Envy's Office, The Hegemony Compound, Brazil, Sunday Evening

[whenshewasnice]

"What? He called?!"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I forgot to tell you."

"You forgot?"

"Are you smoking? You smoke?"

-----

Another stellar couple of weeks back in Toronto. Kid Chameleon was getting courted by actual record labels, while Envy's boyfriend was conveniently forgetting to tell her when their representatives called

Comments

[lockestheway]

"The ambassador of Moldavia won't stop calling me," Peter said, parking his expensively besuited shoulder against the wall of her office, right around the door. "Something something diplomatic disaster in the making something something please can you get this guy off my ass?"

And hello, Envy.

[lockestheway]

"Yes, but it firmly takes the situation out of the realm of 'subtlety'," Peter said, amused. "Having an outfit that screams 'Look at my legs' is more 'refuge in ostentatiousness'."

[whenshewasnice]

"I don't have to be subtle about anything but spilling the drink," Envy retorted, leaning back in her chair. "My legs and chest being obvious won't make me pour the drink on his head."

[lockestheway]

"The act of spilling a drink isn't exactly inherently subtle, either."

This was a ridiculous argument. Peter was enjoying it immensely.

[whenshewasnice]

"It is when you do it subtly."

Please, Peter.

[lockestheway]

"I wouldn't go for the head if you're trying to do it subtly."

Peter wandered over to her desk.

[whenshewasnice]

"I only presented that as a thing I wouldn't be compelled to do," Envy replied, with a faint amused drawl, "so gold star, Wiggin."

[lockestheway]

Peter rolled his eyes, but shut up about it.

"Anyway," he said, "if you'd be so kind to go dump a drink on the Moldavian ambassador, and maybe go through some of the enormous buttload - that's an imperial measurement, by the way - of files that just got dumped on my desk, be my guest."

[whenshewasnice]

Envy looked up at him, resting her chin on her hand, her elbow on the desk. "If you'll order me dinner."

Was it even dinner time anymore? Toronto messed with her perception of time. (Really, Toronto messed with her perception of everything.)

[lockestheway]

Peter let out a soft snort. "If you were anyone else, I'd tell you where to put your dinner," he said. "Mess hall or take-out?"

[whenshewasnice]

She smiled at him. It was a little smug.

(Better get used to that.)

"Take-out." The mess hall could wait. "And I'll be putting it in my mouth, thank you."

[lockestheway]

Peter almost made a crack about inserting peppers anally, but - thankfully for everyone involved - didn't.

He reached for her phone. "I'll get you some churrasco," he said.

[whenshewasnice]

Envy still made a face at his narrative. Just because.

"And Guaraná. I'll be here a while."

[lockestheway]

You dealt with Wiggins, you dealt with rectal humor. Even if it was only in narrative.

"I'll get some for me, too," he said, idly scrolling through the list of restaurants in the city, then punching the one he was thinking about. "I think the last time I ate was twelve hours ago."

At least he remembered about that, these days. Most of the time.

[whenshewasnice]

Envy was still definitely judging him for that. At least a little.

"Do we need to set you a timer for that?"

[lockestheway]

Peter pulled a face at her. "I eat," he said.

And then he wasn't saying much to her, as he was busy putting in an order.