Room 318, Monday Afternoon

[lockestheway]

Peter pushed send on the email urging Pakistani prime minister Ghaffar Wahabi not to go through with his invasion of Iran. He sat back in his seat, running his fingers through his hair. Things were starting to come to a head: Bean was now in Burma, hassling Indian supply lines with his troops-- salting the earth. India was overextended; it wouldn't

Comments

[whenshewasnice]

Natalie waltzed in without invitation. That was how these things worked.

"How goes it with the world?"

[lockestheway]

"Bean's currently up to his neck in Indians in Burma," Peter said, though he didn't sound as merry as he usually would spouting lines like that. "He sends his regards. Well, demands. But in his world, that's the same thing."

[whenshewasnice]

"He leads a very stressful life," Natalie understated. Noting that difference in tone, yes, because that was what she did. "Poor man."

[lockestheway]

Peter cupped the back of his neck as he took a few steps forward, then seemingly thought better of it and-- yeah, okay, he was pacing. "Oh, please," he said. "He's shooting people. He can vent his frustration."