack, he's made a promise - and besides. It's obviously not the same one, that one was dead two years. This one, equally obviously, is quite alive. Either way, it's a good twenty seconds before he can take his cigarette out of his mouth and speak up. "Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin." Stony, stony face. Piotr has walked up near to Pete now, having taken nothing but a passing notice of his presence, having learned that people generally prefer to be left well enough alone. After digging a sketchpad and a pencil out of his bag, he places it aground for a moment, and he's begun searching for a particular vantage point... and suddenly, his name is spoken. In a tone that he cannot immediately place, which puts him on edge. He turns warily in the direction of his addresser... finding him unrecognizable, try as he might. He cocks an eyebrow at him. "Have we met, sir?" The *absolute* lack of recognition on Piotr's face relaxes Pete slightly, but slightly is all, so far. The Englishman still doesn't move, except to take another drag of his cigarette; the nicotine's the only thing keeping his hands from shaking. "In another world, I knew...a version of you. A version of you that cost me both the love of my life and my redemption." He pushes off the rail, finally, taking a step forward. And his voice, now, his voice is calculatedly conversational, quite edgy itself. "Tell me, Rasputin, do you know Kitty Pryde?" Piotr widens his eyes at this man's response... good lord. He has yet to really hear stories of a malevolent version of himself from any dimension... and of course, the big Russian immediately starts to assume the guilt that this version of himself has caused pain to anyone. Way to come down on a brother... but at the mention of Katya, his insides tighten up a bit more. After a pause, trying to discern this man's intentions, he replies with a short "Da... I do." She's only the love of his LIFE so far... but he tenses up, preparing to steel up if necessary... Oh. Shit. He does? He didn't 'did', he 'do'? There's an almost wild look on the skinny black-haired one-eyed man's face, at this, until he clamps down on it, tensing incredibly. "She's - she's *here*? She's alive? She's /here/?" But Piotr knows her. And he knows his own counterpart died a lifetime ago. "She's alive and you know her!" It's an exhalation, mixed disbelief and joy and abject /terror/, because she's not his Kitty and she won't know him - but Wisdom doesn't come any closer. Piotr blinks a bit at this rather excitable reaction that he was not expecting. He then shakes his head... "Nyet, no... I am sorry." He doesn't know HOW sorry. "She is not here... not that I know of. A version of her WAS here... older than the version I knew... but she has since vanished." There's a deep sadness at the thought of that. "Presumably retaken by the Infinity Force..." Great... this man has been an utter bother to encounter. Not only is he accusing him of misdeeds in another dimension (well, sort of), but now he's digging open old sorrows. The heartache is fresh again. "How do you know her?" he asks, questioningly... still curious about this man... feeling a little off-put by him. Well, if there's one thing Pete's good at, it's being a bother. At Piotr's negative response, he looks away; finally, his motions are loose and haphazard - it's more out of apathy than any semblance of relaxation. "I...was assigned to work with a team she was on. Excalibur. For their first mission to Genosha. And - she helped me, afterwards, with the taking out of a truly evil black ops organisation. And then we fell in love." Here, his monoptic gaze flickers back up to Rasputin, gauging his reaction. "I proposed to her, and she said yes." Piotr has no real reason to feel this way, but he's positively shaken by this last revelation about Katya. MARRIAGE. To someone else. To this jittery British man with the cigarettes. His eyes remain wide... his body remains tensed, but that heartache just keeps growing. "And... I suppose this alternate version of me... did something reprehensible..." he says, with a rather profound sense of guilt that any form of himself could bring harm to Katya... Yeah. How d'you think Pete feels just now? But he can't shut up. He can't. He has this opportunity that really isn't one, and he can't just let it go. "Oh, yes," affirms the one-eyed Englishman. "Yes, he did." At least he says 'he' instead of 'you'. "The first time he came back, looking for 'his Katya', he caught us kissing outside, then waited until Kitty was gone to attack me. That was sorted out only because McTaggert had her bloody magic medlab there on Muir and could save us both." His voice is getting more emotional with every word he says, fuller and more real, a far cry from the restraint of his first words this evening. "And then, because they couldn't bear to break Xavier's heart with the news that his favorite son had gone quite fucking batty and tried to kill his competition, Excalibur kept him on. And Kitty and I moved on. It got to the point where we *breathed* in unison, where she could predict my thoughts, where I couldn't live without her." A pause, and Wisdom fixes on Piotr's face, watching his eyes. "That's when I proposed, and to my dying day I will keep her expression of rapture in my heart." *Then* he looks away, he flicks his cigarette carelessly into the open water. "And then he came after us both. If he couldn't have 'his Katya', then by god, he wouldn't let me." Piotr just listens. That's all he CAN do, really. It's obvious this man has a lot to get off his chest... and even if this is not really HIMSELF that the man is talking about... he feels it is the least he can do to absorb this diatribe. And that it becomes... the pit of grief and horror within him only swells the longer he draws this out. He lost Katya... but the mention of McTaggert brings to mind a world similar to his own... he lost Katya. He had managed to botch his relationship with Katya in his own world... and it was only his exile here that caused him to lament his actions ruefully. And when she appeared here, it... it was almost a second chance, were it not for the woman he'd met here... but he was so torn... he was so drawn to her, still... and although he has never thought about this... there is a part of him that can very well feel how distraught he would become over seeing Katya devoting her life to someone else... promising to love another and ONLY another. It's like a new, sharp knife twisting in the hole left by a prior, blunted axe. But no... he would never resort to brutality over this, would he? He could NEVER do such a thing... he could never hurt her, no matter how much it hurt him to let her go. He cannot look at this man anymore... his head bows, and he turns away slightly for a moment... almost raising his hands for him to stop, his eyes closed... the pain on his face more than evident. He didn't do this... but it's starting to feel like he did. He doesn't want to hear more... but he knows he will hear it all, in gruesome detail... because this man needs this moment... and it does not seem to be his right to deny it... Actually, no. The pain on Piotr's face completely derails Wisdom, once the other man gets to the point where he has to look away. Deep within Pete, there's something screaming 'Wisdom, you DAFT PRICK! You owe NO APOLOGIES! This isn't the man, but he's close enough, isn't he? Don't you have to take it out on him? Don't you owe it? IDIOT!' But equally loud is something from the *core* of his being, something that can't stand seeing this level of pain on anyone's face. Especially not when he's the one dishing it out. He looks away, himself, and takes out another cigarette. Yeah, he's lighting them with his hands, but that's a side note. "He's dead now, too. I'm all that's left of the three of us and there's nothing left to me." Piotr wants to drop to his knees. He wants to drop to his knees and sob as if he's just watched someone kill Katya himself. The mere thought of this.. the imagery, well... it's likely to haunt him for years to come. He somehow, someway, manages to retain his limited composure, sliding his hands down his face and opening his eyes to look at the moonlight for a moment, having dropped his pad and pencil to the dock planks underfoot. His eyes have a glistening, watery shimmer to them. This is not something he could ever imagine doing... and now he's been forced to imagine it. And it's that bitter, cold summary that this man offers that finally forces him to turn back and face him. He watches this man for a moment, swallowing hard his sudden grief. For the longest moment, he can think of absolutely nothing to say. Really, what DO you say when you find out an alternate version of yourself murdered someone's fiancee? He tries to clear his throat, and it hurts. A lump has swollen up in his throat that makes it harder to breathe. "I... can offer nothing... that would ease your pain..." he manages, after a long, awkward moment. "All... all I can offer... is profound regret..." he coughs slightly, trying not to choke on his own quiet voice... "... my deepest sorrows... and... utterly inadequate apologies..." A tear starts to streak down his face, followed shortly after by another. That whole knee-dropping and sobbing thing? Yeah, Pete's been there too. And he wanted a /rational/ Colossus to feel what he knew the one he killed never would be able to. He wanted at least a taste of emotional revenge. But it's ungodly hollow, and he knew it would be going in, but he did it anyway. He went and did it anyway. He could have kept his mouth shut, or he could have said something else - but he didn't, and now the big Tin Man is crying in front of him. And apologizing from deep within himself. And now - now all Pete can feel is utter disgust with himself. Oh, if only Kitty could see him now. His cigarette-holding hand comes up, safe-side-in, to cover his face briefly; he leans against the rail again, and there's literally nothing left of him. "Don't apologize. Don't apologize, you didn't do it. Don't let yourself be broken by a fucking pathetic wreck of a human being. You're more than I can ever be, if you feel the need to apologize for a /counterpart/." Listless voice, slightly muffled by his hand. Piotr places one of his hands against the railing... and soon enough, he puts the other one against it as well, bracing himself against the weakening of the rest of his form. It's like this man thinks so little of himself that he's saying the man that murdered his reason for living is a better man. Yes, it's almost like he's taking responsibility for the murder... maybe he IS a bit touched in the head. His breathing comes a little easier, and he closes his eyes to stop the flow of tears before it gets embarrassing. He clears his throat again. "I... cannot believe... that any form of myself... could bring harm to her." He swallows again. "But... if you feel you are a wreck... I cannot help but feel responsible in some way for causing the wreckage." Good god, he was not expecting a brand new emotional nightmare this evening. "Then again... as Katya once told me... I have been known to take the blame for the sun going down at night..." He manages a rather forced upturn of one corner of his mouth. All this just when the constant dreams of Katya had started to die down. Wisdom leans sideways against the railing, half incredulous at his own reaction to the man standing next to him, and half incredulous at Piotr's automatic complete assuption of guilt. He blows smoke out to sea, then looks down at his cigarette, listening silently. He can hear, in Colossus' voice, the tone leading to the forced half-smile; he looks up again. "That sounds like her, all right," says Pete wistfully. Fingertips have memories, and talking about Kitty - even like this - makes Pete's remember her. "I was a wreck before I met her. The four years we spent together were impossible to imagine when I was that wreck, and--" He's suddenly aware what a freak he sounds. "And I think I'm daft, now, for the memories I have." A pause, as Wisdom takes a contemplative drag off his cigarette and ashes over the rail, then watches the smoke rise from his exhalation. "If it's any consolation, that Rasputin /was/ mad. I don't think he was capable of love. He wasn't rational." Piotr shakes his head at all of this, starting to compose himself a little more. There seems to be no revenge attack imminent now... so he can at least stop preparing for that, although to be honest, knowing what he knows now, it'd be debateable as to whether or not he'd make any attempt to defend himself right now. "I know the benevolent effect she can have on a man... I know that I could not have imagined my happiness when I was with her in the time before I'd met her..." he sighs a little. He looks up at the man's eyes for a moment. They've shared the same woman, in a sense... and if nothing else, it might be good to have someone to commiserate with about her absence... although, good lord... if she were ever to appear here NOW... well, with their luck, she'd be in love with Logan or something. "Was there... any explanation for his madness?" He's using the 'his' instead of 'my' there, too. It's healthy to separate this a bit... despite the new hole in the soul. "Had he always been mad... or had something happened to him?" He swallows again. "I... would like to avoid anything that could ever lead me down that road..." He looks somewhat worried at this thought... looking around idly at anything that might be trying to get him down that path right now... If she were ever to appear here, watch her be a vampire or something, and that would just be - well. Don't need to go there. Yeah, Pete's past the point of wanting to kill, that abated the moment Piotr failed to recognize him, and went away completely when he was allowed to say his piece. His cigarette's burning down again, and he takes in another big lungful before he answers, leaning backward on the rail again. "Pryde," he called her Pryde and she called his Wisdom, more often than not, "had said to me, of the Rasputin there, that he was never in love with her. He tolerated her childlike crush because it boosted his ego, and thereafter considered her his property. The terrible things that happened to his family and his country while he was here tore at him, and then his time spent with Magneto and the Acolytes finished off his sanity and, as far as we could tell, he came back to Pryde to look for a way back to the past. But she'd grown up in the interim. When he came back, she was nearly nineteen." Last bit of smoke, and then this butt goes sailing into the harbor, as well. Pete gazes up at the stars. "While he stayed with Excalibur, he drank more than Braddock ever did. And that only got worse and worse." Piotr blinks a bit at this... wondering briefly if Katya would actually feel this way about him now... as if he never really loved her. Of course, the Katya he knows may think that now, since he's been here for years... and their ridiculous relationship ending has most likely soured her... but the Katya that was here briefly.. she was older... wiser... and still seemed to feel for him. But this is a different time he's being told of. Aside from losing Mikhail and part of Illyana's childhood, he is unaware of any devastating consequences... and being under Magneto's thrall cannot be a good sign. He starts to feel a bit more relieved at this, hearing of an obviously very different Piotr. He's unaware of anyone named Braddock offhand, but drinking a lot is something he's always avoided, usually, as it is often considered the curse of his country. It's the referring to her as 'Pryde' that sticks to him. "That... does not sound at all like me, I am relieved to say. There is nothing I can think of that would cause me to ally with Magneto, unless he was as different from the Magnus I knew as I am from this murderer with my face and name." He shudders a bit again, looking out at the butts floating on the water... then looking back. "Can I ask you your name, sir?" he asks... with his knee-jerk courtesy. Aw. The water's that still, is it? Yes, it's still littering - but Pete's never professed to be anything but a slob. He glances back at Piotr, extremely wry smile curling the side of his mouth up very slightly. "You can." Augh! Bastard! Then he straightens and relents. "Pete," he says. "Pete Wisdom. And yes, we went by Pryde and Wisdom. It was too good to resist." Piotr manages a smile at this little ploy... and this little nugget of a life Katya led apart from him. "I'll concur with you there..." he says, glancing down briefly before looking back at him again. "I would tell you that you could call me Peter, but that would cause more problems than it would solve, I suppose." His demeanor, becoming a bit more playful here, is helping to slowly ease the knot in his stomach. He may have to ask how he went about killing Katya, if only to stop himself from imagining the most horrible ways he COULD have done it... it's a foul taste to swallow. Still, he tries to avoid the thought with small talk. "Have... have you been here long?" A life lived not in spandex and bases and hovercars, but in civilian clothes and private investigation and pubs, and congenial visits with friends. "I can call you Peter. That's not what I called him," says Pete quietly, finally just leaning with his hands in his pockets, faint smile on his face. "A bit. Since November, sometime, I believe. At least before Han- before Christmas." She's not here, you don't have to say it instead. Yeah, the pendant next to St Jude, patron saint of lost causes, is Kitty's. "It's been cold throughout. Fucking /miserable/, cold is." Piotr catches a glimpse of that familar Star of David. He shudders again. "Yes... welcome to the weather of Beacon Harbor," he says, somewhat wryly. "Do not fear, though... summer will be intolerably hot as well." Bozshe moi, he's been here long enough to advise visitors on the weather patterns. A sense of deeper sadness starts to sink in. "I have been here for about three years now," he says, somberly. "And while it feels like home on some occasions... on others I feel just as trapped as the day I was taken." It could have been with an axe. Or a chainsaw. He could have become steel and snapped her neck like a stick... or threw her into the Atlantic... he could have shot her in the face or something... his face starts to go white a bit at the ghastly thoughts. "But... I would guess a good sign is that I have yet to be driven mad by this trauma." And now he'll be on extra guard against any sort of extreme behavior... He should just ask. It sounds morbid, but the question would seem reasonable to Pete, who's...well, a reformed wetworks expert for the paranormal defense branch of the British government. He'd probably even be able to fathom why it was asked. "I can take heat. I can take an intolerable amount of heat. Cold, though -- too much of it and you'll have me crying like a little girl." Totally conversational. Yes. Small talk. He glances up at Colossus again - three years. "Three years? Three years." There's a look in his blue eye, a look about his face, that comes awfully close to despair. He's come this far by resolutely refusing to imagine the future. By living day to day and trying to make a better world of the present. But the idea of three years from now, him still here, still living without Kitty - the idea of a lifetime without her - it's nearly enough to send him over the rail right now and breathing deeply of the cold water. Gnh. Must stop thinking of Pryde. "Yeh, you're not mad. You're perfectly all right, but for that borrowing guilt bit..." Piotr doesn't want to ask. He doesn't want to think about it. Plus he has no idea what a reformed wetworks expert would do, much less anything about this Wisdom person's ability to understand such a request. "Borrowing guilt.." he repeats, his voice not much louder than the waves of the sea. He sighs again. "I've lost her three times now... once due to my own stupidity, and twice due to this Infinity effect... and now... now it feels as if I've added a fourth loss to the list... even if I was an egomaniacal villain in your world..." He shakes his head again, looking back up at him.. for a moment wishing he smoked. "How... how long has it been for you... living without her?" He may need to build up to the question... and he's also starting to wonder how HE died in that world... He's too good of a man to take Pete's earlier hints at face value, then, if he didn't infer Pete's hand in his counterpart's death. "I've only lost her the once. But considering the fact that it was such an incredibly visible and /permanent/ loss..." he trails off, then shakes his head and answers the question. "Two years this month." Here, he'll throw in a freebie, face set and gaze fixed on some point far away and somewhere to the left of Piotr. It wasn't just loss of Kitty, it was total excommunication. "I was still an outsider. I was only accepted by the 'family' - Xavier and his lot, and even Excalibur - because Kitty was there making them. But *him* -- he was family throughout. Even after he attacked me the first time, he was family, and he was kept on. And then everyone was so surprised - and then everyone blamed me for it, because I'd had the audacity and the selfishness to announce our engagement in his presence." /God/ his words are bitter. It's a wonder he hasn't a face like he's sucking on a lemon - but Wisdom's face is all blank again, in recollection. "And then the heartlessness to kill him before he killed me..." The unspoken words, implied in his tone, are that the 'family' wished he'd let Colossus kill him - and oftentimes, he's hard pressed to disagree. "So I lost Kitty, yeah, and then none of her friends would have a thing to do with me." Mope, mope, self-pity. Big sigh. "Sorry. Two years." Piotr, indeed, is not the quickest at catching implied hints like that... but he's somewhat thankful that he's elaborating on this... but also feeling somewhat unpleasant about himself that he would need to hear more detail on this sordid affair. But the slant of his words... it's like the whole of the X-Men in his world was a stodgy, uncaring bunch... or perhaps there's more to the story than his side of it. That is hardly a relevant issue, though. The fact remains that Piotr murdered Katya in this man's reality in some fit of crazed jealous lunacy and everyone else looked the other way as it happened. It is not out of the realm of possibility that the X-Men there were less than caring. Xavier was evil here, too. "I see..." is all he can muster to say at the moment. "How... How did I... did he... how did Katya actually die?" he finally manages, after a pause. He swallows again... "I fear... I am afraid that I may need to know this..." Wisdom's paranoia has turned it into a world against him, yes, but that's truly how it felt at the time. And when he attempted to make overtures and they were rebuffed, he was too hurt to consider that the overtures may simply have been made to the wrong people. Then he looks up and studies Piotr's face, at the last question. "Going through your head, is it?" he asks quietly. "She died instantly, with no pain. She also didn't have to see me die, and she didn't have to see me kill him. We figured if he was going to do anything, he'd come after me, because that's what he'd done the first time. Maybe it was a twisted compassion, because he knew she loved me with everything she had." Mild, halfassed shrug, and Pete turns away. "He came up behind her. Wasn't changed - yet - so I didn't think--" A pause; his voice is much, much quieter. "--I didn't think he was going to do anything. I looked away for a fucking /instant/, and he was steel and breaking her neck when I looked back." Piotr turns slightly, still leaning against the railing, not really able to face him while hearing this... concentrating his focus on the night's reflection off of the water. While he supposes the truth is better than the worst his imagination might conjure... he hardly feels able to take any comfort in knowing the details of what has happened. "I am sorry..." he says, nearly under his breath, in reaction to this tale, once again taking the blame for something he didn't do. He's also not sure whether or not the true mental image will completely erase all of the old ones... seeds are planted, one might say, for years of future nightmares, for this is the kind of thing Piotr Rasputin will dwell on far beyond the healthy pondering it might warrant. "Spaceeba... thank you for telling me, though... I know it must not be easy for you to speak so freely with... with me..." He isn't sure what he should say at all... but he's making his best attempt... Wisdom's voice is harsh, but it's the harshness of a man who can't cry anymore instead of the voice of a man bursting with dangerous fury. And it's also miserably entertained. "I wanted to kill you again. I saw your face and I wanted to break it, and I reckoned I'd come across one of you here, but I'd made a promise to myself - and to Kitty's memory - that I'd never kill again." Too bad about the whole Spike debacle. Too /damn/ bad. "And I can't even justify any desire to /hurt/ you. I can't even fucking /hate/ you, Peter. You're innocent." And you derailed me utterly with your crying, you angsty bastard you. Piotr nods to him.... expecting to hear as much yet still finding it painful to hear such hatred semi-justifiably directed towards him. And all that swearing, too. This puts him at even more of a loss, if such a thing was possible. He does notice the use of the words 'justify any desire,' which could mean he very well HAS that desire, but knows no good reason for it. "I... " he starts... before trailing off a bit. He clears his throat, wipes his eyes slightly, then rubs them for a long moment, trying to clear his thoughts. "I... hope you understand my inability to... respond to all of this..." is all he can think to say. "Is... is there anything at all I can do for you?" he asks, meekly... knowing nothing could make up for such a loss. Again with the hollow, baleful one-eyed glare. "Yeh. Don't feel sorry for me. And don't blame yourself. I told you, Peter, you're innocent." Pete's not going to apologize. He can't apologize, but he also hates himself so thoroughly right now that he might as /well/. He hates himself for not being able to hate this Colossus, he hates himself for what he just did to the man, he hates himself because he's come to this. "You /know/ you're innocent. It's just shite luck you ran into me." He looks away again, finally digging for and lighting another cigarette, all tense again. Self-loathing really makes your adrenalin buzz. Piotr lets out a long sigh... turning back to face him and leaning backwards against the railing. He looks up and studies the man. "Well, to..." He almost calls him 'tovarisch,' but that might be overstepping things. "Well... Pete," he restarts... "I believe it will take me some time to adjust to this knowledge... as I am certain you have still not entirely come to terms with it...." He swallows a bit... then shrugs. "But... I suppose the least we could do is to stop dwelling on it so much, as it is not something that can be altered." Wise words, Piotr... if only you'd follow them. "Perhaps I can at least get you a cup of coffee... or perhaps something a bit stronger..." Not exactly gregarious in tone, but trying to steer the conversation towards a place where he'll feel competent enough to respond... Yeah - Pete hasn't called him 'mate', either. The corners of his mouth turn down, face tightening a little. "Come to terms with it," he says, trying it out, rolling the phrase around. "Come to terms. No, I can't do that. You're all goodness and light, aren't you. You never needed redeeming, did you. You never sought out the proof of your life's worth in the eyes of someone else, in the expression on someone's face. I can never come to terms with losing Pryde." His tone is nothing more than tiredly bitter. "You might dwell. I haven't dwelled until I saw you. But no, it's not something I can come to terms with." Reaching up to rub his face again, and scratch his jaw, Pete's shoulders slump; he takes a drag of his cigarette and finally looks back at Piotr. "I appreciate the offer, but somehow I just - can't. Let me seethe in peace. Once I'm sufficiently plastered, I'll look you up and we can have your coffee. You've my word of honor I won't touch a hair on your head." Piotr watches him speak... and stiffens slightly as he's told he's all 'goodness and light.' As if emotionally cheating on Katya on another world, then coming home and dumping her unceremoniously out of nowhere is nobility. As if failing to protect his sister when she was abducted by otherworldly demons is light. As if abandoning his family's farm to join a group of adventurers that may have done more harm than good is goodness. Perhaps he's never become a criminal or a vicious violent sort... but this man's tale indicates the potential lies within him, and that's a darkness he'll have to bear for years to come. "I thank you for your word..." he offers at last. He thinks of some advice he's heard... about how trying to find your life's worth in the eyes of someone else is not really possible, since you are the only one who can forgive yourself... but now is not the place. Piotr could very well never come to terms with losing Katya, either, as her memory still haunts him so.... "I live in Chinatown... Greenwood Properties... number 135... I would be honored to have you come by at any time." It sounds like platitudes.. like small talk. But it's said with deep sincerity. "But I understand if you decide you never will... I know, were the tables turned, that I would have a hard time being within the sight of you..." You /are/ the only one who can forgive yourself, and redemption through a second party /is/ the wrong path. However - it's the path and the methodology of just about every spy on God's green earth. Otherwise they wouldn't be willing to do the jobs they do. Also, wow. Piotr gave Pete his address. Considering Pete's venom this evening, the information shocks the hell out of him. Yet - the last sentence, the last sentence of all -- it's quite damn sobering. Were the tables turned? Yeah. Pete might not be able to /hate/ Colossus, but he also can't trust him. And that sentence certainly doesn't help, though it's perfectly understandable. "I'll eventually drop by," he says quietly, finally, ashing over the railing. He takes a step backward, unsure of how to leave, then half-scowls. What/ever/. There's a gruff "Cheers," and he's on his way. Piotr doesn't particularly like Pete's final reaction to him... which makes him believe he's said something perhaps a little too strong. It's the truth, though. If someone had killed Katya in front of him... he finds it hard to believe that he would be able to stand the sight of anyone that even LOOKED like that culprit.... and he could see himself becoming the nightmarish monster from Wisdom's world. And THAT is the thought that sobers him. He grips the railing a little tighter, only offering a nod and a quiet "Good night" to Wisdom as he leaves. He then turns back to water... not even thinking that he may have made a mistake in trusting Wisdom with his address. That's the Petey Pureheart part of him. But his grip tightens around the railing... the water rushes in, as do the thoughts of Katya... her absence, her otherworldly death... his perhaps unending guilt... once Wisdom is long gone... he feels some rage build within him... and he shifts into his metal form... and completely rips the railing from its mooring, wrenching it apart from itself.... and he hurls the hunk of twisted metal as far into the sea as he can... which means he cannot even see the splash when it lands. His fists clench... his eyes burn... and for a brief moment, he wishes he was the type of person that would take out frustrations on someone else. But eventually... it subsides... and he shifts back to his flesh form. He finally leans down and gathers up his pencil and pad, stuffs them back into his pack... slings it over his shoulder, and quietly makes his way back from the dock, just as workers are poking around to find out what the hell just happened. No one sees Piotr Rasputin as he leaves the scene... and he's glad for that... for his sake and theirs....