arthur says, "dude," and, "that was ten years ago, genius," and, "like you couldn't afford to replace it," but eventually also says, "so, theoretically, what would you want me to do? THEORETICALLY."

caspian grins, gracious in victory. "well," he says, "you know the charity function you're holding at the smithsonian next week? i need four tickets for that, and they actually have to be on the guest list, you know?"

-
-

"how did caspian finagle this?" peter hisses at susan, even though on the surface he's smiling his thousand-watt smile and projecting charm in all direction. men and women are flocking to him like bees to honey and peter charms them with some story about the only narnia plantation in africa, the one that still technically belongs to the pevensie family (well, the king family, to use their cover names) but that no one's seen since WWII.

susan just smiles and drinks champagne, watching caspian and lucy work their way through the crowd. her biggest fear is that someone is going to recognize peter -- he's memorable, and has never gone to particular lengths to hide it -- or caspian, though it's been years since caspian was in any kind of society and peter is a professional.

then a familiar voice says, "and how are we enjoying -- jesus god, susan and peter," as arthur pendragon gapes at them.

peter slides gracefully away from his knot of new fans and says smoothly, "arthur! how have you been? this is just a magnificent show; i haven't been here in an age."

if by an age you mean, "since yesterday," of course, susan thinks ungraciously.

"you," arthur sputters, then his gaze darts around the room to settle on caspian's dark head, "i didn't invite you."

peter's hand clamps down on his wrist, serpent-swift, and he drags arthur sideways into an alcove, susan following and deflecting attention.

"hey," arthur protests, trying to fight free," but peter bends his head close to his ear and murmurs, as sweetly as if he's offering up some kind of filthy, filthy suggestion, "do you really want to make a scene, pendragon? because i can arrange that, and it won't look good for you, at all. all i need is three minutes in public with you and i can destroy everything the pendragon foundation has ever built."

that makes arthur shut up.

susan draws a curtain shut across the entrance to the alcove and peter shoves arthur back against the wall and stands back, watching him through lowered lashes.

"here's what you're going to do," peter says, "in a couple minutes, you're going to go back out there and pretend you've never seen me or susan before and that we've just met for the first time. my name is peter king, this is my wife susan king. we're from narnia enterprises, and you invited us here. we are on the guest list."

"you're thieves," arthur splutters. "i'm going to kill caspian."

susan blinks. "you know caspian?" she says, surprised. she hadn't thought that the telmarine corporation and the pendragon foundation exactly ran in the same circles.

"dude," arthur says, a little less than intelligently, "we were roommates at yale for four years and we shared an apartment in allston when we were both at harvard business. up until he got himself kicked out of b-school, we were best friends."

"he's been holding out on us," peter says brightly.

"so have you!" arthur exclaims. "you said you were a reporter," he says accusingly to susan.

she shrugs. "i lied."

"and he's not your husband, is he?"

"no," peter says.

"and your name isn't king!" arthur exclaims. then he pauses and squints at them. in tones of resigned horror, he says, "it's pevensie, isn't it."

peter just raises his eyebrows.