Misery— [ peter starts, a hint of incredulity creeping into his voice, and he looks at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows knitting together in a mixed expression of bemusement and distaste. it wasn't a gentle pat, despite the outward veneer of friendliness; he thinks, just for a second, of bennet — outwardly benevolent but terrible with names, inwardly anything but and remarkably good with names. to think he'd managed to make jonah look like a pleasant boss after everything—
he hears a PARKER! from a corner of the room and he involuntarily shudders; he'd joked once, that he didn't know how to work for a boss that didn't verbally abuse him at every turn, and whilst it wasn't true, there had always been something about their to-and-fro that peter had enjoyed. he guesses they're friends, and truthfully he's got more affection for the cantankerous old man than he'd ever be willing to verbally admit, but—
get this disease-ridden menace out of my building, robertson. I'm not going to have my employees claiming days off for sick leave—
(ugh, actually, scratch that thought.)
he sighs and eyes the strip of aspirin in his hand. if they're coated, they're fine and he's more than happy to take those without a drink to wash them down, but if they're not coated, if they're powdery — peter feels like he should be able to take them without water, but there's always that risk, that chance that one gets stuck halfway down his throat and he's going to be left with the vague taste of chalk for hours to come.
he ducks out of bruce's grip and down behind the bar, scanning the bottles for something non-alcoholic — even tonic water would do. ]
—I think someone just walked over my grave, [ he remarks, as a belated explanation for the shudder. it's punctuated by a breath of a pause, and: ] Thanks, by the way. [ aha, speaking of tonic water. peter stands back up, aspirin in one hand, water in the other. ] Jealousy. Neurotic's basically my middle name, you really think I'm able to let myself go?
no subject
he hears a PARKER! from a corner of the room and he involuntarily shudders; he'd joked once, that he didn't know how to work for a boss that didn't verbally abuse him at every turn, and whilst it wasn't true, there had always been something about their to-and-fro that peter had enjoyed. he guesses they're friends, and truthfully he's got more affection for the cantankerous old man than he'd ever be willing to verbally admit, but—
get this disease-ridden menace out of my building, robertson. I'm not going to have my employees claiming days off for sick leave—
(ugh, actually, scratch that thought.)
he sighs and eyes the strip of aspirin in his hand. if they're coated, they're fine and he's more than happy to take those without a drink to wash them down, but if they're not coated, if they're powdery — peter feels like he should be able to take them without water, but there's always that risk, that chance that one gets stuck halfway down his throat and he's going to be left with the vague taste of chalk for hours to come.
he ducks out of bruce's grip and down behind the bar, scanning the bottles for something non-alcoholic — even tonic water would do. ]
—I think someone just walked over my grave, [ he remarks, as a belated explanation for the shudder. it's punctuated by a breath of a pause, and: ] Thanks, by the way. [ aha, speaking of tonic water. peter stands back up, aspirin in one hand, water in the other. ] Jealousy. Neurotic's basically my middle name, you really think I'm able to let myself go?