(no subject)

[pjpettigrew.livejournal.com]

Peter comes downstairs, looking rested, and turns in his room key. The Bar leaves the key on the counter, but provides a steak sandwich, a small tub of mixed vegetables, and a sizeable vanilla shake.

He's startled; it's been a while since he's had anything approaching a proper meal. He'd almost forgotten how perceptive the bar can be.

Slowly, he smiles. "Thanks, Bar," he says quietly. Ater returning his room key to his trouser pocket, he scoops up the food and heads outside to the lake.