therealpm: (Mr Bond)
*Peter wakes early, still bouyed up by the election results and heads downstairs for a cup of tea and a yoghurt. His phone buzzes as the kettle boils. An update from The Machine.

Sipping his tea slowly, he scrolls through the results and nearly spills it everywhere when he reaches The Machine's conclusions, which have been carefully bolded so he can't possibly miss them. A quick enquiry confirms that the results have been double, triple and quadruple checked- there is no uncertainty.

Grinning, he types out a text message.*


Text from 07### ######

John,

your presence is required. ASAP.

-Peter


*He sips his tea again, considering how to procede. A little background music wouldn't go amiss.*
therealpm: (Confused)
*Peter sips his very milky tea and does his best to ignore Miles, who is chattering away about a "very good physiotherapist, he lives in the next village.  I'll give him a ring and see if he can come round today."  Eventually, he points out that actually, he is perfectly capable of walking and doesn't need any assistance; a notion that Miles quickly shoots down by reminding him of his ill-fated attempts to get out of the car and walk up the garden path by himself yesterday.

His mood further deteriorates when Miles points out that being a werewolf would be an excellent hallowen costume.  There's a pang of loss at the thought of his other form, which he doesn't quite know how to deal with.  Instead, he gets out his phone, ignoring Miles' protestations about work at the breakfast table and texts John:*

Text from 07### ######

Bercow,

I haven't died.
Miles is somehow managing to be even more annoying than you.
wish the children a Happy Hallowe'en for me.

-Mandelson
therealpm: (Cake?)
*Peter gets up from the bed, feeling immensely groggy- for some reason his limbs feel stiff and achy. He blames the sudden change in the weather and drop in temperature last night.

The hallway and some of the furnishings look like they've been ransacked- Peter suspects burglars until he notices the muddy pawprints on the floor.*

Jack...

*He finds Jack cowering under a small coffee table, clearly terrified- ears back and shaking, so picks him up to cuddle and soothe him back to his normal bouncy self whilst surveying the damage.*

You're more trouble than you're worth, sometimes, hmm? What gave you such a fright?

*He strokes Jack behind the ears, thinking that at least George would enjoy it if they had to redecorate. Walking through to the hall, he sees that the front door is fine, but a brief trip through the kitchen to the back garden confirms that the back door is smashed in. Burglars, perhaps chased off by a very exuberant Jack, are now looking like the most plausible solution. Putting Jack down and absentmindedly filling the dog's food bowl, he wonders what to do. He ought to call the police, obviously, but Peter had rather been enjoying his time out of the headlines and is reluctant to stir anything up, especially with the Murdoch press so keen to prove their disregard for Leveson.

He gets out a metal bowl- one of a set of mixing bowls as it happens that he bought from John Lewis a while ago, and fills it with water from the tap. Scrying was never his strong point at school, but Vince had given him several helpful pointers back when their respective parties were on better terms. He could ask The Machine, but magical influence worked to a power law with distance, and Regent's park was just a tad too far out for The Machine's central sensors to scan effectively. Peter cursed not installing the remote ones sooner. There had just been so many other things to do...

Peter looks back into the bowl and tries to refocus his mind on scrying. He searches for the intruders responsible for the damage, but nothing comes up. He broadens his search to humans who entered the house last night and his mind aches with the strain of processing a query that large. He grits his teeth and waits- still nothing. Great. So either what entered his house last night wasn't human, or it was a wizard powerful enough to cloak themself from view, even several hours later.

The police probably wouldn't be of much use.

Rubbing his eyes, he dragged out a copy of yellow pages. One quick phone call later and he is assured that his door will be fixed that afternoon. In the meantime, Peter decides to busy himself with tidying up, though not before a cup of coffee. His blackberry beeps to indicate he'd missed a text from last night. It's only John worried about something or other. He sends off a terse response, not in the mood to deal with the Speaker's whims today. Sipping his coffee, he sets off to find a mop and begin the tedious process of cleaning things up.*
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