Somewhere safe to bury my bone, Tag: Matt

[Peter Griffin]

St.Valentine's Library, Griffin decided yet again as he browsed the shelves, was without question the oddest academic collection of texts he had ever encountered, with the possible exception of the collection of monographs he'd stumbled across at Oxford that had eventually turned out to be the private collection of a Don in the 1930s with an inexplicable fondness for the ravings of schizophrenics. He hadn't found anything quite that odd on these shelves, but then again he'd only been here a little while, and he'd had other things taking up his time.

Plus, hanging around a library was not really in character for "Peter Griffin," the no-good layabout he was using as a cover identity, so he'd been reluctant to be seen exploring the place... though admittedly it wasn't like too many other people were here to see him. Still, it had seemed an unnecessary risk, or at least it had until recently. A couple of days ago it had occurred to him that there probably were texts that even his cover identity would willingly browse, and nobody had to know that he was also reviewing the more academic stuff. Which was why he was currently ensconsed at a reading station with Pornography: An Illustrated Guide and A Child's Garden of Grass in addition to the unpublished manuscripts that had actually brought him to this library in the first place, detailing aspects of the life and times of Anna Valentine. He'd thought he'd read everything about the woman when he was first given this assignment, but in retrospect it shouldn't be surprising that the library that bore her name would hold references not found elsewhere.

Admittedly, the cover texts had turned out to be more than just cover; he'd ended up spending more of the afternoon leafing through the pornography book than the stuff he'd actually intended to peruse. Which was pretty much par for the course over the last week; ever since he'd gotten that "Dear Peter" letter from his ex-fiancee, his sex drive had been going through the roof... he didn't remember being this horny even when he actually was a teenager, and his recent browser history would have utterly shocked his teenage self. He'd found himself lately browsing with rapt attention sites that would have held no interest for him a few weeks earlier, ogling people on the street who would not have merited a second glance before, and the illustrated text he'd taken off the shelves had prompted three "study breaks" in the last hour alone. And that wasn't even mentioning the places his imagination had been going during his meeting with Supervisor Newbury!

Of course, it didn't occur to him that the golden coin currently in his pocket might have something to do with that, although the Latin word engraved on it might have given him a clue if the curse on the item had not been interfering with his thinking. As it was, though, he mostly didn't even remember he was carrying the thing around.

On the other hand, there was a new magic item he had recently started carrying that he was aware of: the gem Supervisor Newbury had recently given him. As Peter returned from the rest room he noticed it was trying to get his attention, which meant one of the two students he'd been assigned to investigate was nearby. Apparently someone else uses the library, he thought with a chuckle. I wonder what for? Some wandering around following the gem's gradient eventually turned up Matt Peterson, one of the students Supervisor Newbury had assigned him to make contact with. No better time than the present, I suppose. He pocketed the gem and greeted the boy, keeping his voice low although there wasn't really anyone around to disturb. "Hey, how ya doin'? Good to know someone actually uses this place... it was starting to get lonely."

[Matthew Peterson]

The library was quite, as usual. It was good, he felt he needed someplace... silent. Matthew wanted some time alone to clear his head and besides that fact, he had an assignment that he needed to work on. It worked out well enough he supposed. He had been having mild headaches off and on ever since the night on the beach but had refused to seek any medical attention about it despite what had been in the papers concerning the toxic spill. Something... something about it just didn't sit right with him. When the headache was really strong, he felt he could remember things about that night: images, recollections that were half formed that he couldn't piece together. They were rarely coherent. At least, he didn't think they could be. Pirate zombies? He had to be out of his mind - it had to just be stress or something. Not to mention he had been a little on the testy side for a few days which he figured was just the headaches getting to him.

Matt had snapped at Shaun, had nearly found himself flinging something at him before he caught himself. Apologizing profusely, he had asked to go to his room to sleep. It had to be the headaches. The golden coin he had found on the edge of the lake several days ago, another attempt to find somewhere alone, couldn't possibly have anything to do with it. It refused to allow him to consider it; though, every now and again, he would recall he had it on him, reach for it, to give it some thought... to find his mind drifting away again. The magic of the coin was subtle, almost imperceptible to even a trained mage, but it was finding the slightest resistance unconsciously on Matt's part. His being, his personal energy field, was suffused with aether due to his power and it was interacting strangely with the wrath trying to ingrain itself on his psyche. However, the coin had time on its side and it was a battle of attrition that Matthew wasn't even aware he was losing as his temper flared more and more often lately - and oddity for a teenager usually known for his kindness and cool head... at least where Christian Turner wasn't involved. No one was perfect.

He wasn't even aware of Griffin as he poured over his book until the kid made himself known. His presence, as soon as it was recognized, had an immediate effect on him. The lust had had time to grow and find purchase on Peter; it was enhanced and found little resistance in a kid still gaining his bearings on his sexual nature, trouble by headaches, mind wiping, and a coin of his own warping his thinking. "Yeah - it is rare... I guess," his voice mildly gruff, though from irritation at the man speaking or strangled desire was impossible to tell. He coughed to try and clear both his throat and head. He couldn't believe that he had been focused on the guy's collar bone when he turned around, wondering what it would feel like to kiss there. So... odd. Of course, because of his headaches, he and Shaun hadn't been involved since a little before going to the beach over a week ago. That had to be it, it wasn't like him to be fantasizing about random guys. Especially about "bed news". Peter had already managed to garner a reputation after his transfer in a time frame that would have probably made Turner blush to be honest, even if he probably didn't live up to the master himself. "I'm fine, kinda. Headaches. Sorry if I'm a bit touchy, they won't seem to go away no matter how much medicine I take," he chuckled softly, though he didn't find the situation humorous, but he didn't want to make a big deal of it.

[Peter Griffin]

"Mm. Yeah, headaches suck," Peter agreed with a sympathetic wince. "You get migraines? My ex used to get awful migraine headaches, wasn't good for anything for days."

He was a little surprised that he'd mentioned that, though it was true; Amelia wasn't a frail or sickly girl in general but she did suffer from periodic migraines. Still, he'd been told to avoid any anecdotes that connected to his actual past, as that increased the chances that he would slip up and give himself away without even realizing it, so why had he mentioned it at all? He wasn't sure. At least he'd referred to her as his "ex", rather than using her name... that would have really given the game away. Or, well, maybe not... it was unlikely that Matt would do enough research on Peter Griffin's background to uncover that Amelia Rushkin had "actually" (according to the faked records the Cabal had created) been engaged to Peter's nonexistent older brother. Then again, Peter's whole assignment here was predicated on the assumption that unlikely avenues of information gathering could turn up useful data; it would be horribly ironic if he ended up giving away more information than he collected.

Emphasis on "horribly".

Nor had it escaped his notice that in addition to not mentioning Amelia's name, he'd remained ambiguous as to her gender. His reasons for that were both clear and surprising when he considered them explicitly: he didn't want Matt to know he'd dated girls. Because he wanted Matt to think he dated guys? Yeah, it seemed that way. Except he didn't date guys. Or at least he never had. Or especially wanted to. Except lately. Lately, he'd totally wanted to... or, well, not date them exactly, but that was the polite term. What he actually wanted to do right now was rip Matt's clothes off and make out in the library stacks, which he supposed was kind of like dating. And is not, he reminded himself firmly, part of my assignment. Or is it? Supervisor Newbury assigned me, he reasoned, or perhaps rationalized was a better word, to make contact with the Peterson boys, (who apparently were brothers, and Peter briefly wondered whether they'd inducted one another into the Anna Phenomenon, which would be hot, and reminded him he'd been meaning for days to do some more research into the Anna Phenomenon, see if it might explain what had been happening to his sex drive, or if he was maybe under some other kind of magical influence, before that line of thought mysteriously faded out...) but he never said anything about how. And "making contact" with Matt sounds like pretty much the greatest idea ever. The fact that he'd been jerking off in the bathroom not fifteen minutes earlier didn't seem to make any difference to how strongly his body was responding to the suggestion. His face was flushed, his lips swollen, his skin too warm, and he had a raging hard-on.

As he'd approached Matt, he'd taken one more step than was really socially acceptable, and now found himself invading the other's personal space in a way that would ordinarily have caused him to apologize and back up a step. He did neither. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment to breathe in the boy's scent, and his hand came up to touch Matt in what would have been an appreciative caress of his chest and torso had Peter not hastily redirected it into a more-or-less friendly hand on the boy's shoulder instead. That proved distracting in a whole different way: as soon as they touched he felt a surge of energy run through him, and not in the metaphorical horny-young-man way he might have anticipated. This was a literal surge of energy, the kind of thing Griff had only previously experienced when performing group rituals with other Cabal mages during those moments when the group's collective energy had been temporarily routed through him. What the hell? Griffin wasn't a particularly competent mage, he knew that, but even he wasn't such a novice as to fail to recognize an aether-battery when he touched one. In fact, now that he was looking for it, he could sense the energy pouring off of the boy like waves of heat off desert sands at noon. Wow. This boy is incredibly valuable, he thought, licking his lips unconsciously, and not just as a fuckbuddy. Though that too. His hand on Matt's shoulder became less friendly and more seductive as he thought about the possibilities. With his magical sensitivities engaged, Griffin was also aware of the more subtle energies that trickled from his wallet into both of their bodies, as the Lust coin worked its magic (perhaps supercharged by the energy Matt was giving off). Or, well, he perceived it, anyway. Whether he was actually aware of it was a complicated question, but the simplest answer under the circumstances was "No."

"So, I do have some stuff in my bag that might help you with that," he offered, his breathing labored. "It's over there," he added, gesturing in the general direction of the desk where he'd been working earlier. "Interested?"

[Matthew Peterson]

Matthew nodded, wincing, at the mention of migraines. It certainly seemed to be getting to that point at times. Despite that, he found himself interested more so than he ought to be with Peter's ex. Ex... what? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? He hoped boyfriend. Matt blinked, slowly, like his mind was trying to bring itself back to a course of thought that it should be on and not... thinking about where Griffin's nether regions may have been in the past. This wasn't like him at all, but he couldn't seem to focus on it long enough to be worried, just perplexed, and when the man was closer, he wanted the distance to be closed between them. It was like a sort of magnetism - fuck, everyone compared that feeling to magnetism didn't they? His brain was elsewhere, his body wanted to bring them together. When it happened, Matthew felt it, not just physically.

Peter had his own "awakened" aura, the magic he dealt with, his ability to cast spells even if it was through study had opened his body to the flow of magic. Not that Matt recognized it as such, even then, it was a combination of the adult he didn't know was an adult's power mixing with the Lust radiating from his wallet. It was enough to drown out the Wrath trying to build in him. If the the coins could think though, they would both be perturbed by the younger male between them. Matthew was hardly a paragon of goodness, but the two "sins" had profound difficultly finding purchase in his essence, his soul. But, no human soul was without desires and temptations and he hardly had the being or training to resist the pulls. Lust found the flame any young man had with a libido and stoked it, found his desire for Shaun and twisted it. When Peter spoke again, he felt weak in the knees. "What kind of... stuff?" His own voice had dropped low as trying to blend with Griffin's. Wrath curled up, coiled like a snake in his pocket, and waited, finding not the time or circumstance to slither into its holder's heart. It was like Lust, it didn't pour outward - it desired only one soul to bend and burn - then it would let that container meet out its power directly. Matt smiled, absently, at Peter, putty in his hands at that moment.

[Peter Griffin]

"Oh, you know," Griff replied. "Like, stuff for pain." Which was true enough, although not an entirely complete truth; what he actually had in his bag was an assortment of drugs his Cabal handlers had selected for him to aid him in his cover. He'd started out with just a few samples of each, but with the Synthesize spell his parents had taught him -- which, after an evening's worth of attempts, he'd finally gotten to work -- he'd manufactured quite a bit of them, most of which he'd hidden in odd corners of the campus on the theory that losing them wouldn't really cost him very much, but being caught with such a variety of drugs in such quantities might lead to prosecution on a scale that could blow his cover. But, yes, his stash included some pretty effective painkillers, plus some euphorics that wouldn't necessarily numb the pain, but would leave Matt so dazed and content that he could nail the boy's foot to the floor and he wouldn't really mind.

Not that his foot was the body part Griff wanted to nail to the floor right now.

"And other stuff," he added coyly. He was reluctant to admit to the supply he had; it would make Matt think of him as a drug dealer and a delinquent, which might turn the boy off. Assuming he was turned on in the first place, which Griff was too besotted by magic to be sure of. His own resistance to that sort of influence was probably stronger than Matt's, by virtue of the training he'd received with the Cabal, but the coin in his pocket had had much longer to work on him, and it more than compensated. I'm being ridiculous, he reminded himself harshly, He's supposed to think I'm a drug dealer and a delinquent, that's the whole point! Besides, he rationalized, maybe Matt would find it attractive... lots of people went for the "bad boy," he'd noticed during his own time as a student, though he'd never really had the balls to play that role himself. Well, this is my chance, then, isn't it?

"Come on, I'll show you," he said, his voice growing more confident. He put an arm over Matt's shoulder, a gesture that should have been merely friendly and somehow became possessive and intimate instead, and led the boy over to the more isolated corner of the library where he'd set up shop. The illustrated guide to the history of pornography was still open on the table he'd taken over, covering the Valentine monographs, and he was torn between an embarassed urge to shut it away and a lascivious desire to watch Matt reading every page. The latter won out, at least to the extent of leaving it open while he sat the other boy down and ruffled through his bag. "Try one of these," he said, handing him a small unlabelled bottle of pills, "they should make you feel really good." Then his hands returned to Matt's shoulders as though of their own initiative, and he began to gently knead the tight muscles of the other boy's back and neck. "Oh, you're really tight," he exclaimed, not at all innocently, and dug his thumbs into base of his neck in small firm circles. I could totally loosen you up, he thought, but lacked the courage to say out loud.

[Matthew Peterson]

His head didn't hurt all that bad at the moment, it was far too flooded with emotions and hormones to even be able to linger on any pulsing pain he may have had. Images were manifesting in his head of Peter, a boy he had just spoken to for the first time, sexual images. He shouldn't be thinking of things like this, not of how he looked naked, about their bodies pressed together, about... about any of that stuff. He couldn't stop though in the back of his head. It wasn't like Matt was a complete prude; he recognized guys that were attractive, fantasized at times, but this... this seemed to be out of his control. It felt wrong, but he couldn't focus enough to think any of it. He certainly couldn't fathom it coming from an outside source.

"Other stuff is... cool." He wasn't sure what he was saying was cool. The idea didn't really register that Griffin could be talking about drugs right then. He was distracted after all. He didn't think a man's mouth could be so enticing; especially if it wasn't Shaun's. He was still learning about his boyfriend and while he was certainly growing closer in his mind, he wouldn't attach the word "love" to their relationship at that juncture. Still, this much focus, feeling his body wanting to respond then and there, felt too close to cheating for him. Still, he didn't resist when the arm was put around his shoulder and guided him to a secluded section of the library where no eyes to his knowledge rested. They were all supposed to be fine upstanding young men at the school after all - as long as their wasn't a disturbance any number of things could go down in various locations there without anyone knowing. He hadn't thought of that before, but his mind began to piece together the possibilities as the quiet seemed to grow around them like a soft, warm wall.

When he was sat down, his eyes flowed to the pornography and his eyes glazed over slightly. There were women in it, which didn't fascinate him at all he had learned quite a few years ago, but he couldn't look away from the men, except to glance at Peter with some mix of brazen shyness. "Thank you," he replied a little breathy as he took the bottle and began to open it. As soon as Peter spoke again he stopped though. Even with the power of Lust molding his thoughts into so much sexual mush, the phrase "feel really good" pierced through it all in a heartbeat. It appeared even magic couldn't fully muddle traumatic memories. He was instantly back in Chris Turner's room over a year ago, drunk, falling over himself to show how cool he could be to the then junior, fawning over him. Turner put something in their beers, Matt was uncertain, but Turner assured him it would make them both feel good. It was enough to make him stare at the unmarked bottle and pills inside of it and the puzzle pieces clicked together. He had no idea what Peter was giving him... it wasn't like him to take stuff from strangers, stuff he didn't know what was... especially after that night with Chris. The reprieve from his libido opened a space in his mind and Wrath rushed in to fill it even as Peter massaged his neck.

"Are these drugs?" Stupid question he supposed, they would be "drugs" even if they were legal. "Thanks, but no thanks," his voice held an edge to it that hadn't been there even when he had first addressed Peter in annoyance as he put the bottle down with the cap tumbling beside it. "I'd heard rumors that the new kid was dealing around campus - guess it was true. What other shit you got in there?" Griffin didn't know Matt at all, not nearly enough to be aware cursing only came out of in extreme bouts of emotion. He abruptly stood up and turned on Griffin, his eyes set, his face grim. Wrath found his innate distrust of drugs, his upbringing finding them unwholesome, the fear that had been kindled by Chris, and burned away any open mindedness that the younger Peterson had regarding them. Drugs were wrong, they were evil, they were used by horrible people to take advantage of others. Chris did it. Griffin was doing it. He shouldn't be allowed, he would hurt others, he had to be stopped, he had to be punished. Matt wasn't even aware that one of his hands had clenched into a fist at his side.

Internally, his emotional and magical balance was in a vortex that Lust and Wrath had created, wearing him down and the absence of one finally gave something for Wrath to cling to and feed off of. The Sin could work so much better when it had something real in its host to latch onto and warp to its needs. "You planning on peddling them to the Freshmen too?" He advanced, just a set, but it forced Griffin to push back or give up ground.

[Peter Griffin]

The way Matt's eyes were drawn to the photographs, and more to the point the specific photographs his attention was drawn to, was all the confirmation that Peter needed that what he was feeling, out-of-character as it was, was entirely reciprocated by the younger man. The way Matt looked back and forth from those photographs to Peter removed whatever doubt might have remained. He wasn't unacquainted with this dance, after all; while he'd never been the kind of Cassanova some of his classmates at Oxford had been (how they got any studying done, he'd never understood), he had managed to score a few times even before meeting his former fiancee. He knew how this worked. And while the steps admittedly felt a little odd with a male partner, they weren't really all that different. The two of them were alone back here, and as long as they didn't make too much noise they were likely to remain that way for at least a while. Long enough.

His hands were working their way down from Matt's neck to his shoulder-blades, and his mind had gone on ahead to anticipating the next few minutes: his hands gradually kneading lower and lower, until they reached the waistband of Matt's uniform pants. He would pull the boy's shirt-tails out then, feel the warm and supple flesh under his hands, and depending on Matt's reaction he'd either work his way back up to the boy's neck, lifting the shirt away as he did so, or (and he thought this more likely) keep going just a little bit further down. He wondered what sex with Matt would be like, not just physically, but energetically. As a trained mage, it was impossible for Peter to be this close to the other boy and not be affected by the waves of aether pouring off of him; had he been conducting a magical ritual it would have empowered him beyond anything he'd ever experienced. And now that he thought about it, there were rituals he'd read about that would ordinarily be beyond his capacity, but would be doable with such an excess of magical energy at his disposal. The possibilities of that were endless, and some of those possibilities were particularly relevant to the current situation; in particular, a spell he'd read about that would neutralize the effects of gravity was informing a number of extremely tempting fantasies.

His attention was pulled back to the here and now when the tension in the other boy's back suddenly skyrocketed, and the tone of his voice shifted suddenly from lustful and dazed to fierce and angry. The euphorics Peter had offered him were set aside forcefully, and all at once Matt had gone from contentedly, even eagerly, accepting the touch of his hands to angrily pushing him away, belligerantly pushing towards him. It took Griff a moment to realize that the drugs had been the signal that triggered the boy's radical change in mood, and his immediate impulse was the same as it had been all his life: to placate the other, say whatever he needed to say to earn the boy's approval. Had it been that simple, he would just have denied the rumors of his involvement with dealing drugs, coaxed Matt into liking him again. After all, the truth was he mostly agreed with Matt; getting young boys involved with illicit narcotics just wasn't a decent thing to do, and left to his own devices he would never think of it. But it wasn't that simple. He had an assignment here, and it wasn't just to make contact with the Peterson boys, it was also to maintain his cover as a delinquent, a drug dealer, a rule-breaker... the sort of person who would never agree with Matt, and who simply would not back down under this sort of threat. And maintaining that cover and doing well on this assignment was, ultimately, more important to him than Matt's good opinion; more important, even, than his moral concerns about the short-term consequences of his actions. He didn't know the whole picture, but he was confident that the Cabal did, and that in the grander scheme of things what he was doing was a net good. So he didn't back down, strange as that felt. He took a step forward instead, pushing back against the younger boy's challenge. "And what if I am, Matt? What business is that of yours? What're you gonna do about it?"

Afterwards, he would remember this moment and think about it very carefully. He had known, when he'd accepted this assignment, that a moment like this would come sooner or later, where he would have to do something completely against his nature because the role demanded it. And he'd wondered how he would actually cope when the moment came, wondered both whether he'd be able to do it and, more disturbingly, what effect doing it would have on him. Could he live with the reputation? Would he find he enjoyed breaking the rules themselves? He'd always been afraid that the answers would be "no" and "yes." After a few weeks in this role, he was beginning to believe that, something to his relief, actually being a delinquent and breaking those rules held little appeal for him. But not until this moment, standing up to the younger Peterson in a way that the real Peter Griffin never would have, did he realize that the delinquent reputation was something he could actually enjoy.

[Matthew Peterson]

Matthew had felt this sort of fire in his veins since the beach. In fact, the sensation was so close to the anger back then that it brought flashes of memory to him that only served to further muddles his emotions of the moment. He'd been having brief glimpses of his stolen time since the event; the magic of the Cabal had not fully suppressed his mind as it had been intended. It wasn't a slight against the agent's ability that had handled him; they were pressed for time and she certainly couldn't have known the Anna-gifted power he possessed would interfere with the spell. As it stood, it only heightened his building rage that the Wrath coin fed on and poured into, providing a cycle of anger and violence to trap its host in. Gone, certainly, was any sense of allure or arousal that had been previously present.

"My business? It's my business because I'm sick of guys like you. You're users; as long as you get what you want no one else matters and it definitely doesn't matter if anyone gets hurt along the way." Whether Griffin could pick up on his anger having a primarily different source than him would be up to his powers of intuition and deduction; it did sound like Matthew had a massive chip on his shoulder. In a better state of mind, without the influence of distilled rage swaying him, he would not have addressed the situation as he currently was. Violence wasn't really his thing; whatever spurts he may have were usually relieved in fantasy and video games as a constructive outlet to release any pent up hostility. Wrath would not allow anything so constructive as a reasonable conversation about the pros and cons of drug use and their potential impacts.

"As for what I'm going to do about it," he suddenly stopped and shoved Peter in his chest, not with all the strength he had, but enough to push the, perceived, school lad back if he wasn't exerting enough opposing force at that moment. It may have been stronger than he intended; Wrath's "beneficial" applications were already coursing through his system and improving him on an unconscious level while heightening his strength by a discernible degree. It was a simple shove, but without realizing it, his placement of hands, direction of force, and strength behind his arms were all calculated without a thought to achieve the best results - even from something more appropriate to a school yard brawl than an actual battle.

Regardless of the outcome, Matthew immediately turned and with a few quick steps, picked up Peter's bag. Consequences and potential punishment wasn't on his mind at all. While Wrath would have preferred to expound upon it's violent implications upon Griffin's body, it was still contending with the young Peterson's sensibilities. It still hadn't a hold to fully warp his mind and even with it twisting the boy's anger towards his night with Christian into a vendetta against "evils" of drugs, and thus Peter, it couldn't get him to commit at that time to attacking. Anger, revenge, punishment though could take many forms than just bodily injury. "Let's see how effective you are at your little business when your stock is taken from you," Matt glanced back at Griffin, sneering. His face was filled with anger, malice; it didn't look good on him - it looked as if the features were nearly foreign to the face shaping them, unused to miniscule muscle formations. He didn't look like Matthew Peterson then; but then, Peter didn't know well enough to determine that even if to a stranger the twist of facial features looked out of place for indeterminable reasons.

[Peter Griffin]

A moment earlier, Griff's cursed token of Lust had been suppressing the action its sibling, Wrath, leaving them both peaceful and aroused. Now, the tide turned, and Wrath was ascendent; not only did it chase away the lust that had been fogging Matt's mind, to a much lesser extent it also pushed back the similar haze around Griff's own. "Guys like me? That's bullshit, Matt. I'm not hurting anybody. I make people feel good. Whole different thing." He probably didn't sound very convincing, because the truth was he wasn't convinced; he had already used his cover to get otherwise clean kids using his product, as a way of lowering their inhibitions, learning their secrets. He'd keep doing it, too. It was his assignment, after all. It was his job.

Would they end up drug addicts, afterwards? Would it destroy their lives? Probably not. Most kids experimented with drugs a few times, in high school or college, and it didn't do them any harm. And he was careful with his product selection; his stuff wouldn't hook anyone. Well, most of it won't, his conscience reminded him. He did have some stuff in his bag that was specially selected to leave its users addicted. But he hadn't used it! Haven't used it yet. That was the problem with consciences; he couldn't lie to his. Not effectively, anyway. It knew perfectly well that if his job required it, he would use the stuff. He'd feel bad about it, but he'd do it. That's why he'd stocked it, after all.

So he wasn't very convincing, and his struggle with his own conscience kept him from inferring too much from the obvious chip on Matt's shoulder, at least just then. He did notice the remarkable power that the boy put behind his shove, though... not superhuman, but the younger boy suddenly moved like a trained fighter, sending him head-over-heels over a chair and slamming into the ground. Griff could still sense the energy radiating from Matthew's body, but he didn't seem to be using it offensively, or using it at all, in fact. Just skill. Nothing in his background to indicate advanced combat training, though he thought dazedly as he got back to his feet, and That's pretty fucking hot, actually. Both thoughts were displaced, at least for the moment, as Matt took his bag.

Losing his drug supply, or rather the fraction of it he carried with him, didn't bother him too much; he wasn't actually in the business to make money, after all. But that bag also contained several of the special items his parents had made for him before he left England, to aid him in his spellcasting. He supposed he could get them back from Matthew afterwards if he needed to, but that wasn't the point; he wasn't going to go back to Supervisor Newbury and explain that not only had he not learned anything about Matthew Peterson, but his target had gotten the better of him. "I don't know what your problem is, Peterson, but you're gonna put that bag down right now," he said firmly, if perhaps not quite as confidently as he would have liked, [i]"or you're going to regret it."[/b]

[Matthew Peterson]

"Yeah, they feel good until they can't think straight and get hurt. Or someone, like you, takes advantage of them because they're so fucked up they can't resist!" Despite the emotion in his voice, the rage building in him, he was aware enough of his surroundings still to keep his voice low so that their altercation wasn't heard. That was slightly damaged though when Peter went tumbling over a chair and onto the floor. Wrath was pleased, but despite the magical subversion of his thinking, Matthew was a bit shaken. Yes, he was angry and yes he had pushed the guy, but he hadn't meant to do so like that... had he? He had pictured putting him in his place and he had. There was a sick feeling in his stomach he couldn't ignore no matter how much the coin in his pocket pulsed with its demands.

He had the backpack in hand now and just wasn't certain what to do with. Of course, he had intended to take it, destroy it and its contents, but the display of his own violence had pushed a bit of himself back to the surface. Enough that he hesitated long enough for Griffin to get back to his feet, luckily looking relatively uninjured, and threaten him. Wrath flared again and Matt scowled at the undercover agent, his lip curling into a slight sneer. "Regret it? Really. You think you're going to make me regret anything. Let's just see you try." He took a few steps forward, feeling emboldened, flush with adrenaline, itching for a fight. Unconsciously, his magic gathered inside of him, humming with potential. Just when it was about to manifest he caught himself. The images of what he was planning on doing to Peter flashed through his mind, of the anger he felt being vented on the other boy, of actually using his odd power to hurt him. It was like a slap to the face, like being dunked into cold water. It was contrary to his character that it neatly flattened Wrath's influence back into the coin. If the magical token had any sentience, it would have been furious, well, more so than it would always be.

That he had almost really attacked the guy and with his powers no less, made him feel not only stupid, but frightened with himself. Before the magic could manifest into something that could be seen, he let it go, the thrum of power within him dying away. "You're wrong Griffin - this stuff is wrong." He was himself enough to know he didn't really have the right to declare all drugs morally reprehensible, but he still wasn't comfortable with them or the people who used them. If all factors were good, if one was as safe as could be, maybe in extreme moderation. Matt hadn't researched them enough to make that call. Problem was, they rarely were used with such thoughts in mind and people existed that would abuse them for their own gain. Like Peter. Matt threw the bag at him, but it lacked any violent force; it was like he wanted it out of his hands. "I'll..." What? He wanted to say he would report him, but what good would that do? If Peter was smart he'd be able to hide any evidence of it. The thought lingered in his mind though even if he wasn't willing to say it and start more trouble. He wanted away from it all; that's all he wanted right then... and that is what he did, turning on his heel and quickly walking away back to where he had been to gather his stuff and leave without further confrontation if he could be so lucky.

[Peter Griffin]

Somehow, the fact that Matt was keeping his voice down despite the obvious rage in his manner was more intimidating than yelling and screaming would have been, and Peter took an involuntary step or five backwards as Matt approached him. Jeez, the critical voice in the back of his head observed contemptuously, that's real good, Pete, run away from an angry teenage boy throwing a tantrum. That'll show your bosses how ready you are to be a field agent. He ignored that voice, which had been his harshest critic for as long as he could remember -- this time, at least, he had managed to avoid tripping over anything -- and tried to focus his attention on what Matt was saying and doing. This wasn't exactly how he'd intended to fulfill his assignment, but that didn't mean he couldn't take advantage of it.

"Or someone, like you, takes advantage of them because they're so fucked up they can't resist!"

Someone like me? At first, Griff reacted to that accusation with more guilt. Not unreasonably, since that was pretty much what he'd had in mind, on a couple of different levels, even if the drugs hadn't been part of his plan. But once he looked past that, he became extremely curious about Peterson's previous history with drugs, and whether it included any incidents that might explain this sudden explosion. Was the boy on some kind of amphetamines, or perhaps steroids? Was he a recovering addict of some kind? Had someone rufied him? Any of that might explain the seemingly out-of-character temper tantrum.

Not that explaining it was his highest priority right this moment; he was far more interested in surviving it. The level of magical energy the boy was radiating had increased to where Griff could sense it even at a distance, and he anxiously glanced around trying to anticipate how it would manifest. Nothing actually seemed to happen, though, and after a few moments the other boy seemed to calm down slightly. Somewhat irrelevantly, Griff wondered whether that magic was responsible for Matt's unexpected combat skills... whether he had an ability similar to his brother's, for example. The Anna Phenomenon didn't normally work that way, as far as he'd read, but it wasn't clearly impossible, either. Especially if one of them initiated the other, he mused, then forcibly dragged his attention away from such distracting speculation. Besides, maybe they weren't even Anna Boys; maybe the Petersons had both inherited their combat abilities from their parents or some shared magical incident. He'd have to think about that more carefully.

He was surprised when Matt threw his bag at him, and caught it without thinking. He was even more surprised when the other boy walked away.

Huh. Well, that didn't work out the way I'd expected, he mused. Clearly, he would need to come up with a different way of investigating the occult enigma that was Matt Peterson... maybe through his brother, or his friends, or his roommate. For the moment, though, he was going to put his stuff away and get some food. And maybe, he thought idly as he put the pills Matt had rejected back in his bag and the cursed Lust token began re-establishing its grip on his soul, find someone else to pick up where the mercurial Mr. Peterson left off...

[end thread... thanks Matt!]