(no subject)

[whynot]

I bring you a list of awesome.

1. capslock_merlin. When I talk about this show it's mostly in capslock anyway, so, perfect. If you don't care about being spoiled for Episode 11, please click here omg.

2. reel_merlin. A list of suggested movies for claiming. Back to the Future AU? Hitchhiker's Guide AU? JURASSIC PARK AU? OCEAN'S 11 AU?!? OMFG. I DON'T KNOW WHICH TO FLAIL ABOUT MORE AND THEY HAVEN'T BEEN WRITTEN YETfalskdf';slgk;dfk'g';dal;sfdlk

2a. Ages ago I fiddled with the idea of a Boondock Saints AU where Peter and Edmund destroy shit and kill people in the name of god andthentheyhavesex. It's not like they'd be completely out of their element. Aslan is totally Il Duce, but damned if I know who Smecker would be. Caspian is Greenly.

3. Speaking of Boondock Saints, In God's Country is greenapple's drabble-remix of my Boondock Saints fic Big Sky Country and it (the remix) is AMAZING. AMAZING. Connor/Murphy (warning: incest etc), rated R. Big ups to her for condensing 5000 words down to 400. Oh my gosh you guys, BOONDOCK SAINTS. GOOD TIMES. (Also, what is it about a canon with religious themes that makes it so prone to incest?)

4. amory_vain remixed my Y Tu Mama Tambien fic here, and it is HOT. I, um... didn't do my drabble remix because I never got my assignment, and then I forgot about it. I FAIL REMIXTHEDRABBLE. But I talked to the mods and they say I can get in on it anyway, late as I am. If I do, I'll apparently be drabbling Heroes!

5. I like to go on TV Tropes' Merlin page and see new stuff get added to it after every episode. Is it just me or are the examples for HoYay/FoeYay extremely skimpy. It is not just me. Camelot is totally crawling with STDs. ETA: Was it one of you guys that added that last bit to Hoyay??


BACK TO THESIS.

Comments

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

SUSANOHMYGOD. "i am not getting it on with you in the fungwah bus."


they go out for italian. "danny's probably going to be a little late," rusty warns. "he's got other arrangements."

peter stretches out an arm across the back of his seat and susan puts her head back against it. "arrangements other than us?" peter says, and his tone is dark, a little threatening.

"cool your jets, pevensie," rusty says, eating a breadstick and getting crumbs on the menu. "he's looking for a wedding present. or an anniversary present. i'm not really sure what they're calling it."

which is when danny and tess show up.

"why is she here?" rusty asks.

"i thought you said you weren't stealing anymore!" tess hisses at danny.

"i'm not!" danny protests. "i'm just meeting some old friends, they're in town, it's nothing to do with -- nice to see you out of jail, peter."

"you too," peter agrees, looking tess up and down. susan steps on his foot and edmund rolls his eyes.

"i just wanted to let you know i was here before i called tess a cab," danny says. "tess, you know rusty."

"unfortunately."

"lucy pevensie, edmund pevensie, peter pevensie, and --"

"susan?" tess says disbelievingly.

susan smiles. "hello, tess," she says.


*frowns* i do not think i have the o11 voices down, and i don't have my dvd here with me.

HMM.

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

well good thing that this dinner is just to set up the plan and share contacts then; perhaps it can kinda be like reuben in the first movie, only showing up occasionally to do something amusing and useful.

later in the hotel room edmund says, "so. su. you and tess seemed friendly over dinner."

"we get along," shrugs susan. "i think we share a lot of things common. for example, when we first met, one of those things was that our men were in prison."

peter flops onto the bed, crawling over to where lucy is. "let's not mention those dark days, huh?"

+

"so, tess," says danny. "you know susan pevensie well, huh?"

tess just smiles.

+

at around 11 pm, edmund shows up at rusty's hotel room with cheetos and a laptop bag.

"tumnus's flight got delayed in detroit," says edmund when rusty opens the door, "but he's sent the new security codes. sopespian's learned from miraz, and we need to revise the sixth floor scheme."

"huh. you always did know just what to say to set the mood, ed." rusty looks at the cheetos bag. "are those for me?"

"they could be. if you're good."

rusty raises an eyebrow. "how good?"

edmund shrugs. "surprise me."

rusty reaches out and grabs the front of edmund's shirt, tugging him through the doorway. "you're a hard man to surprise, edmund pevensie."

"well if anyone can still surprise me, ryan," says edmund, dropping cheetos and laptop on the table, "it's you."

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

until peter went to jail, they'd never been apart for more than a few days. now there are whole swaths of space that neither one can breach, pieces of time and parts of themselves that are unaccessible to the other. susan doesn't know what happened to him in prison, isn't sure she wants to ask, but there are scars on previously unmarked skin, and the way that peter will never leave his back to entrance if he can help it. he asks lucy to move once when she gets in between him and the door, and she gives him an odd look but obeys anyway.

on their third day in new york, lucy drags them to little italy for lunch. they eat pasta and drink wine and laugh, and then someone comes up behind peter, puts his hand on his shoulder.

"unless you've got something for me, pevensie," the man says, bending his head close to peter's ear as peter goes very still and palms the knife by his plate, "get out of my restaurant."

"who the hell --" edmund begins, starting up.

peter, white-faced, shoves his chair back and rises, grabbing susan's arm. "we're leaving," he says, throwing a handful of crumpled bills onto the table.

he hurries them all out in front of them, and he doesn't look back, but he also doesn't relax until they're crammed into a cab again, and then he puts his head down between his knees and interlocks his fingers on the back of his neck, his breathing short and shallow.

"who was that?" lucy asks, sounding confused, "peter, who was that?"

"drive," edmund tells the driver.

susan puts her hand on peter's shoulders and pulls him against her, and he puts his face into her neck and makes a soft, sobbing noise.

-
-

"we can drop this job," edmund says once they're back at the hotel. he's watching peter warily.

peter says, "no. this has nothing to do with him."

-
-

peter sleeps late the next morning, and edmund wakes susan and takes her down to the starbucks on the corner for coffee. "his name is marco abruzzi," he says. "he's a consigliere for the patriso family. he was in prison with peter for drug-dealing, but he's fingered for a whole lot more. he got out about six months ago. i'm still pulling the prison files on him."

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

oh oh SO MUCH FOR LEAVING THE MAFIA AU FOR ANOTHER THREAD


no hands more nimble than a thief's and no tongue cleverer than a liar's, but these are not the only reasons edmund keeps coming back to rusty. together they leave crumbs all over the floor of rusty's hotel room, on the sheets of rusty's hotel bed, and rusty is like this machine that takes an input of x units of edmund's cashew nuts and expels output of y units of information.

marco was also in prison with his brother. they were nabbed for the same offense, fucked up on the same meth deal. as far as connections with the patriso family goes, don patriso isn't happy, but he's not going to toss marco on the street; marco abruzzi has connections all over the tri-state area and has gotten the patriso family out of various scrapes without making the shit too high-profile.

"and besides," says rusty around a mouthful of cashews, "if anyone was going to be taking the fall for the meth deal, it was going to be his brother. that was more his thing. so the patrisos, they lost a major enterprise, a number of key people, and they weren't too happy, you know? marco abruzzi had to pull a lot of strings and pay off a lot of people to keep his brother alive. even prison -- especially prison -- it wasn't safe."

and then, through a complex exchange of promises, financial exchanges, and almost-betrayals, marco got his brother off the hit-list.

edmund says, "and then what happened?"

"and then his brother died."

edmund's jaws tense. he has a feeling he knows what's coming. "who did it?"

"your brother."

silence for a few moments. certain threads of peter's half-truths and silences weave themselves together in edmund's mind. then, "not that the guards ever found out."

"the guards never found out," rusty affirms, then leans back. "so. there you have it. the sad and tragic tale of bongo abruzzi."

edmund guffaws. "bongo? what the fuck kind of name is bongo?"

"peter never told you about bongo?" asks rusty, raising an eyebrow.

he takes another swig of beer. "he never really told us much."

so rusty tells him. he even uses the 'took him to the cleaners' punch-line that probably danny been too classy to use, and edmund would have been amused, would have at least rolled his eyes, if a certain penny hadn't dropped somewhere in his head.

"wait wait wait," says edmund. "are you telling me."

rusty munches cashews unconcernedly.

"that my brother."

rusty scratches his head.

"is in a blood vendetta with THE FUCKING MAFIA."

"hmm," says rusty. "maybe."




'two-bit drug dealer from jersey city' indeeeeeeeeeeeeeed.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

so, uh. way back when, when i had my big csi:ny 'verse, i, uh, made up the five families of new york. and there is a slight possibility i am reusing my mafia characters. (actually, the abruzzis are new, the patrisos are not.) although! i promise not to use val constantine.


"peter did WHAT?" susan exclaims, and though she doesn't remember doing it, she's knocked over her coffee, and it's spilling across the table and onto her lap.

edmund immediately goes for the napkins, and together they manage to get her mostly dry. "maybe you want to change?" edmund offers, and susan grits her teeth and says, "you are going to buy me more coffee, and then you are going to tell me what else you know."

"there isn't actually anything else," edmund says, but he gets her a new raspberry frappucchino anyway.

"why?" susan asks. "why would he do that? i know peter gets into fights, but he wouldn't -- he'd never --"

"apparently he would," edmund says. "i don't know, su. rusty didn't say."

only that's a lie. susan can read it on her brother's face.

"what did he do to peter," she says. it's not a question.

edmund says again, "i don't know, su."

and then someone pulls up a third chair to their table. "you must be edmund and susan," marco abruzzi says. "i've heard so much about you."

"what do you want?" susan demands as edmund makes a sharp move towards nothing in particular.

"not from peter, of course," marco continues as if she hasn't spoken. "dino falcone."

for a moment the name means nothing, and then she remembers. "you have got to be fucking kidding me," edmund says, getting it at the same time she does. "that was fifteen years ago!"

"we don't forget," abruzzi says, and then he goes very still.

there's a closed switchblade in peter's hand pressed against the back of abruzzi's neck. "get the hell away from my family," he says.

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

"that's funny, coming from you," marco says evenly. "we got a message for you, pete."

peter says, "don't call me pete."

"who's 'we'?" susan demands.

peter says, "shut up, susan."

"i thought we were friends, pete," sighs marco. "why you gotta be like that? maybe i oughta just give the message to your brother here. it's just as much for him as it is for you, you know."

"abruzzi, i swear to fucking god, i'm gonna give you until the count of five to--"

"blood calls for blood, pevensie," says marco. "you know what it's like. eye for an eye. it's not so different out here from prison--"

"one," says peter through gritted teeth, ignoring the look of growing realization and horror on edmund's face.

"--except maybe the bitches aren't so hairy." marco waggles his eyebrows at susan, touches her leg. she recoils.

"t-- five," says peter, and boxes marco in the jaw with as much force as he can muster. they hear the crack of bone.

"okay," edmund says, and with practiced ease, he and susan grab peter's arms before he can land more blows on the consigliere, and they hoof it for the main street.

+

"peter," says susan in her i'm-trying-to-be-calm voice. it is also her i-hope-i-misheard-that voice. "peter, light of my life, apple of my eye. i just want you to tell me one thing."

peter stares morosely into his whiskey. they are in a bar drinking hard liquor at lunch-time, but all things considered, it's kind of justified.

"has the mafia," she starts, "put a hit on our youngest most beloved brother?"

peter says, "um."

edmund says, "i hate you so, so, so, SO MUCH right now."

"next round of drinks are on me," peter offers.

"hfd;agl;sdkg;dfk!!" says edmund. okay, so that's not exactly what he says, but it's a lot politer than what he actually said.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

honeybaby, you know what we got ourselves here? we got ourselves an action plot.


"i'm going to kill him," peter says.

"as much as i agree with your logic there -- and believe me, i do," edmund says, "maybe murder isn't really the best answer."

"really?" peter says. "right now it seems pretty reasonable." he flips open the switchblade in his hand, closes it again.

peter hasn't carried a weapon on a job in -- peter hasn't ever carried a weapon on a job, because that constitutes armed robbery and that's a hell of a lot worse than what they do for a living. it's suddenly striking susan that she hasn't seen him without a knife since he got out of prison.

"what happened in there?" she asks.

peter paces back and forth in the room. the blinds are drawn shut, the door is locked, and edmund is sprawled in a chair by the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. susan sits cross-legged on the bed in her coffee-stained jeans and blouse.

peter shakes his head. "things," he says, "susan, i can't -- i don't want -- god damn it!" he smashes a fist into the wall and susan and edmund both jump.

peter breathes hard through his mouth. "i can't," he says again, soft and broken, and she gets up and goes to him, pulls him into a hug. a moment later edmund's arms around him too, and peter says, "i can't."

after a minute, peter pulls away and goes back to pacing, susan sits back down, and edmund pours three glasses of whiskey and hands them around.

"so aside from murder," he says, "what are our options?"

peter raises his eyebrows. "it's the mafia, ed," he says, sounding calmer. "there aren't exactly a lot of options."

"can we pay him off?" edmund asks, without much hope.

"edmund," peter tells him, "if you ever happened to die at the hands of another man, i wouldn't rest until i'd hunted him down, killed him, killed his familiy, killed his friends, killed his goddamn pets, razed everything he owned, and sowed the earth with salt."

"well, that's very touching, pete," edmund says.

"what about don patriso?" susan asks. "can we get to him?"

"we don't," peter says, "exactly have a lot of leverage."

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

later--

"but look," peter interrupts, "i just talked to caspian last night, he's got sopespian's hotel staked out no problem, and it's just a matter of--"

"i can't believe," lucy says through gritted teeth, typing furiously at her laptop, "I CAN'T BELIEVE, peter, that you're still thinking about the job."

"what, you guys put months into this job, now you just want to throw it all away?"

"when it comes to choosing between a job and our brothers, peter," says susan quietly, "i hope you know which we would pick."

"it's not like we haven't been in hot water before," peter says with growing frustration. "we've been wanted, we've been chased. we've been--"

"peter," susan snaps, "pulling off this job is not going to remove the hit on ed. all right? just--"

"speaking of which," lucy cuts in meaningfully, eyes on the screen, "someone poke a head in the bathroom."

peter does, and lucy and susan hear a strangled, "'m all right..." delivered in that special way that only a person who has been throwing up for twenty minutes can.

"i'm just..." edmund continues. "gonna chill... here..."

lucy raises an eyebrow at susan. "how much did he drink?"

"you try having a hit on you and see how much you drink," susan mutters.

peter slams the bathroom door shut and gives her a rueful look. susan glares back.

"all right," says peter. "okay, so now what. what, we run? we hide somewhere?"

"of course," says lucy, matter of fact, credit card in hand as she types its number into the computer. "at least, you and edmund do."

"me and ed-- what are you and susan going to do?!"

"we're going to fix things," lucy replies.

peter's face does the equivalent of this: asfdhoi[gaskf,;'dgeplf;en!!!1111 then he says, almost shouts, "first of all, where are edmund and i gonna go?!"

lucy replies, "the farthest away you can go before you start to come back." she turns the laptop around so he and susan can see the screen. "it's an exact twelve-hour time difference between new york and the philippines, did you know?"

there is silence in the room as peter processes this grimly. lucy gives them both a toothy grin; susan hides her smile.

in the end, all peter can say is, "i hate trans-pacific flights."

"i booked you guys business class," says lucy. "those frequent flyer miles are going to come in handy someday."

the bathroom door opening is accompanied by the sound of a flushing toilet, and they turn their heads to see edmund leaning weakly against the doorway. he's splashed water on his face, or maybe tried to; he looks like he's been dunked in the toilet instead of puking in it. "so," he says. "what did i miss?"





HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
*DOES A DANCE*

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

"so," edmund says after an hour in the air, "was it worth it?"

peter is staring blankly out the window at the clouds below. "what?"

"killing bongo abruzzi. was it worth it?"

peter turns his head sharply to look at him. "how did you -- never mind. yeah, it was worth it. at the moment. could have lasted longer."

edmund is silent for a moment, processing that. "how?" he asks.

"do you really want to know that?" peter asks, raising his eyebrows. he runs his left thumb lightly over the scarred knuckles on his right hand, meditative.

"given the circumstances," edmund says, "yeah, i do."

peter looks away, then back, then away again, then back again. "i hit him," he says. "we fought. he broke my wrist," he adds, holding up his left arm in illustration. "i managed to get behind him, get an arm around his throat. and i held him there until he stopped breathing." he flags down a stewardess while edmund is processing this. "can i get more whiskey?"

"are you going to be drunk when we land?" edmund hisses.

peter looks a little sad. "no," he says. "i should probably start sobering up around then."

edmund has known his brother for thirty years, and he's seen peter broken and bleeding, holding him upright after a job gone wrong, seen him heartbroken and buoyant and fighting. he's never seen his brother kill anybody, but he thinks he's always known that peter could. and peter's -- well, peter will throw a punch at the first opportunity, but edmund doesn't think he'd kill without need, so he's -- he's not that bothered, really. he has to think about it, but, well -- he had to have had good reason.

when the stewardess brings peter's whiskey, edmund says, "hey. can we get some ice cream over here?"

-
-

"okay," lucy says, "we need a way to get at don patriso, since marco abruzzi probably isn't going to back off."

caspian looks hesitant. "well," he offers, "there's a rumor that the patriso family kind of fell on hard times for a while there when blue eyes went to prison. they lost even more money then than they did with the abruzzi bust."

"i am not breaking anybody out of jail," susan says immediately.

"that's not what i meant! i meant," caspian says, "that the patrisos had to borrow money. not from another family. from my uncle." now he looks awkward.

lucy looks at susan consideringly. "how bad of terms did you leave miraz on?"

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

while peter sips slowly from plastic cup after plastic cup of whiskey, edmund paces the length of th plane, 'stretching his legs', thinking about death and the dearth of time, missing his sisters. how long are they going to spend hiding in the philippines? he's split us up again, he thinks, but doesn't say it aloud, because what would that achieve anyway.

+

it takes 45 minutes for their bags to appear on the carousel and edmund spends the intervening time watching large boxes and colorful bags roll by from boston, san antonio, philadelphia to places like ilo-ilo, zamboanga, cagayan del oro.

"fucking finally," peter mutters. "i need a drink."

"no," says edmund firmly, throwing peter his duffel with a little more force than necessary, "you don't."

in the arrival hall, there is a grim-faced man in polished shoes and a short-sleeved button-down shirt holding a sign for PEVENSY. he tells them his name is miguel, and that mister lune is sorry he can't be here to greet them personally.

+

people have this image of new york as this wild jungle of debauchery and excess, muggers and drug-dealers around every corner, rich bitches and energetic suits: no one ever sleeps. but new york is a neat and orderly spreadsheet: it is a grid; the streets run from east to west, the avenues north to south, the traffic lights are trustworthy and public transport is efficient and ubiquitous.

for all one's talk of urban claustrophia, the roads are very wide.

crossing amsterdam at 118th, edmund had looked both ways and saw so far, the parallel lines of the street reaching for an elusive vanishing point. harlem stretched out below him like a mosaic or an italian hillside in the late afternoon.

you want to talk about claustrophobia, you want to talk about the cruelty of the city, about its excesses (of depravity, of deprivation), then you want to talk about manila. manila will provide you with examples aplenty, garishly colored and wild-eyed. manila, with her penchant for making promises and her love-hate relationship with her past, drifting by outside the window as miguel drives them to wherever.

"don't," edmund says quietly when peter begins to open a window to give some change to a blind man and the woman who shepherds him around.

"don't be so heartless, ed."

"he's obviously faking it."

peter just gives his brother a look and drops the coins into the man's hands, rolls the window back up. a few seconds later, an urchin in a tattered power rangers shirt taps on the window, cupping her hands around her eyes to look through the benz's tinted glass. peter reaches into his pockets again, but before he can open the window, the light turns green. the car pulls away from the intersection.

borne of a culture that coddles its sense of boundaries, manila is strangely lacking in them. shanties flourish next to the private schools, behind government buildings, down the street from the shopping malls where expats and private-sector scions shop at guess and jean-paul gauthier. there is no poor part of manila, no rich part of manila, not in any true sense. it all bleeds together, overlapping.

and everywhere, everywhen, always: the heat, fierce and proud. it is like a mother's last embrace, desperate and clinging and leaving you with an odd sense of hollowness, ephemerality.


(CONTINUED IN ANOTHER COMMENT BECAUSE LJ SAYS I EXCEEDED MAXIMUM CHARACTER LENGTH :-O)

part 2/2

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

which is why dasmarinas (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dasmari%C3%B1as_Village) is an aberration in the landscape. it's a private subdivision and gated community where armed security guards cast cursory glances at your picture ID before waving you through. they don't check miguel's. they know him, apparently.

once through the gates, it's like a soundproof bubble has fallen on the world. the streets are wide here, and clean. the houses are fucking huge. they pass a few joggers listening to ipods. they pass children on tricycles whose nannies hang back a few feet behind them, gossipping with each other. it is like an american suburb, or what a country with money problems thinks an american suburb is like, with one key difference. property boundaries in the suburbs of america are often amorphous, barely defined for the abundance of space; sprawling lawns merge into each other or the woods, and gates are almost symbolic. in dasmarinas the gates are very high, the spikes that crown them very sharp. on the tops of some walls, edmund notices, they have placed broken glass; it's the only similarity dasmarinas has with the world of manila beyond its walls.

"would you look at this place," edmund mutters, taking in the idyll outside.

"yeah, well," says peter. "lune is loaded. what's his deal, satellite communications?"

"partly. he's got some call-centers, some night-clubs. he has a couple of hotels."

"i hear he's got some business with the philippine government."

"more like the philippine government's got business with him."

lune's house-mansion-thing has its own security guard, who opens the gates and ridiculously salutes them as they drive through. miguel pulls up to the front of the house and stops, and edmund and peter blink in the sunlight and the heat as servants take their bags.

the front door opens, and it's corin in board shorts, a t-shirt, and sandals. peter and edmund still somehow look the worse for wear.

"hey, man," corin grins. "long time no see."

"corin," peter nods in greeting. "your father home?"

"naw, he's in taipei, he'll be back tomorrow. come in! you guys must be exhausted. you want a beer?"

they follow corin into an entrance hall with marble flooring and a chandelier, a painting of a fisherman hanging over a tastefully empty vase.

edmund says, "how about a bed?"

Re: part 2/2

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

edmund spreads peter out on the bed, sunlight playing through the open window and across their skin. it gilds peter in gold and light, and he kisses edmund lazily, the sweet taste of rum shared between their mouths.

edmund pins peter's hands over his head, feels his brother go very still, peter's eyes flaring wide in sudden panic.

"don't worry," edmund says softly. "it's just me."

peter lets out a long, slow breath. "yeah," he says, and edmund kisses the panic and the tension from him, trying to ignore the scars that weren't there the last time he touched his brother.

-
-

it turns out miraz is actually in town meeting with sepaspian. "really," susan says, "he's not going to listen to anything i say."

"well, he's not going to listen to me," caspian points out reasonably.

"try anyway," lucy says.

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

they sleep for the rest of the day and all of the night, soundly tangled in each other in a way they haven't been in years. there is something of the, not innocence, but audacity of childhood in it, how they hold each other tightly without fear. edmund fell asleep in peter's arms and wakes up in peter's arms, and the symmetry comforts him. he is far away from everything he knows with only peter to fall back on, and for the first time since their plane left jfk, this knowledge warms him instead of filling him with dread.

maybe it's the jetlag.

+

their sisters' faces are pixelated and stop-motion on the computer screen, moving in and out of the frame (lucy keeps knocking the webcam on its side), and their voices and giggles on the speakers are tinny and thin.

"i tried to see miraz today," susan is saying. "but he's like fort knox, you know how he is. his inner circle is impenetrable. but i've left a note with his assistant."

"how did that work out?" asks edmund.

"i heard from miraz today. he can't resist an old flame. we're having coffee tomorrow."

peter's jaw tightens, but it's not like there's much he can do.

"good," says edmund. "good. be careful."

susan rolls her eyes. "i'm not an amateur.

"how is manila?" lucy cuts in, her face suddenly taking up the entire screen. "how is lune, and the twins, and aravis?"

"lune is out of the country on some business thing," peter replies. "cor and aravis are i don't know, up north designing irrigation for the rice paddies, whatever. feeding some orphans. saving some whales."

"what crawled up your ass and died," says lucy, making a face.

there is a knock on the door, and peter and edmund call out almost in unison to come in. corin sticks his head in. "hey, you wanna go out for lunch?"

"is that corin?" lucy demands. "point the webcam at him! hi corin!"

corin laughs and walks over to the laptop, and slings his arms around peter and edmund's shoulders, grinning at the screen. "what's up, sexy. how's new york?"

"oh god," says susan. "don't even ask."

corin laughs again. "all right then, well. if it's all the same with you two ladies, i'm going to take your brothers to lunch."

the goodbye is long, protracted, and repetitive. "i love you," susan says a final time.

"i love you too," peter says, trying not to sound wistful. and susan and lucy disappear from the screen.

"god," says corin. "you guys make me puke. okay, grab your shit. do you like seafood?"

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

for some reason corin suddenly looks like bradley james in my head. OH MERLIN WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?


"break into his office, su," edmund says into his cell phone.

"what?"

"break into his office," edmund repeats. "seriously. maybe he's left something lying around."

"that sounds like something peter would suggest," susan says archly.

"peter's not suggesting it, i am," edmund says firmly. "take caspian with you."

there is a long pause.

"if i don't shoot him first," susan mutters. "why did you hire him in the first place?"

"we were all young and stupid once," edmund assures her. "look, peter made first touch with caspian, not me. and he's not bad."

"i think he's trying to flirt with me," susan says dourly. "which is not what i'm in the mood for at the moment."

"tell him that your boyfriend killed a man in prison for talking trash about you, that should shut him up."

"don't joke about that," susan snaps.

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

"...and that's about it," edmund concludes.

"hmm," lune nods, chewing thoughtfully.

lune has taken them to manila bay for lunch at a restaurant where the maitre'd knows him by name and bottle of chilled red wine is brought to the table within a few seconds of their being seated.

"good to be the boss, huh?" edmund had said.

"oh, i don't own or manage this place at all. they just know me," lune had replied vaguely, as the waiter filled his glass first.

and now, after swallowing his mouthful of grilled swordfish, he says, "i'm perfectly aware of your situation, edmund. lucy has told me many things, you told me more than she did, and my people told me the rest."

peter and edmund exchange glances. then edmund, disguising annoyance as curiosity: "so why did you just tell me to tell you what happened?"

"so i can eat my food," says lune. "i love grilled seafood and i despise awkward silences."

"you should write that in a personal ad," corin mutters.

"hush you," lune says dispassionately, not breaking eye contact with edmund.

"so," peter ventures, "you know how bongo really--"

"and i know why." lune gives him a pointed look. peter rolls his eyes, looks away.

then lune says, "so?"

edmund says, "so what?"

lune spears cauliflower with his fork. "so what now? what are you boys doing about this?"

"this is what we're doing about this," edmund snaps. "flying to the philippines, meeting you. fleeing the jaws of death. drinking your rum and getting taken out to fancy restaurants, fuck's sake, did i miss anything, pete?"

lune says, "that was going to be my next question."

peter jumps in, "lune, cut the crap, okay? look, our families go way back, and you still owe us from that thing with the guy in that place. this is edmund, all right, and this is me, but not for long if the patrisos get to us."

"what he said!" edmund imparts.

"my dear boy," says lune, "i have no crap to cut with you. you must forgive my circumlocution -- it tends to stay with me after a particularly weighty business negotiation."

"yes, weighty situations," edmund mutters. "lots of weighty situations going around."

"the mcmanus brothers?" corin suggests at his father, who shakes his head.

"too explosive," says lune. "they are a last resort."

"we are," peter points out, "kind of in a 'last resort' situation."

edmund frowns. "who are the mcmanus brothers?"

lune goes, "ha! those fuckers. where to begin."

+

when susan finally comes to, she realizes the following things in the following order: 1) her head HURTS; 2) her foot is asleep; 3) the ground is very cold; 4) her hands and feet are bound; 5) she is gagged.

she is gagged with a silk tie, and it smells like acqua di gio.

miraz.

"i had thought you an intelligent woman, susan, but i see i thought wrong," comes miraz's voice from somewhere behind her. it's dark and she can barely see anything. "i thought you enjoyed our coffee as much as i did, so why you were sneaking around my office, i don't know. but doubtless i'll find out."

she lets herself think just for one second, maybe two, that she maybe she should've brought caspian along after all.

"at least my good-for-nothing nephew isn't with you this time."

susan, knowing it's completely inappropriate to do so, grins into armani silk. at least she and miraz can still agree on some things.





the lack of further pornings heretofore is due to the fact that whenever i've been working on this, i've been in public computer labs. sigh :(

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

miraz goes on, "i suppose you think i didn't know who and what you were when i first got involved with you. to tell the truth, i knew exactly who you were: susan pevensie, con artist, member of the infamous pevensie family, sister to peter pevensie, at the time doing five years in fox river penitentiary for grand larceny. i know your rap sheet, susan, or perhaps i should say, your lack thereof. i've spoken to some of your associates, to other men and women you've robbed. i even spoke to the detectives who investigated your case when you and your siblings went missing from finchley all those years ago."

susan goes very still. no one knows that. no one knows that; they've never spoken about it to anyone else, not in the decade and a half since peter woke her in her bed and said, "we have to go."

she hears the sound of footsteps from behind as miraz moves closer to her. "i even," he continues, "spoke to your parents. they miss you, you know. they wonder where you've gone. where you've all gone."

he pauses, maybe waiting for some reaction from her, but susan has given her parents for lost a long time ago -- maybe she'd even given them up long before they left finchley.

"i am going to take the gag out," he announces. "do try not to scream."

unlike some people, susan knows when and when not scream. miraz's hands are familiar on her face and susan doesn't flinch away.

someone strikes a light. she's in a parking garage, and the man holding the light is the head of miraz's personal bodyguard, glozelle. he looks tired, she notes.

miraz crouches down in front of her. "susan, susan, susan," he says. "why are you here?"

"my ruby earrings," she says blandly. "i think i left them in new york the last time we were here, and i wanted them back. my brother gave them to me when i was sixteen."

"oh, yes," miraz says. "when you started sleeping together."

susan blanches, because how the hell -- and then she says, "do you have them, then? i'd hate to have to tell peter i lost them."

"i can't see how he'd notice," miraz says, "given that he's out of the country right now. what has he done?"

"well, if you're so well-informed," susan says, "why don't you tell me?"

-
-

caspian had spent his childhood shuttled around between skyscraper to skyscraper, between las vegas and new york and los angeles and miami and boston and seattle. he knows these buildings like he knows his own crappy chicago apartment. it's not hard to follow the maintenance tunnels to the parking garage and the hollow echo of voices, lucy pevensie close behind him.

he lifts the grate up carefully, suddenly eye to eye with the back of one of miraz's guard's boots. his uncle's back is to him, but susan is looking straight at him. she makes no sign she's seen him.

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

miraz says, "i am a busy man, susan, and i have no time for games."

susan replies, "only one of those things is true."

but he goes on as if she hadn't spoken. "i know what you know, so i'll try not to waste both our times."

"because knocking me out and tying me up is such an effective use of your time, is it?" she snaps.

miraz chuckles and reaches out to stroke her cheek. she tries to turn her face away but she can't really move much. "doesn't it remind you of old times?" he says.

out of the corner of her eyes, susan sees glozelle roll his eyes.

she sees caspian's head poking through the grate.

"i can tell you that the patrisos don't have connections in the philippines," says miraz, "but it won't be long until they find some. i hope your brothers work fast. i can also tell you that they have been remiss in repaying their debt to me. don patriso is not currently on the best of footings with me, especially since i know they have not been completely honest about their bookkeeping."

caspian grins and makes the a-ok sign at her. oh god.

"what do they say?" miraz muses. "the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

"so," susan hesitates, "does that make you my enemy or my friend?"

and suddenly glozelle yelps and goes down hard, caspian on top of him. the both of them roll around and curse and try to restrain each other, not that much attention is paid to them, since at the moment lucy and miraz both have a gun trained at each other's heads.

susan groans inwardly. timing: lucy and caspian never really had a sense for it.

the adages never did mention what happens when the enemy's enemy's (friend's?) family get involved.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

the good news is that miraz has tied her with silk scarves, and while he's been talking -- and may god help her, how does he know the things he knows? money can buy most things, but surely it can't buy everything -- she's been working at the knots.

glozelle finally gets caspian down, sitting on his back, his gun out of its holster now and pressed against the back of caspian's skull.

"caspian, caspian, caspian," miraz says, never looking away from lucy. "still alive, are you?"

"i could say the same for you," caspian says, voice muffled where glozelle has his head pushed into the concrete. "all those people who hate you. how do you manage it?"

susan gets one knot undone, shoves the scarves aside and bends over to work at her ankles.

"well, if they're all as incompetent as you, it's hardly any kind of exertion," miraz says.

"shut up," lucy snaps.

"my dear miss pevensie, you hardly in a position to dictate terms," miraz says. "is she, darling?"

prunaprisma steps out of the stairwell with a gun in her hands. this is getting ridiculous.

"caspian?" she says, and caspian squawks, "aunt pru? you and miraz got back together?"

"for the sake of the baby," prunaprisma says soothingly.

susan gets the last of the knots undone and stands up. the barrel of prunaprisma's gun wavers a little as she tries to decide whether to aim at lucy or susan.

"maybe we could try this again, miraz," she says, coming up behind him. "this time without the use of weapons, breaking and entering, or knocking me out and tying me up."

"especially that last one," lucy adds.

1/2

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

the meal lasts for three hours. lune and corin eat slowly, laugh liberally, and tell anecdotes with contemplative gusto. edmund and peter, who are used to eating on the run (all forms of 'on the run'), who are happy with fast food and take-out, finish their plates before lune is even halfway through his.

"order something else," lune commands. "it's on me, remember."

"i can't possibly," says edmund, smiling affably. "i am stuffed."

"have more wine," corin offers. "you should get a dessert. this place makes a good halo-halo."

"a what?" peter reads the description on the menu, and makes a face. "beans? in a dessert?"

peter and edmund stick to the wine.

their table is right by the window, and through the glass they can see freighters, yachts, catamarans. they should go to the beach, edmund thinks. they are closer to the equator than he's ever been in his life and being on a tropical island so far has been nothing like he expected. except for the heat. edmund finds himself disappointed by the grayness of the city, suffocated by its inhabitants' tolerance of its ordered chaos, and even outside, the sky and the bay are only bluish gray. he thinks of ads and discovery channel documentaries -- blue blue water and white white sand. he wants to live a little before he's killed.

i'm not going to be killed, he reminds himself. i'm not going to die for a long time.

edmund finishes his glass, doesn't protest when it is refilled.

+

2/2

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

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."

Re: 2/2

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

"you would not believe my day," susan says as soon as they've got the webcam hooked up, dispensing of any pleasantries.

"oh?" edmund says archly. "did you get corin telling you to chill the fuck out?"

"no," susan says, "i spent several hours knocked out and tied up when i followed your advice and broke into miraz's office."

"WHAT?" peter exclaims. "are you all right? i'll kill him."

"yes, peter, because that's exactly what got us into this mess in the first place," susan sighs. "i have a headache, caspian has two black eyes and a broken nose, and lucy's pride is hurt, but otherwise we're all right."

peter is silent for a long minute while edmund works through the implications of this. peter gets it faster. "where are you?" he asks.

susan sighs, hesitates, sighs again. "telmar towers," she admits, and then, "peter, sit down! don't be such a child about this. he's not going to touch me, he's back together with his wife."

"and that's going to stop him how?" peter growls.

"well, for one thing," susan says, "prunaprisma carries a very large gun."

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

beloved, after this comment is posted, this post will be 3 comments away from the being the LONGEST THREAD ON MY LIVEJOURNAL. omg.


the airport at negros oriental is one small field and one small building. there are no walkways to waiting lounges -- they descend the steps of the plane and follow the crowd across the tarmac like slightly disoriented wildebeest during migration season. in t-shirt and jeans and sunglasses, they look like backpackers seeking paradise 'off the beaten path', waves more merciless and beaches more golden, and they look very little like they've got mafia problems half a world away. from looks alone they could be from anywhere, australia, canada, germany, with a glint in their eyes that the locals recognize: youth whose restlessness feeds their strength, whose strangeness in the landscape imbues them with certain pretensions of invulnerability.

a car is waiting for them outside the airport, and the driver piles their bags in the back while edmund and peter climb in and corin gives him instructions in a mix of english and tagalog.

"i think i'm getting sunburnt," peter mutters, gingerly touching the back of his neck.

"i told you to put on sunscreen, man."

"god, you sound just like susan."

edmund rolls his eyes. "you wish."

peter does, a little, and he knows edmund knows it so he doesn't say anything.

edmund says, "she'd love it here."

"she'd hate it." pause. "lucy would love it though."

"yeah," edmund muses. "lucy would."

corin gets in the front seat and tells them lune will drop in in a few days, or else will send someone. "and," says corin with a pointed look, "we got out of manila just in time. people have begun asking questions about the pevensie brothers. we don't know who yet exactly, but we're working on it."

"oh christ," edmund concludes, and as the car pulls through the little town, he grills corin about exactly what kind of questions, who when what, what the hell is lune up to anyway, etc. peter falls to staring at the window, at the worn little buildings that drift by, shop signs that say things like "bongbong's sari-sari store" and "erminda's traditional buko pie", the audacious jeepneys and the serious-faced men who drive them. he sees a woman selling cigarettes wearing a 'hard rock cafe dubai', and wonders if she knows someone in dubai, or if the factory that made those shirts is around here somewhere.

"dad's got contacts all over the northeast," corin is saying. "there's gotta be at least a couple who got ins with any one of the five families, and more than that who know miraz. you say your sisters are shacked up with him right now?"

"yes," peter says flatly.

"hmm," says corin, like he's maybe not sure it's a good idea. well, peter can agree with that.

the beach house is in a secluded part of the island, and by 'secluded' it means the compound is gated and patrolled by armed guards. the air smells like the sea here, and the susurrus of the waves is always within earshot, even inside the beach house, which is a more modest affair than lune's dasmarinas monstrosity.

"we've got no maids here," says corin as they settle into the living room, "so we've got to like, fend for ourselves."

peter and edmund exchange glances. "well," says edmund. "we'll try."

"but the good thing about that," says corin, and reaches into his duffel and takes out a little baggie, tosses it onto the coffee table. it is half full of small bunched green leaves.

edmund says, "corin. is that marijuana?"

"yeah."

"corin," edmund says again. "were you carrying that ON THE PLANE?"

"naw, of course not," corin shrugs. "i'm not stupid, though i think you like, think that. i called ahead and told the driver to get some for us before we got here. hey pete." he tosses something at peter and peter catches it in one hand. rolling papers. "if i remember correctly, you roll the ill j."

peter says, "i haven't gotten high in ages." he won't vouch for lucy, though.

"oh shit," corin grins disarmingly. "you're gonna get blazed."

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

what? is this already longer than ot3? OH SNAP. (i am, uh, in a mood.)


caspian sits on the couch holding an icepack to his face. susan regards him grimly. from the bathroom, lucy splashes around in a bubblebath.

there are two bedrooms in the suite, and a living room, and susan is trying to decide if she wants to sleep with lucy or make caspian take the couch. she's leaning towards the latter.

"so, uh," caspian says after a few minutes. "i'm not dead."

pity. "you noticed," susan says. she jerks her head up towards the ceiling. there are cameras in the room, of course. she's debating whether sweeping it for bugs or not is a good idea or a bad one.

"uh," caspian says. "so that went...well."

susan raises her eyebrows.

"well, my aunt likes me," caspian says after a minute. "i think. so maybe --"

"caspian," susan says, "i hardly give a damn about your familial relationships, not when my family's lives are on the line."

caspian coughs, switches his grip on the icepack to the other hand so he can dig in his pocket. "lucy and i were looking for you all over the towers," he says. "i heard what you said to my uncle. i know it wasn't what you came here for, but i thought you might want these." he leans forward, and susan puts out her palm to see her ruby and silver earrings fall into her hand.

she smoothes her thumb over them carefully. the silver is a little tarnished -- it's been a while since she cleaned them -- but the rubies are still bright in the overhead light, and they make her smile. she remembers peter's quick pickpocket's fingers light on her skin, the way she'd looked in the mirror, the way they'd bth<>/i> looked, young and carefree and unblemished. except that hadn't been true at all; they've always been older than they should be.

"thank you," she says. then, "how did you know?"

caspian offers her a faint smile, then winces as it pulls at a cut on the side of his jaw. "i didn't," he says, "i just thought they were pretty, and they were right there, and well, they'd probably go for a decent price at a fence."

abruptly, the phone rings. they both jump and look at it, and then when it rings again susan leans over and picks it up. she doesn't say anything.

"mr. miraz would like to invite you to dinner in the restaurant downstairs," someone's smooth voice says. "the dress is black tie."

susan puts the phone down, then gets up and goes to the closet. she opens the doors.

she isn't sure whether or not to be flattered that miraz remembers her size, and has guessed lucy's and caspian's.

"this should go very well with your black eyes," she says to caspian, tossing him a tuxedo jacket.

[twoskeletons.livejournal.com]

the last time peter smoked was with lucy on a job in san francisco. he had been napping one afternoon in the hostel, only to be shaken awake by lucy who shook a little baggie of weed in his face and asked if he wanted to smoke. he said no in a gruff tone, then she asked if he wanted roll one for her instead then. he still said no, but then lucy was lucy and was sweet and warm and she slid beside him under the covers, casually telling him how she procured the weed from the hostel manager blah blah blah, peter couldn't remember. because in-between, lucy kissed him and touched him into compliance and suddenly peter was rolling her a joint and, well, he was putting all this effort in so he might as well smoke it now. fuck it. which was probably what lucy planned all along.

he has never been able to deny his sisters anything.

"because," corin is saying, on the verge of losing his brain-to-mouth filter, "why 34? why 34 degrees? doesn't that seem like an arbitrary number?"

"32," edmund squeaks, trying to speak and hold his breath at the same time. he passes the joint to peter. "it's 32 degrees, freezing point."

"yeah whatever," corin cries out. "water freezes at 0 degrees, boils at 100, tell me why this isn't good enough for the americans. what is with the american grudge against the metric system?"

"corin, my man," says edmund, "i hate to break it to you, but you're american."

"i mean," he says helplessly, shrugging. "i guess."

the weed has a sweet smell in the philippines, a little bit like cloves. peter's windpipe burns with every inhale and he chases it with beer just for the psychosomatic effect. "it's done," he croaks, and edmund and corin look at him with bloodshot half-lidded eyes, and peter holds up the roach for proof.

"yoooouuuu," says corin, "wanna smoke another?"

"corin, i suspect i am physically unable to do anything except drink my beer."

"yeah," corin replies, "but. do you wanna smoke another?"

peter considers this. then he says, "yeah okay."

+

when susan finally emerges from the bathroom, caspian looks her up and down and concludes, "you look hot."

"i know," susan says simply.

"but, uh." he gestures vaguely at her ears and the silver & ruby earrings that adorn them. "you sure you wanna wear those? tonight?"

her gaze is as unflinching as her voice. "yes. i'm sure."

[ghostrunner7.livejournal.com]

edmund," peter tells him, "if you ever happened to die at the hands of another man, i wouldn't rest until i'd hunted him down, killed him, killed his familiy, killed his friends, killed his goddamn pets, razed everything he owned, and sowed the earth with salt."

That right there is Peter so perfectly that it's scary. And on the subject of scary things: how scary is it that that line only makes me love your Peter more?