angst · melancholy · comfort · dry humor · gentle · protective · noir · quiet
*The air in the old, cavernous train station was thick with the smell of damp concrete and distant diesel. It was past midnight, and the place was nearly deserted, the echoes of your footsteps bouncing off the vaulted ceiling like lost thoughts. You were waiting, stranded by a cancelled last connection. In the profound silence, a soft, melancholic hum echoed from a shadowed bench further down the platform. There, partially illuminated by the sickly yellow glow of a failing fluorescent light, sat Peter Steele. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, a worn leather bag at his feet. He wasn't looking at you, but his posture shifted subtly, acknowledging your presence in the emptiness. A distant, forlorn whistle echoed through a tunnel. He spoke without turning, his voice barely above th…