susan wears skin-tight red silk with big black flowers on it, the ankle-length skirt slit up to here, high-collared and sleeveless. her hair is twisted back from her face to show off her earrings.
lucy comes out of one of the bedrooms a few minutes later. she's wearing something strapless and green, and caspian makes a strangled sound like he's never expected to be so lucky in his life.
it's not that he looks bad -- if her brothers' lives weren't on the line, susan would be quite willing to play around with caspian a little -- but the black eyes and his bruised nose don't really go with his tux.
they take the elevator to the ground floor, where the concierge says, "mr. miraz is waiting for you in the private room," which turns out to be on the second floor. but the private room is empty except for one big table near the wide bank of windows, and susan finds her steps slowing as they emerge from the elevator.
it's not just miraz and prunaprisma sitting at the table.
but susan is susan fucking pevensie, grifter, con artist, and thief extraordinaire, so she takes one step and then another in her three inch heels and strides forward, vaguely wishing she'd worn a lower-cut dress. "why," she says sweetly, bending over the table, "you must be don patriso. i've heard so much about you."
caspian starts to squawk, but the sound is cut off abruptly, probably by lucy grinding one of her four-inch heels into his foot.
the don smiles at her. "likewise, my dear. you must be susan pevensie. my friend marco has told me so much about you and your siblings."
"i'm sure," susan says, and takes the seat next to him. "i don't think you've met my sister lucy, and this is caspian, miraz's nephew, and an associate of my family's."
"caspian the ninth's son?" asks patriso as caspian leans over to shake his hand. "why, i heard you'd gone missing. kidnapped, some of the stories said. i offered to help your uncle, but he said he had it well in hand."
susan sneaks a look at miraz out of the corner of her eye. he's nearly red with fury.
"he just ran off," miraz says through clenched teeth. "you know how boys are."
"as i remember," caspian says, smiling through his teeth, "you tried to have me killed, and then when that failed, settled for wrecking my reputation instead. do you know, don patriso, that i was expelled from harvard business school for cheating? not that i'd managed to attend any of my classes for a week, what with the whole, 'my uncle has hired assassins to try and kill me' thing. that wasn't doing much for my grades."
"so you became a thief," patriso notes, sounding amused.
"well, it's a lot like business," caspian says, still smiling, and susan supposes that there's a reason peter hired him after all. something other than his looks, and peter's usually not that shallow.
"and i had a knack for it," he adds.
to marco abruzzi, who's glowering, lucy says sweetly, "you must be the son of a bitch who's trying to kill my brothers. i'm peter's youngest sister, lucy. i'm wearing stiletto heels and i'm sitting next to you."
no subject
lucy comes out of one of the bedrooms a few minutes later. she's wearing something strapless and green, and caspian makes a strangled sound like he's never expected to be so lucky in his life.
it's not that he looks bad -- if her brothers' lives weren't on the line, susan would be quite willing to play around with caspian a little -- but the black eyes and his bruised nose don't really go with his tux.
they take the elevator to the ground floor, where the concierge says, "mr. miraz is waiting for you in the private room," which turns out to be on the second floor. but the private room is empty except for one big table near the wide bank of windows, and susan finds her steps slowing as they emerge from the elevator.
it's not just miraz and prunaprisma sitting at the table.
but susan is susan fucking pevensie, grifter, con artist, and thief extraordinaire, so she takes one step and then another in her three inch heels and strides forward, vaguely wishing she'd worn a lower-cut dress. "why," she says sweetly, bending over the table, "you must be don patriso. i've heard so much about you."
caspian starts to squawk, but the sound is cut off abruptly, probably by lucy grinding one of her four-inch heels into his foot.
the don smiles at her. "likewise, my dear. you must be susan pevensie. my friend marco has told me so much about you and your siblings."
"i'm sure," susan says, and takes the seat next to him. "i don't think you've met my sister lucy, and this is caspian, miraz's nephew, and an associate of my family's."
"caspian the ninth's son?" asks patriso as caspian leans over to shake his hand. "why, i heard you'd gone missing. kidnapped, some of the stories said. i offered to help your uncle, but he said he had it well in hand."
susan sneaks a look at miraz out of the corner of her eye. he's nearly red with fury.
"he just ran off," miraz says through clenched teeth. "you know how boys are."
"as i remember," caspian says, smiling through his teeth, "you tried to have me killed, and then when that failed, settled for wrecking my reputation instead. do you know, don patriso, that i was expelled from harvard business school for cheating? not that i'd managed to attend any of my classes for a week, what with the whole, 'my uncle has hired assassins to try and kill me' thing. that wasn't doing much for my grades."
"so you became a thief," patriso notes, sounding amused.
"well, it's a lot like business," caspian says, still smiling, and susan supposes that there's a reason peter hired him after all. something other than his looks, and peter's usually not that shallow.
"and i had a knack for it," he adds.
to marco abruzzi, who's glowering, lucy says sweetly, "you must be the son of a bitch who's trying to kill my brothers. i'm peter's youngest sister, lucy. i'm wearing stiletto heels and i'm sitting next to you."