huh. is this happening at the same time as peter/mysterious man or not? (in my head it is osumare seaworth, but he's, uh, patently not canon.)
it is not edmund's fault that they get snowed in at a cabin in maine. it's not peter's, either, no matter what susan yells on him on the phone before the lines go down. snowed in is no one's fault except the weather.
okay, granted, the fact that they're up here at all is peter's fault, but hey, they were supposed to be out of here before the promised storm blew in; it's no one's fault that it came in early, unless peter can control the weather, and he's prowling the cabin restlessly, staring at the gathering white drifts outside like he can melt them by the sheer power of his stare.
edmund prods at the fire. he's really, really hoping he doesn't accidentally burn down the cabin, because that would suck, but at least the resort owner had laid aside a pretty good stockpile of cut wood at each cabin. it's like they're back in the old west, or something. at least there's still power, even if the phone lines are down, but edmund has no idea how long the power's going to last. television reception sucks, and there's a very sparse collection of books and movies on the shelves. and when their laptop batteries die, then they're really going to be screwed, because they'll be trapped with nothing to do except play chess and checkers and -- for some reason -- twister. and read, but the books include lord of the rings, three tarzan novels, two survival books (oh, that's encouraging), and the witching hour with half the pages missing. hopefully they're the actual plot-pages, not the good ones; edmund hasn't checked yet. he's hoping he doesn't have to.
peter turns away from the window and runs a hand through his hair, which sends it sticking up in all directions. edmund doesn't bother commenting on that, just sits back on one of the beds and pokes at his laptop, trying to salvage something out of the job. the clemington-davies also vacation in summer, maybe that would be a better choice than winter.
"please tell me the weather report says this is going to clear up sometime soon," he says.
"can't," edmund replies. "we don't have any internet."
peter flops down onto the other bed and throws an arm up over his eyes. "go ahead and say this was a bad idea," he says.
"would it help?"
"a little."
"it was a bad idea," edmund supplies.
which is when the lights flicker.
peter takes his arm away from his face. "tell me i just imagined that," he says.
"you just imagined that," edmund says.
which is when the lights go out.
"fuck," peter says succinctly.
at least they still have the light from edmund's laptop screen to see by.
Re: 2/2
it is not edmund's fault that they get snowed in at a cabin in maine. it's not peter's, either, no matter what susan yells on him on the phone before the lines go down. snowed in is no one's fault except the weather.
okay, granted, the fact that they're up here at all is peter's fault, but hey, they were supposed to be out of here before the promised storm blew in; it's no one's fault that it came in early, unless peter can control the weather, and he's prowling the cabin restlessly, staring at the gathering white drifts outside like he can melt them by the sheer power of his stare.
edmund prods at the fire. he's really, really hoping he doesn't accidentally burn down the cabin, because that would suck, but at least the resort owner had laid aside a pretty good stockpile of cut wood at each cabin. it's like they're back in the old west, or something. at least there's still power, even if the phone lines are down, but edmund has no idea how long the power's going to last. television reception sucks, and there's a very sparse collection of books and movies on the shelves. and when their laptop batteries die, then they're really going to be screwed, because they'll be trapped with nothing to do except play chess and checkers and -- for some reason -- twister. and read, but the books include lord of the rings, three tarzan novels, two survival books (oh, that's encouraging), and the witching hour with half the pages missing. hopefully they're the actual plot-pages, not the good ones; edmund hasn't checked yet. he's hoping he doesn't have to.
peter turns away from the window and runs a hand through his hair, which sends it sticking up in all directions. edmund doesn't bother commenting on that, just sits back on one of the beds and pokes at his laptop, trying to salvage something out of the job. the clemington-davies also vacation in summer, maybe that would be a better choice than winter.
"please tell me the weather report says this is going to clear up sometime soon," he says.
"can't," edmund replies. "we don't have any internet."
peter flops down onto the other bed and throws an arm up over his eyes. "go ahead and say this was a bad idea," he says.
"would it help?"
"a little."
"it was a bad idea," edmund supplies.
which is when the lights flicker.
peter takes his arm away from his face. "tell me i just imagined that," he says.
"you just imagined that," edmund says.
which is when the lights go out.
"fuck," peter says succinctly.
at least they still have the light from edmund's laptop screen to see by.