( In truth, Peter's already overwhelmed with this situation. It's almost funny how something as normal as clothes shopping pings against some discomforting little space within him — and that's even without the demonic attributes in consideration.
But he hasn't... done this. Not in years, not even back in Deerington. Apart from a few items given to him here and there, Peter's wardrobe still largely consists of the things that came with him from home. His hoodies, jeans, the same pair of Converse. The shirt he was wearing when he watched his mother die.
Needless to say, he certainly hasn't assimilated to Trench's particular fashion culture at all. And maybe some of that's been a conscious choice, some little dash of rebellion against Changing even more than he already has, but maybe some of it is also that he just doesn't know how. Peter browses the items in this store and feels like an alien on some foreign planet. There's an anxiety pressing at the base of his throat, making him tense. He feels— lost.
When someone addresses him, the teen blinks widely, taking in the sight of the man he recognises holding up the fancy shirt — dressed in equally fancy clothes. Peter openly ogles Break for a moment, before he clears his throat; it takes him a second to understand, but when he does, a sheepish little smile nudges the corners of his mouth. )
Oh— these. ( Yeah, the. The demon shit. )
I uh, think it's actually Corruption, maybe. But I don't think I'm like dangerous or anything. I feel pretty okay like... mentally?
( It's maybe not all Corruption, and that's what's really worrying. Maybe this is how he's supposed to look now. Nervously, Peter's weird creepy scaly tail gives a sudden swish. What the fuck even is his life now? )
...The horns make it a little hard to find clothes, though.
( He can blame it on them, but truthfully he has no idea where to start. There are no black shirts with random band logos on them here. No jeans with the knees intentionally ripped, for Grunge Aesthetic. Things have... vests and buttons and ruffles, like the item Break's holding now. )
oh my god yes please.... help him, Mr. Fashion...
But he hasn't... done this. Not in years, not even back in Deerington. Apart from a few items given to him here and there, Peter's wardrobe still largely consists of the things that came with him from home. His hoodies, jeans, the same pair of Converse. The shirt he was wearing when he watched his mother die.
Needless to say, he certainly hasn't assimilated to Trench's particular fashion culture at all. And maybe some of that's been a conscious choice, some little dash of rebellion against Changing even more than he already has, but maybe some of it is also that he just doesn't know how. Peter browses the items in this store and feels like an alien on some foreign planet. There's an anxiety pressing at the base of his throat, making him tense. He feels— lost.
When someone addresses him, the teen blinks widely, taking in the sight of the man he recognises holding up the fancy shirt — dressed in equally fancy clothes. Peter openly ogles Break for a moment, before he clears his throat; it takes him a second to understand, but when he does, a sheepish little smile nudges the corners of his mouth. )
Oh— these. ( Yeah, the. The demon shit. )
I uh, think it's actually Corruption, maybe. But I don't think I'm like dangerous or anything. I feel pretty okay like... mentally?
( It's maybe not all Corruption, and that's what's really worrying. Maybe this is how he's supposed to look now. Nervously, Peter's weird creepy scaly tail gives a sudden swish. What the fuck even is his life now? )
...The horns make it a little hard to find clothes, though.
( He can blame it on them, but truthfully he has no idea where to start. There are no black shirts with random band logos on them here. No jeans with the knees intentionally ripped, for Grunge Aesthetic. Things have... vests and buttons and ruffles, like the item Break's holding now. )