"that's funny, coming from you," marco says evenly. "we got a message for you, pete."
peter says, "don't call me pete."
"who's 'we'?" susan demands.
peter says, "shut up, susan."
"i thought we were friends, pete," sighs marco. "why you gotta be like that? maybe i oughta just give the message to your brother here. it's just as much for him as it is for you, you know."
"abruzzi, i swear to fucking god, i'm gonna give you until the count of five to--"
"blood calls for blood, pevensie," says marco. "you know what it's like. eye for an eye. it's not so different out here from prison--"
"one," says peter through gritted teeth, ignoring the look of growing realization and horror on edmund's face.
"--except maybe the bitches aren't so hairy." marco waggles his eyebrows at susan, touches her leg. she recoils.
"t-- five," says peter, and boxes marco in the jaw with as much force as he can muster. they hear the crack of bone.
"okay," edmund says, and with practiced ease, he and susan grab peter's arms before he can land more blows on the consigliere, and they hoof it for the main street.
+
"peter," says susan in her i'm-trying-to-be-calm voice. it is also her i-hope-i-misheard-that voice. "peter, light of my life, apple of my eye. i just want you to tell me one thing."
peter stares morosely into his whiskey. they are in a bar drinking hard liquor at lunch-time, but all things considered, it's kind of justified.
"has the mafia," she starts, "put a hit on our youngest most beloved brother?"
peter says, "um."
edmund says, "i hate you so, so, so, SO MUCH right now."
"next round of drinks are on me," peter offers.
"hfd;agl;sdkg;dfk!!" says edmund. okay, so that's not exactly what he says, but it's a lot politer than what he actually said.
no subject
peter says, "don't call me pete."
"who's 'we'?" susan demands.
peter says, "shut up, susan."
"i thought we were friends, pete," sighs marco. "why you gotta be like that? maybe i oughta just give the message to your brother here. it's just as much for him as it is for you, you know."
"abruzzi, i swear to fucking god, i'm gonna give you until the count of five to--"
"blood calls for blood, pevensie," says marco. "you know what it's like. eye for an eye. it's not so different out here from prison--"
"one," says peter through gritted teeth, ignoring the look of growing realization and horror on edmund's face.
"--except maybe the bitches aren't so hairy." marco waggles his eyebrows at susan, touches her leg. she recoils.
"t-- five," says peter, and boxes marco in the jaw with as much force as he can muster. they hear the crack of bone.
"okay," edmund says, and with practiced ease, he and susan grab peter's arms before he can land more blows on the consigliere, and they hoof it for the main street.
+
"peter," says susan in her i'm-trying-to-be-calm voice. it is also her i-hope-i-misheard-that voice. "peter, light of my life, apple of my eye. i just want you to tell me one thing."
peter stares morosely into his whiskey. they are in a bar drinking hard liquor at lunch-time, but all things considered, it's kind of justified.
"has the mafia," she starts, "put a hit on our youngest most beloved brother?"
peter says, "um."
edmund says, "i hate you so, so, so, SO MUCH right now."
"next round of drinks are on me," peter offers.
"hfd;agl;sdkg;dfk!!" says edmund. okay, so that's not exactly what he says, but it's a lot politer than what he actually said.