Apr. 23rd, 2015

therealpm: (I don't think so)
*He's been semi concious for about half an hour (fucking birds and their fucking dawn chorus) by the time his alarm goes off at six. He rolls over to tap it off and nearly falls when the bed turns out to be a sofa and the bedside table turns out to not exist.


He rubs the sleep and remnants of last night's glamour charm off his face and goes to make two cups of tea. There's no signs of life from upstairs but perhaps that's to be expected. John's campaign thus far has reeked of indolence at every level. Peter will have to set about sorting that (and their finances) later - for now he needs to get Bercow out doorstepping.

There's a heavy copper-bottomed pan hanging from the wall. By the look of it, it's never been used for anything other than show. He grabs a ladle and gives it an experimental thwack.*




*Peter pauses, from the muffled cursing and thuds as various objects are knocked to the floor, it would appear that upstair's occupant has finally awoken.*

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