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This was a bit much for Peter.

One second this woman was playing the purring vixen, the other she was playing the hurt virgin. And all the while she seemed to be taking no account of Peter looking about ready to beat the crap out of someone, who may as well be her.

It was obvious it was an act with her, but the complete disregard for her personal safety was rather not part of it. And here, all Peter had really wanted was a nice and quiet beer in the pub before going to sleep. He wondered if it would have been a better idea to just stay back home in the barracks, but who would have thought he could come across such a crazy woman? That such a creepy person even existed?

Peter had never understood city-folk, and was now certain he did not even want to try.

"Wedding what?!" He shouted, going ballistic. "I wouldn't promise to tell you the time of day!"

It was obvious that the other visitors of the bar had decided that they were not going to have anything to do with these two. They had no idea what to do, let alone what to think. Both had all but impeccable histories and this ensuing drama was something completely out of the blue and no one really knew who to react.

So these two were now left on their own.

Then the kiss came. At this moment Time itself seemed to stand still as it waited with baited breath to see what happened next.

Peter simply stood there for a moment, rage gone in a moment as perplexity kick it out and moved in instead. Then a warm trickle ran down his nose-ring, and he put his hand to his nose, fishing for his handkerchief in his pocket.

"Blast you!" He told her, "I am not your fiance! I am not marrying you! I am not going to have anything more to do with such a crazy minx! I am not playing your sick games!"

With that he stormed out of the pub, nose in his handkerchief and muttering to himself as he did.

Peter, however he was upset about the wily red human minx's behavior, felt rather bad about his own reaction. He often did after he blew a circuit like this. Though he knew he could do next to nothing about it, this reaction, as he had long realized, being a core part of his personality, he still felt as if he should be able to handle his reactions a bit better. It was nonsense, he figured, especially as the woman had been really irritating, and who did she think she was, at any rate, purring up to him like that and actually threatening him? It was beyond outrageous.

It was frankly disgusting.

And yet Peter still felt bad about his reaction, even if it might seemed justified.

What really annoyed him was that he had not thought her to be a half bad person upon first sight, but that behavior she had pulled off without even an once of shame had really put him off. It was this that kept him feeling at odds with the events that had just happened. She looked intelligent and cultured, and yet acted like a stupid hussy. She was pretty, and yet her actions revolted him.

Not to put too fine a point on it, she had rather reminded him of his captain, Captain Farqua, a woman who looked like an angel, but had all the manners and taste as a third-rate merchant in the dregs of the district. But he knew his captain had very good reasons for acting the way she did...

Which was what made him begin to think once he had gotten outside and had stemmed the flow of blood from his nose.

Pausing and looking up at the night sky above him thoughtfully, Peter put his stain handkerchief away, then turned and went back into the tavern.

Completely ignoring the perplexing female, Peter got his beer and went to the corner farthest away from her taking a seat and resuming his time with the beer.

Peter sighed when he felt someone tap his shoulder, but did not look up. It was, he thought, too much to hope for: being left peacefully alone to nurse his beer before he had to return to the barracks. The apology was met with a grunt. He was not sure, not after all that loud melodrama, if the woman was sincere or no. It was just as likely that this was another twisted game of hers, then no. The extra beer was a nice gesture, which he accepted with a nod for what it appeared to be, but did not bother to take his caution down.

Despite her apparently now modest and cautious behavior, Peter did have the feeling that even though she seemed to retire, she would not remain quite for long.

Sure enough, the redhead could not. That high, querulous voice sounded again and basically demanded an answer to the question that was obviously plaguing her.

"I really don't know what you're talking about, Miss." He grumbled, not bothering to turn and look at her. "One deals with what one must. My dealing with it has nothing to do with it. And who says I'm hurt. If I were hurt, I'd be long dead. I serve my purpose and make do with what comes. No mystery there."

"If you are so bothered by such things." He added, taking another drought of his beer and snorting again. "I would stop reading about it, if I were you."

Peter sniffed then looked over at the woman with high suspicion and some humor. He might have been a blithe enough country boy to start with, but that did not mean he had not been around and seen enough over the last fifteen years.

This acting, for what reason was completely beyond him, was getting amazingly complicated on the woman's part and Peter wondered if she had nothing better to do with her time. The insults she now threw at him were actually rather amusing, especially as she seemed to be running out of ammunition. She was a sore looser, it seemed.

'Ignorant', 'dry'. 'unsociable', Peter had herd them all. From his cadet years, he had heard these and far worse from his peers, but they really did not overly bother him. He was far too stoic to be bothered by such flippant and meaningless words, especially from people who seemed to take pride in being able to smirch another without knowing the first thing about them. It was, after a while, rather boring too. People had no imagination, really, he decided.

"If I am as horrible as you say," he grumbled, amusement in his eyes at the catty woman's paradoxical behavior. "Why bother wanting to talk to me, let alone cheer me up?"

Peter snorted in amusement at the very catty remark, and shrugged.
She really was a sore looser.
This rather made things very amusing for Peter. It was, he had to admit to himself, a way to get a little bit or revenge for being put on the spot like that before by her.

This one really was one to rage between extremes. Certainly what his mom would have described as a 'dangerous woman'. He had always taken his mother as a silly person when she had gone on at lengths about her ideas of such people, but now facing one of these, he was not all too sure the old gril had not been right...

"I talk to whom I want to." He said simply, not bothered at all. "And don't talk to those I don't want to talk to. I'm too simple to do anything else, mam. And it's Peter, if you like."

He took another sip of his beer, apparently not interested if Shyruna left or no.

"Thanks for the beer, then, if you're going." He added.

Peter continued drinking his beer, not bothering to make any response to the mimicking, thinking that she really was very childish, and that he had not met a learned person who was not so, too a greater or lesser degree. It was funny though, to hear someone with such a high-pitched voice trying to copy his own guttural one.

He took a last drought of his beer, almost chocking on it though as he got a peck of a kiss on his cheek, shaking his head and snorting, nose-ring swinging as he did. Wiping his face with his sleeve, Peter narrowed his eyes as he looked after the tittering and disappearing red-head.

Putting down is drowned mug, he looked at the empty container for a moment, watching the remnants of the drink, the white froth and the trickle of the dregs settling into the bottom. Scratching his head, he stood and left himself, grabbing his green, uniform cloak from the stand by the door.

Outside, the cold air hit him and he remembered that it had just turned autumn. A very sudden and cold autumn. Peter remembered overhearing some farmers worrying about crops and such during the day. As if food was not already short enough, he thought with a sigh. This was something that was going to lead to tensions again, and guess who would be asked to deal with such? You guessed it. While all the while those fat-cats in their little palaces gorged and dined upon feasts...it was one of the reasons Peter hated him, one of the few things Peter truly hated. But there was next to nothing he could do about it.

Oh, there had been talk of rebellion, but what would be the result? More turmoil? More dead? More restrictions? There really was no point, but the idea that those in power were taking advantage of the situation only served to deepen the distrust and loathing felt towards them....and heighten the danger they were putting themselves in.



Peter sighed again, wanting to put such ideas out of his head. He had no place, thinking like that. Not really. He was a paid dog of those fat-cats, after all.

Pulling his cloak closer about him, he began his march home to the Garrison's Barracks. As he trudged over the dirt road that connected his Legion's HQ with the city, and further beyond with the gate in Wall Rose, Peter spied a small figure up ahead of him. He did not pay this person any mind, though, lost in his own thoughts as he was.

And then the ground trembled.

Peter frowned at this trembling of the ground.
It was all too familiar. It was the sort of sensation that woke him up at night, gasping and drenched in a cold sweat. This was something that never changed, no matter how many missions he went on. Somehow watching those who had, regardless of how he tried not to, grown on him died deaths of the most horrible nature never got any better, He had long ago decided that if he got used to such things, he would be too far gone, too far gone for anyone to reach him.

He was not sure if this would be a good or bad thing yet.

Right now, however, he knew that a Titan was approaching and at high velocity. Also, from the rhythm of the footfalls, he could gauge its height. You became very good at judging things like this after almost 20 years of doing so with your life and the lives of those depending upon you hanging in the balance.

15 meter class, Peter thought, eyes scanning the immediate area. And I'm out in the open, too.

He did not bother thinking about how and why this Titan was here. Peter had also learnt, in the Great Book of Survival, that spending time and energy thinking about things that could wit was not something that would improve your chances. Get as many brain-cells working for you, and efficiently so, and forget about things that will only confuse.

Peter felt more than saw the Titan busting onto the scene, its clumsy and down-right creepy jolted movements with its huge elbows and knees at unnatural angles as it bore down on them. Running towards the misshapen form at top speed, he grabbed a horse which was running away from the Titan that was now merrily chomping on its former rider. He could have cursed his luck for not having his 3DMG with him, but he really did not have to time to do so, never mind that his brain was far too focused upon how to bring the bloody thing down than whining over misfortune.

Jumping on the back of the procured horse, Peter spun it around and slammed his heels into the unfortunate animal's sides, forcing it into a headlong gallop towards the Titan, mane and tail streaming out behind and mouth frothing around the bit.

Without even glancing at anyone running away from the monster, Peter flew past them, kicking up the dust in the night lights. He only barely registered the red headed woman in the white coat as he did. That white coat was like a lighthouse in the night.

Coming in low and from behind, Peter steered his mount in close to the Titans's legs, paying no heed to the mess it had already made of some unfortunate people it was now gorging on. This pause in its movements would prove to his advantage, he knew, but he had to be quick about it. Thankfully, this Titan was no deviant. If he survived, Peter was sure to be thanking his luck stars for that small favour.

Pulling out a rope he had found among the horses packs, Peter had hastily secured one of his daggers on one end. Whirling this about his head, he let the dagger fly straight at the Titan, where it thudded into the back of the gorging Titan. Pulling on this and hoping for the best, Peter tugged at the rope with his full weight and saw that it could hold him. Within another moment, he had jumped from the saddle and was all but running up the Titan's side, quick as a fly on butter.

Now the Titan had noticed him as was slapping at him with clumsy hands. However, keeping a close eye upon the way the Titan's muscles were moving on the very back he was climbing up, Peter could foresee what movement the Titan was about to make and could swing and dodge out of the way, to continue once the movement had past.

Nearing the nape of the monstrous neck, Peter made the mistake of being a bit too focused upon his goal and was caught by a giant hand.

Peter knew better than to exhale if he was caught. Exhale if a big hand grabbed you and it would squeeze the rest of the air out of you before you cold croak.

Down below, he could hear a familiar, high-pitched voice yelling at the Titan. Peter frowned, but he really had fr more pressing things to think about right now. Literally.

Many, in this situation, would have panicked, but Peter did not. He was, some thought, far too stoic to panic. Instead, he kept a firm hold on his blades, despite the crushing pressure and then yanked on them in a sharp movement while exhaling, thus managing to slice through the Titan's hand, ligament s and all in a bloody explosion. This was a trick he had learnt from his captain, and ti was the second time it had saved his bacon. He was in a free fall now, but swung the blade in his left hand over to stab the flesh of the Titan's arm as it seemed to look stupidly at its exploding hand. This done, Peter threw himself up and onto the Titan's arm, leaving his broken blade behind in the Titan's flesh, running up the gigantic arm like a man possessed. And he probably was.

Coming right up to the Titan's head, Peter, not having his rope anymore and getting dangerous close to that huge, bloody mouth, jumped into the air and grabbed a handful of revoltingly dirty hair and swung around the monster's head towards the back. Landing with his booted feet firmly onto the back of the neck, Peter lost no time. Within an instant he had brought down his second blade and had carved a neat incision into the weak spot of the Titan.

It was like hitting a 'stop' button. A Titan all but fainted, stumbled, then fell forward...with Peter still on its neck.

The fall seemed to last forever. It was certainly a long way down. There was a crash and Peter was sent flying across the bloodied grass. Rolling, he came to a stop, and lost consciousness.