therealpm: (annoyed)
Just to be clear, I have been far too busy over the past few months to have had anything to do with the recent IT problems. That said, had the proposals contained in my report been implemented in full, I am confident this situtation would not have occurred.

Edit: It seems (belated) birthday wishes are in order for Baroness D'Souza. Congratulations etc.

Edit 2: Fuck off, Kinnock Junior
therealpm: (Haters to the left)
Millarbell Household

EDIT: reposted here.

*Fiona is in the midst of writing another irate letter to Michael Gove when the doorbell rings. She goes downstairs to answer it, shoos Molly away from the entry with her foot, and opens the door to find a courier waiting outside.*

*She knows they haven't ordered anything, so she's instantly wary- you wouldn't believe the shit some people feel entitled to send Alastair- but she relaxes when she sees the milk bottle he's set down on the step. Peter has obviously decided to keep Alastair for longer and has sent her the milk to make up for it. (Fiona knows better than to imagine that considerate gesture came from her partner.) It's mildly irritating they didn't consult her before changing their plans- Christ, they've probably gone off with Tony after all; there was some article about him in the Guardian this morning- but at least she doesn't have to go out for the milk.*

*The other package is more mysterious. A Christmas gift from Peter? Still, whatever it is it probably isn't an Iraqi flag soaked in blood. With a mental shrug, Fiona signs for it, tucks the milk bottle under her elbow, and takes the mystery box inside.*

Millarbells under the cut )

D'Souza's Office

*It's been a frustrating few days. The IT problems have persisted and multiplied, and her only comfort is that the House of Commons is every bit as affected as the Lords. If it were just the Lords afflicted the problems with the monitors and the annuciators might be added to the endless queue of deferred maintainence projects in the Palace of Westminster, accompanied by a few sniggering jokes about the eldery and their fabled discomfort with technology. But the Commons are ~important~. If MPs can't see the day's business on their office monitors they won't know when they have to come into the House to vote, which means they have to stay in the Chamber all day and actually listen to the debates. And of course ~that~ constitutes a national emergency, in their eyes.*

*John is under immense pressure to find a solution and fast, which means that Frances has an ally, albeit a pompous, ineffectual one. She hasn't yet managed to trace the interference back to Peter- indeed, she can't detect any hexes behind the IT problems at all- and John is no use at all when it comes to tracer spells. But the House of Lords adjourns tomorrow, which will give her a chance to concentrate on setting a trap for the arsonist instead of putting out the daily fires, and meanwhile John has promised to confront Peter. Frances isn't optimistic about the outcome of that meeting- Peter has John wrapped around his little finger and if he refuses to undo the hexes at her behest it seems very unlikely he'll do so at John's- but it can't hurt. She hopes. At the very least, John might be able to wring some information out of Peter that will help them to block the spells.*
More Speakerly business under the cut )

Any edits required, let me know in the comments.
therealpm: (Confused)
Peter wakes up with a shiver and a groan.  The air is cold and the rough carpet does nothing to ease the ache in his limbs.  He raises an eyebrow at the darts and rope strewn on the ground.  Whoever brought him here was clearly taking no chances.  He supposes they may have stripped him for same sort of security reasons that apparently lead them to tie him up and drug him, but he is baffled by the mud, grass and... blood stains covering his skin.  What the hel happened last night?

He shivers again, and forces himself to stand up and inspect the cell.  His legs scream pain, as though he'd been running for his life, but he hadn't, had he?  The last thing he recalled was asking Alastair to hang the curtains.


Well.  It wouldn't be the first prank the man had played on him, though it was certainly the most elaborate and he had to give the ginger tribble an A* for effort.  Clearly he had far too much spare time in retirement if this was how he chose to spend it.

A brief exploration with his magic confirmed that he was warded as well as locked in.  The Alastair prank explanation was beginning to look distinctly flimsy.  A look out of the window confirmed it: parliament square.  Creative and persuasive as Alastair was, there was no way Black Rod would allow him to use part of the Westminster palace for a prank.  John, Frances, Betty, or any of the other magi who'd gained seniority through speakership throughout the years, then. 

Peter mentaly enumerated all the times he'd annoyed each of the likely candidates.  If this was Betty then this most likely was a prank, and after being laughed at thoroughly, he'd be given breakfast, some trousers and allowed to leave.  If it were Frances or John... well... Peter just hoped that neither had discovered his little trick of miniturising The Machine's components.  He didn't fancy being detained at their Speakerships' pleasure- getting out of it generally involved a lot of grovelling (from what he'd heard, anyway) and the thought really didn't appeal.  He reflected gloomily that the intruder the night before, cloaked from scrying, should probably have tipped him off to being 'wanted' by a particularly powerful sorcerer.

Turning away from the window, he sat knees drawn up to chest in front of the fireplace and set a magical fire burning.  If he was going to be confined here, and/or humiliated, he may as well be warm.
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