3rd Floor Common Room, Friday Afternoon

[lockestheway]

The problem about getting through your epic moment of revelation was that the time afterwards seemed a little... well, too slow. Peter was pretty good at dealing with the nitty-gritty dealings of day-to-day political life, don't get him wrong. He just missed the adrenaline rush.

Which somehow - through intensely convoluted logic that made perfect sense to Peter - meant that this was a perfect time to curl up on the common room sofa with a bucket of popcorn and a three-hour Bismarck biopic-slash-documentary (the producers hadn't been entirely sure which direction to fall in).

Now this was the life.

Sort of.

Maybe he should go back to his room and check his email.

[[ open ]]

Comments

[arsenicmauls]

Gert entered the room and eyed its (admittedly very attractive) occupant from the doorway.

"Should I be on the lookout for a biker gang?"

[lockestheway]

"Please," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "Do I look that stupid?"

[arsenicmauls]

"I was thinking it had to be either 'biker gang' or 'amateur sadist,'" Gert said. Because really. The pants. "No?"

[lockestheway]

"Are you trying to be funny?" Peter demanded. "Because it's not working for you."

[arsenicmauls]

"It's actually working for me just fine," she assured him. "If you're disappointed, that's your problem."

[lockestheway]

Peter just snorted derisively. "Whatever."

[arsenicmauls]

She eyed him for a minute, hostility warring with... well, attraction, okay. Shut up.

"What is the deal with the pants, then?"

[lockestheway]

"They're pants," Peter said, sighing up at the ceiling. "That's the deal."

[arsenicmauls]

"They're an interesting fashion choice," she noted. Redundantly.

[lockestheway]

"Thanks," Peter said, bored. He glanced briefly at her. "Feel free to keep looking."