therealpm: (Bercow incoming)
*Peter works his way quietly through yet another brief, occasionally stopping to flick the fringe out of his eyes.  His hair is far too long by now and it's beginning to annoy him. 

The TV screen in the corner is on, but remains carefully blank.  The Machine takes pains not to be visible when a guard might be peering through the door unless Peter specifically requests an answer.  Last night had been their longest uninterrupted conversation since the programming of the doppelganger.  Peter had guessed (correctly) that none of his guards would wish to miss The Thick of It, and so he'd had a whole half hour to talk with his creation. 

Peter being Peter, this had mostly involved a set of detailed instructions on what The Machine should do if the 'cure' killed him, and a request to both monitor and if possible, strategically intervene in the care pathway of Peter's two victims.  They were too far away for The Machine to do anything directly of course, but all patient records are computerised these days and overstressed doctors tend not to notice slight alterations to a patient's records or prescriptions when they've got another few dozen to manage as well.

The Machine tells him they're doing better and that LaGarde seems to be doing her best to make Osborne miserable.  It helps.  A little.*
therealpm: (smug)
*Peter stares at his desk, filled with smug satisfaction.  He's finished the briefs.  All of them.  Even the extra ones the civil servants dug out of the back of an old filing cabinet in order to keep him busy.

He stretches and winces as his joints pop.  Far too much time spent hunched over a desk, but really, what else was there to do?  Besides read Alastair's laughably inaccurate and self aggradising diaries, of course.

He cups his chin in his hands and sends a tendril of magic out to explore the wards.  They've died back a bit since John's panicked reinforcements a few days ago, but they're still far stronger than they'd been before.  Still, no wall was without its weak spots.

Careful not to draw Lindsay's attention, Peter closes his eyes and tentatively explores the wards a little further.*
therealpm: (I'm listening)
*Peter scratches his way through the summary of yet another brief.  Apparently he is ahead of what the BIS civil servants had estimated he would be able to summarise.  A small satisfaction.

He stretches his hand and stares out the window, willing away the cramping up his forearm and takes another sip of water.*
therealpm: (Thinking)
*Peter is bored.  Very bored.  Nigel has been replaced by Dawn, who alternates between ignoring and threatening him with being re-shackled if he as much as pokes a toe out of line, so he's been unable to do anythin other than read through a seemingly endles series of briefings which, whilst preferable to having no connection to the power of a ministerial role, do tend to blur into a neverending screed of civil service speak.*
therealpm: (weary)
*Peter works steadily thoughout the day.  His meeting with Jo is moderately productive, although he's slightly worried when she tells him Bryant has been snooping around.  He doesn't have enough magic to maintain a detailed glamour for more than a few minutes, but transformed he should be unidentifiable.

He therefore spends the afternoon under the blankets of his bed, attempting to practice the transition and make it as rapid and fluid as possible.  To his surprise, it is far harder for him to locate and draw up the wolf's form than it had been a few days ago.  He eventually manages to switch back and forth, but the effort drains him far more than it should and he drops off to sleep soon after.*
therealpm: (I don't think so)
*Peter sits at his desk, steadily working his way through the mound of briefings on his left and occaaionally transferring on to a much smaller pile on his right.  They would be more balnced, but he is not permitted a computer, and Cable has conveyed the view that spiky, scribbled shorthand requires an unacceptably long time to translate.  Peter is therefore writing everything out painstakingly in longhand, a task about which his wrists have been complaining bitterly for the past couple of days. 

He takes a sip of the potion and grimaces at the taste.  Its effects, along with the return of some of his magical ability have made transformation a far easier (though no less painful) process.  Occasionally Peter transforms, just for the variety of seeing the cell through wolf eyes, but there is little to do (he refuses to play with the squeaky toy Sally bought) and he soon turns back to return to the briefings. 

John has been absent, since the inspection.  The only members of the Speaker's office Peter has seen have been occasional glimpses of the deputies through the bars.  One of them, Lindsay, at least tries to speak with him, but Dawn just fumes in silence and a small Tory with whom Peter is not familiar cowers so far back against the corridor wall that Peter nearly didn't spot him at all.

He meets regularly with Jo- she is pleasant company, though never misses an opportunity to remind him of what she perceives as Labour's deficiencies on a number of issues.  He wears a suit and tie to hide the collar when she visits, and if it seems odd to her, she never comments.*
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