Busy

[therealpm]

*picks up blackberry*

*scrolls through menu to check messages*

...odd.

I didn't know Cameron had-

...ah.

*smirks*

Well isn't this amusing.

*Tosses a pinch of powder into the grate and steps through to the laboratory of The Machine*

Machine, I require a complete facsimile of this.

*Holds up blackberry*

Software and data will do for now, but I need a physical version by tomorrow.

*smirks*

An exact copy- nothing less.

Comments

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

*blinks blearily up at Peter*

Mornin'

*stumbles upwards*

Ow

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*shoves an arm under George's and hauls him to his feet*

*gives him a quick peck on the cheek*

Come on, let's get you fit for purpose.

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

*rubs at eyes*

It might take two coffees, but that's a risk I'm willing to take.

*follows down the stairs smothering a yawn*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

I am certain our household budget can stretch to two coffees, even in these straitened times.

*gets out a frying pan to heat on the hob and fiddles about with the espresso machine*

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

*seats self at table*

*presses heels of hands against eyes*

*abruptly straightens when aware of Peter's scrutiny*

Have you figured that thing out yet or would you like a hand?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*glares*

Fine, you do it; though if you're capable of operating the thing, I doubt you require the coffee.

*cracks 3 eggs into the frying pan and prods them with a spatula*

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

*fiddles with coffee machine*

It's quite simple, Peter.

*grins as coffee begins to boil*

*hisses a moment later as hot water gushes from an unexpected funnel*

What have you done to this contraption?

*presses all the buttons*

Peter.. I need my phone back. Have to check the world's not imploding.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*slices bread for toast*

*prods eggs some more*

Hm? Oh, I gave it to The Machine. I'm sure you'll get it back eventually.

*eyes pan critically to check the yolks aren't hardening*

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

*pauses in quest for mugs*

I need it back, Peter. Preferably without your pet's chew marks in it.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*reaches round to grab a plate and a bowl*

I'm sure The Machine will be ever so careful.

...fetch the milk, would you, George?

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

Could it be careful and somewhat faster please?

*slowly heads to the fridge*

*wrinkles nose*

I wish you'd store your experiments in the fridge in your basement.

*shifts beef and salmon out of way of potential drips from suspicious jars*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

They get lonely down there.

*smirks at George's horrified face*

*nabs the butter from the open fridge*

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

*snatches hand back*

Dogs are generally enough for normal people!

*shudders and returns to coffee, attempting not to think of the way they were moving*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

How dull.

*slides eggs out of frying pan and onto buttered toast*

There, stop grumbling.

*rummages around in cupboard for granola*

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

*glances at the two entwined dogs in their basket*

Yes, your father did call you dull. What are you going to do about it?


*scowls*

Bark at me? I see...

*stops grumbling and sits heavily down on his chair*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*seats self significantly more gracefully opposite George, with a bowl of something unsociably healthy.*

*gestures at George with a spoon*

You really ought to stop twisting my words, dear boy. You are not the press office.

*carefully selects a small spoonful of cereal and milk*

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

I would suggest that I learned from spending time with the best but... nope, he's not here.

*tucks in to breakfast*

Pass the paper.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

It's true, the Tories do have a more natural affinity for deceit than Labour.

*spoons more cereal into mouth*

*swallows*

Get it yourself.

[ch4ncellor.livejournal.com]

Hah! You are in humorous form this morning.

And I was being... relatively polite. *snatches Telegraph from across the table, next to Peter's elbow*