lune vanishes into the back an air-conditioned benz with a smile and a promise to see them soon. "i regret i cannot stay, but i am a busy man," he says.
"he keeps saying that," peter comments, as the three of them watch the benz roll down the road. "but has anyone yet informed him that he just spent the past three hours eating lunch?"
"it's what he does," says corin.
"what, wining and dining?"
"not just wining and dining. it's all business, you realize. and by business i mean putting people in his pocket. and by putting people in his pocket,i mean, you know," corin shrugs, "business."
they amble for a bit down the pier, slow with food and wine. getting some air, one might call it, but 'getting some air' for peter and corin means smoking a cigarette so it's a little bit of a misnomer. edmund doesn't smoke as much as peter, and finds that smoking on a full stomach makes him nauseous, so he is content to wander in the trail of their secondhand smoke, squinting in the sun and listening to the rhythm of corin's babblings.
the pier is lined with restaurants and bars and a few clubs, and corin points out the ones that suck, the ones that rock, the ones where he met this hot babe, the ones he and cor got kicked out of, back when cor could still cajoled into doing those sorts of things, etc.
"you often help your father out with his stuff?" peter asks, without preamble.
"sometimes. when it's needed."
"you wanna help us out with ours?"
corin laughs. "look, i know you guys are worried. totally understandable. but sit tight, man. you want my father in on this, and he already is, which is more than what most people can say who want my father in on something. but you just have to let things happen, you know?"
"we tried that," edmund deadpans. "turned out badly."
"look at you guys!" corin crows. "eating your crab and blue marlin in twenty minutes. did you even taste it? so quick to settle for small fry when you think my father isn't holding up his end of whatever deal you think he's in with you."
"you're far from small fry, corin," sighs peter.
"what i'm saying," corin intones seriously, "is: you wanna go to the beach for a few days? or something?"
edmund and peter blink. then they say, "what?"
"the beach. we've got a beach house in negros oriental. you guys need to like, chill the fuck out."
"OH MY GOD," says edmund, conveying the capslock more in emotion and sharp hand movements rather than volume. "AS SOMEONE ON THE MAFIA HITLIST, I RESENT BEING TOLD TO CHILL THE FUCK OUT."
peter says, annoyed, "corin, we have no time for this. look, i'd rather we stay here and accessible to lune."
"okay okay," says corin, taking another cigarette from his pack. he holds the pack out to them -- peter declines, edmund takes one. "item one: my father can find us anywhere, especially so if we're not trying to hide from him. which we won't be. item two." corin lights his cigarette. "it's probably best if you get out of the city anyway. item three: when time is running out, that's the best time to take it."
"take what?"
"time! to take time."
the pevensies frown at him like maybe all the weed corin said he smoked in sagada killed most of his brain cells. but knowing corin, edmund thinks that's probably true. peter and edmund exchange glances, and finally after a couple silent drags of his cigarette, edmund says -- in a grim sort of tone like he's invested too much in anger to let it all go at once -- "i didn't bring my trunks or anything."
corin grins. "we'll stop at the mall on the way home."
2/2
"he keeps saying that," peter comments, as the three of them watch the benz roll down the road. "but has anyone yet informed him that he just spent the past three hours eating lunch?"
"it's what he does," says corin.
"what, wining and dining?"
"not just wining and dining. it's all business, you realize. and by business i mean putting people in his pocket. and by putting people in his pocket,i mean, you know," corin shrugs, "business."
they amble for a bit down the pier, slow with food and wine. getting some air, one might call it, but 'getting some air' for peter and corin means smoking a cigarette so it's a little bit of a misnomer. edmund doesn't smoke as much as peter, and finds that smoking on a full stomach makes him nauseous, so he is content to wander in the trail of their secondhand smoke, squinting in the sun and listening to the rhythm of corin's babblings.
the pier is lined with restaurants and bars and a few clubs, and corin points out the ones that suck, the ones that rock, the ones where he met this hot babe, the ones he and cor got kicked out of, back when cor could still cajoled into doing those sorts of things, etc.
"you often help your father out with his stuff?" peter asks, without preamble.
"sometimes. when it's needed."
"you wanna help us out with ours?"
corin laughs. "look, i know you guys are worried. totally understandable. but sit tight, man. you want my father in on this, and he already is, which is more than what most people can say who want my father in on something. but you just have to let things happen, you know?"
"we tried that," edmund deadpans. "turned out badly."
"look at you guys!" corin crows. "eating your crab and blue marlin in twenty minutes. did you even taste it? so quick to settle for small fry when you think my father isn't holding up his end of whatever deal you think he's in with you."
"you're far from small fry, corin," sighs peter.
"what i'm saying," corin intones seriously, "is: you wanna go to the beach for a few days? or something?"
edmund and peter blink. then they say, "what?"
"the beach. we've got a beach house in negros oriental. you guys need to like, chill the fuck out."
"OH MY GOD," says edmund, conveying the capslock more in emotion and sharp hand movements rather than volume. "AS SOMEONE ON THE MAFIA HITLIST, I RESENT BEING TOLD TO CHILL THE FUCK OUT."
peter says, annoyed, "corin, we have no time for this. look, i'd rather we stay here and accessible to lune."
"okay okay," says corin, taking another cigarette from his pack. he holds the pack out to them -- peter declines, edmund takes one. "item one: my father can find us anywhere, especially so if we're not trying to hide from him. which we won't be. item two." corin lights his cigarette. "it's probably best if you get out of the city anyway. item three: when time is running out, that's the best time to take it."
"take what?"
"time! to take time."
the pevensies frown at him like maybe all the weed corin said he smoked in sagada killed most of his brain cells. but knowing corin, edmund thinks that's probably true. peter and edmund exchange glances, and finally after a couple silent drags of his cigarette, edmund says -- in a grim sort of tone like he's invested too much in anger to let it all go at once -- "i didn't bring my trunks or anything."
corin grins. "we'll stop at the mall on the way home."