ᵐᶤʳᵃᶜˡᵉ - full

[credence]

the romantic
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this is peter terrence king, better known as pete. he turned
eighteen last june. he has a very dark chocolate brown hair and
dusty blue eyes with a hazel ring around the pupils. standing
at five feet and eleven inches, peter has a very medium build
-- not too shrimpy, not too bulky. he has wonderful parents
and a nine year old sister, all of whom he is very close to.
peter could be labeled as a variety of things: clown, romantic,
nerd, loner, and almost everything in between. he finds that
he is a little socially awkward from years of flying under the
radar, but it mostly comes out in a comical way. he longs for
that mysterious thing called love, but has never had the guts
to go out and get it for himself. since the crash, though, peter
is finding that his inner self keeps shifting like an ocean. maybe
he can find a way to become the person he has always dreamed
of being in the midst of all the chaos surrounding him.

[cat;;]

|| I'm really sorry for the inconvenience but I no longer have time for Chicken smoothie. I am sorry, but I have to quit this roleplay. Best wishes to you all ||

[credence]

ｐｅｔｅｒ
── ＫＩＮＧ ──
the romantic

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name; peter king
age; eighteen
mood; bored
location; his room
tagged; skye, malaki
ooc; please dont tell me this is dead
╘════════════════╛

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peter had been awake for an hour now. he sat up straight in the hospital bed, staring at the wall across from him, past the television in the corner. the news had been going over the plane crash every ten minutes it seemed since he had woken up. his fingers uneasily kept a steady tap against his thigh. the wall was too bright. the last bit of sunlight was beaming through the window and bouncing off the wall. it just gave peter a headache that made him want to puke. he was hungry though. starving was an overstatement, but he could feel the burning pit in his stomach telling him it was binge time. but forget food. more than anything, he just wanted to escape that awful white room.

creedwasherehe stood, having to lean against the railing at the foot of the bed to keep himself from falling. nearly having passed out as the blood rushed from his head, he stood motionless for a moment. peter had already spoken to a nurse about his injuries. broken collar bone, twisted left ankle, a deep gash in his left thigh, stitches along his hairline, and cuts from broken glass on his arms that would leave permanent scars. in his mind echoed the words of the pilot over the intercom of the plane. peter knew fairly well that the damage on his body would never amount to the damage of his mind. he had counted three nervous ticks he had developed in his hour of consciousness. odds are that he would be investing his life savings into a psychiatrist and anti-depression medication.

creedwasherepants. he needed pants. only a meter from his bed was the dresser where the nurse had told him some new clothes were stored. apparently his old ones were too blood-stained to be saved. he dressed as quickly as he could. he felt no pain, thanks to the heavy medication, but the limp was as obvious as green hair. it didn't matter much to him. he made his way through the halls, eventually finding a door that lead outside. he looked over the few people he could see, recognizing a couple from the plane. they all looked as broken and hopeless as he felt.

creedwasherepeter was not one to walk up to someone and just start talking. that didn't matter. right now he just needed to know he wasn't as alone as his mind was telling him. he limped his way over to the two. as he approached them, he smiled, not knowing what else to do. "Anyone want to take that ride again?"