AND LIKE she absorbs the headlines about the war, reads as many of the articles about it as she can and still talks about her older brother like he'll be home by christmas. edmund doesn't tell her the statistics of survival in the raf because he knows she knows, wonders at how easily she slips into pretending.
AND in her head she thinks "peter, peter" but it's not his body in her arms, and it hasn't been for a while, and things are changing, always changing.
WHOOPS I PETER/SUSAN-ED.
they didn't have newspapers in narnia and maybe that was a blessing because for all this talk of progress and modernity, susan finds herself a prisoner to the speed of information, bombarded by casualty rates and speeches and photographs and peter's somewhere in the middle of all that. his letters are frustratingly concise and she tries to find him in the propaganda until edmund tugs the paper from her hands or turns the wireless off. some nights she would snap at him for doing so, some nights she is just resigned.
"things are changing," she says, and edmund supposes she's right, though he's not sure whether she's talking about the war, themselves, the world.
AND LIKE "i'm running out of patience with her," he confesses to lucy, who just gives him a Look. purses her lips and rolls her eyes.
EDMUND/SUSAN. alcohol may or may not be involved. not as strong and fragrant as narnian wines, but it'll do, it'll do.
no subject
AND LIKE she absorbs the headlines about the war, reads as many of the articles about it as she can and still talks about her older brother like he'll be home by christmas. edmund doesn't tell her the statistics of survival in the raf because he knows she knows, wonders at how easily she slips into pretending.
AND in her head she thinks "peter, peter" but it's not his body in her arms, and it hasn't been for a while, and things are changing, always changing.
WHOOPS I PETER/SUSAN-ED.
they didn't have newspapers in narnia and maybe that was a blessing because for all this talk of progress and modernity, susan finds herself a prisoner to the speed of information, bombarded by casualty rates and speeches and photographs and peter's somewhere in the middle of all that. his letters are frustratingly concise and she tries to find him in the propaganda until edmund tugs the paper from her hands or turns the wireless off. some nights she would snap at him for doing so, some nights she is just resigned.
"things are changing," she says, and edmund supposes she's right, though he's not sure whether she's talking about the war, themselves, the world.
AND LIKE "i'm running out of patience with her," he confesses to lucy, who just gives him a Look. purses her lips and rolls her eyes.
EDMUND/SUSAN. alcohol may or may not be involved. not as strong and fragrant as narnian wines, but it'll do, it'll do.