Very Bland Goings On
Who: Peter, etc
When: Late June, early July
What: Very little
Peter has been behaving exceptionally well.
For Peter, at any rate.
There have been no tantrums, no attempts at violence, no petty theft, almost no name-calling.
He's even taking an admittedly token attempt at doing his job in janitorial, running a cloth over common room tables and even late one night scrupulously shining every doorknob on Decks Five, Four, and Three. Very early each morning, he visits the dining room and straightens the chairs, which doesn't need doing but he's decided that's his job.
And anyone he passes gets an overly cheerful 'Hello!' Which is probably jarring, coming from the two-faced spectral child-shaped wraith he's still stuck as. That could be any hour of the day or night - he hasn't bothered sleeping since he came out of his coma.

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He remembers Peter being more sullen, but he's not going to mention it. He also remember Peter looking more solid.
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"Are you a pirate?"
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"There's lots where I'm from. They keep coming. I keep killing them."
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"I had my boys. They're all dead now. Except Jamie."
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"I'm enough," he says airily. "All the pirates were afraid of me."
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"Thank you as always, Peter", he says in passing as he walks into the dining hall to wipe the tables.
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He just grunts at the thanks, eyeing to make sure this chair is perfectly aligned with the one next to it. Is this precision important? He has no idea, but he'll be the very best at it anyway.
"Everyone leaves them crooked." Including him, every single meal.
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"You have been doing an excellent job at this for some time now. Would you like to learn something more challenging?"
Deck 5
Tread carefully. "Those look fantastic, you planning on doing the whole floor?" He starts, not wanting to spook the spook, but he is a little curious. Even if ghosts are bad for his health this should be fine.
Re: Deck 5
"Yes. I'm cleaning." And he puts a little flourish in it before moving to the next one. "Like I'm supposed to."
Re: Deck 5
"I'm Hanna by the way," He's not going to try and offer a hand to shake, but he does smile, "What's your name?"
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It's also the middle of the night, a time he's used to having mostly to himself and/or John, but here is Peter, polishing doorknobs. Edwin watches him for a minute, head canted slightly, before he says, "Why the doorknobs?"
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