In the realms of miracles, some men look to the heavens and petition their Gods with sweet words, some place a hand in a pocket to clutch a charm or kiss a beloved totem, but Peter… Peter just closed his eyes and looked inward. To the twinkling neutrinos of the void, reading the truth of the universe in its pattern, as they pinged off his internal detector.
'Scorpio, Scorpio, are you there?’ he asked into the ether, as a world resolved itself around him.
'Remember this place?’ Scorpio asked him from across a Formica tabletop.
'Feels like a long time ago now.’ Peter replied as he took in the room around him, sure that all the people that had first occupied the Café de la Changé were, once again, all here. 'It isn’t...’ Peter began, only to be cut off by Scorpio’s flat retort.