damn! i was hoping to dump the smithsonian job on you. *pouts*
susan and lucy are waiting at the terminal for peter, but patriso's men get there first. at least, peter's pretty sure they're patriso's men and not abruzzi's. he could be wrong.
he doesn't look back over his shoulder at susan and lucy as they shove him along, out of the building and into the backseat of a car next to someone who he's never met, but whose face he knows just because it's good to know your enemies.
"mr. pevensie," don patriso says quietly.
peter swallows. "mr. patriso," he says in return.
"i've heard a lot about you." he pauses, and peter fills the silence with, "likewise."
"family is important, don't you think?"
"yes." what the hell is this about? "of course."
"especially when it's the only thing you have."
"to be fair, don patriso," peter says, because he's an idiot like that, "there's about seven hundred grand sitting in various back accounts across the world that say differently."
"but that's just money, mr. pevensie. that's just a thing. that's not family. family is something else."
"yes," peter agrees, warily. he has absolutely no idea where this is going, and he's not actually sure he wants to know.
but really. how much worse can it get?
patriso smiles at him winningly. "so, mr. pevensie," he says, "i hope that you understand where i'm coming from when i say that it seems that we both agree on this, and yet there are certain members of your family who don't even know if you're alive."
that much worse, apparently.
"it would," patriso adds, "be very good for all involved if you and your sisters and your brother were to pay your parents a visit. i believe they still live in finchley."
no subject
susan and lucy are waiting at the terminal for peter, but patriso's men get there first. at least, peter's pretty sure they're patriso's men and not abruzzi's. he could be wrong.
he doesn't look back over his shoulder at susan and lucy as they shove him along, out of the building and into the backseat of a car next to someone who he's never met, but whose face he knows just because it's good to know your enemies.
"mr. pevensie," don patriso says quietly.
peter swallows. "mr. patriso," he says in return.
"i've heard a lot about you." he pauses, and peter fills the silence with, "likewise."
"family is important, don't you think?"
"yes." what the hell is this about? "of course."
"especially when it's the only thing you have."
"to be fair, don patriso," peter says, because he's an idiot like that, "there's about seven hundred grand sitting in various back accounts across the world that say differently."
"but that's just money, mr. pevensie. that's just a thing. that's not family. family is something else."
"yes," peter agrees, warily. he has absolutely no idea where this is going, and he's not actually sure he wants to know.
but really. how much worse can it get?
patriso smiles at him winningly. "so, mr. pevensie," he says, "i hope that you understand where i'm coming from when i say that it seems that we both agree on this, and yet there are certain members of your family who don't even know if you're alive."
that much worse, apparently.
"it would," patriso adds, "be very good for all involved if you and your sisters and your brother were to pay your parents a visit. i believe they still live in finchley."