therealpm

*Fiona can't suppress a grin at 'Hunchback of Westminster'. Whatever his faults, her partner has a sense of humour.*

They had a swearing contest. In front of a roomful of toddlers, although Alastair alleges he didn't realise this at the time.

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"Eleven fucks"....?

I know you have a veritable gift for summarising, Ali, but isn't that name missing a 'second' from the middle?

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Well, I'm a busy man. Things to do, people to crushingly humiliate. You should call me for the best eleven seconds of your life sometime.

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*Fiona wraps an arm around his waist and leans against his shoulder.*

Just as long as I can watch, dear. Now that I know Peter is dating a Tory, I think I can be charitable with your time. All eleven seconds of it.

But enough about your desolate sex life, Peter- how are you holding up?

*Someone who knew her well enough might detect an edge of genuine concern beneath the question.*

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*Peter raises his eyebrows, but makes no comment. Campbell has always had difficulty drawing the line when a bluff goes too far and Peter doesn't particularly think any attempts to take it further would go down well with Dawn, who is studiously ignoring all of them from her desk in the corridor.*

Perfectly well, they keep me busy with various BIS papers.

*He pauses, wondering whether to ask about the razor.*

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*Alastair in turn wraps an arm around Fiona's waist and smirks.*

Brilliant, removing distractions and forcing you to work or go out of your petty little mind with boredom. That's actual genius, that is. I don't know why I didn't think of that yonks ago - you could have been so much more productive as a minister!

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And if you'd locked him in a cell, he wouldn't have needed to buy a house, either. It could have spared us all a lot of grief.

*She turns back to Peter.*

We'd have missed you at parties, though.

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*Peter raises an eyebrow and taps his fingers on the edge of the door's window in a steady rhythm, one that grows increasingly staccato as he allows the claws to grow.*

How gratifying.

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*Alastair is about to make a remark when the strange timbre of the finger-tapping makes him look down at Peter's hand. He goes quite pale and uses the arm around Fiona to not-so-subtly draw her body between his and the door.*

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*Even if Alastair hadn't suddenly shoved her behind him, Fiona would have felt his body go rigid with fear.*

*Not that Peter's sudden need for a manicure is particularly intimidating; he's behind bars and there are two of them and one of him and Alastair has several stone on him. Besides, Peter has always been ten percent real malice and ninety percent bluff. His genius lies in his ability to convince people he has power, not in actually holding it. Usually Alastair understands this even better than she does, but his close encounter with a fully transformed werewolf probably traumatised him too much to think straight.*

*Come to think of it, Peter must be enjoying his lycanthropy on some level. It's the first time his air of danger has ever had more than smoke and mirrors behind it. She never did tear that strip off him from trying to eat poor Alastair.*

*Fiona pats Alastair's shoulder reassuringly and slips out of his grasp to stride up to the door of the cell. She grips the bars on either side of Peter's face with clenched fists, ignoring the weird buzz of electricity that seems to permeate the metal, and leans in until they are nose to nose.*

You really want to talk about werewolves, Peter? Because we can talk about werewolves.

Edited Date: 2012-09-12 02:41 pm (UTC)

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*Peter smiles mildly- unlike Dawn, Fiona can't shackle him to the wall and probably won't be allowed in to the cell either.*

Do favour me with your expertise on the subject of lycanthropy, Fiona. I am certain it is extensive.

*He grins, toothily.*

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*Alastair trails up behind Fiona and takes her arm, nervously prying it away from the bar.*

Don't encourage him, Fiona. The sadistic little prick's been cooped up all week, he just wants someone to rile.

*He glares at Peter.*

I really fucking hate you sometimes, you know that?

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My experience with lycanthropy is fortunately limited, but so far it consists of you trying to eat my partner.

Which- what the FUCK, Peter? I know you've had your differences in the past, but that's a pretty fucking EXTREME RESPONSE, wouldn't you say? You wouldn't even get a good meal out of it! What with all the running and cycling he's been doing lately I reckon he's pretty stringy.

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*Peter looks sulky.*

I... I don't remember anything about that night. I only know what John's told me which... frankly isn't very much.

*He gives Alastair a sidelong look*

Not that stringy...

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msdeputyspeaker.livejournal.com

*Dawn has been keeping a rather closer eye on the trio than they probably think. Two mundanes that close to a restless werewolf isn't the best situation. She makes a mental note to remind John to put up some better mundane barriers. Wouldn't want the Shadow Cabinet wandering in and having mass conversions. A lycanthropic Balls is not something she wishes to contemplate. Now the Cabinet can come just as soon as it likes.

She'd kick these two out, except that they're rather amusing her. She can do with some amusement these days.

Also to be quite frank Campbell has a nice arse on him.*

Edited Date: 2012-09-12 03:30 pm (UTC)

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*The glare intensifies. He tries to pull Fiona back again, but when she stands firm he settles instead for slamming a fist into the cell door with a clang.*

Oh, yeah? I could tell you a thing or two about it. Why not? I'll probably be relating the whole bloody story to my therapist in five years' time anyway. You bastard.

And don't look at me like I'm fucking foie gras on toast.

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Really, Peter? Because I remember Alastair going missing, and staying up all night worrying that he was DEAD, which thanks to you he very nearly WAS.

*Peter is looking shifty rather than repentant. Exasperated, Fiona reaches through the bars and seizes his tie. She pulls him closer.*

Don't you even think about doing it again, or I'll skin you. We can have a wolf rug in the living room in front of the television. Wouldn't that look nice, dear?

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msdeputyspeaker.livejournal.com

*Dawn privately agrees that it would indeed look nice.

Also, she needs to remember to spend more time with Fiona. This is a woman after her own heart.*

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Well at least you'll have something to talk about other than the disappointment of your latest book sales.

*Peter yelps as he's dragged off balance and only just manages to avoid his face hitting the bars. His hands connect with the wards and he hisses in pain, expression equal parts annoyance and contrition.*

I'm taking a potion now. It... it means I will be able to keep my mind during the next full moon. It won't happen again, Fiona.

*He gives the tie an experimental tug, disliking the close proximity of the wards and folding his arms in annoyance when Fiona refuses to let go.*

I thought you were anti-fur anyway.

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*Fiona notes the hiss of pain and the way Peter's hand seems to bounce off the air. She gives the air between the bars a gentle poke with her finger, but it meets no resistance, just that slight feeling of static electricity. They must have some spell confining Peter inside the cell*.

It better not.

*When Peter tugs his tie he bangs her fingers against the bars. She pulls back, annoyed, and then she's struck with a brilliant idea. He can't reach through the window, can he? And this tie is some awful affair with concentric pastel circles like shooting targets. It's too ugly to be Peter's- it must be a loan from Bercow. He won't care if she ruins it.*

*She quickly threads half of it through the bars and then ties a solid double knot, trapping Peter against the door with his nose an inch from the window. If he pulls on the tie he'll just tighten the knot. With an hour or two of concerted wiggling he might be able to get the loop around his neck wide enough to pull his head free, but she wouldn't bet on it. She hasn't left him a lot of slack. She smirks and backs away.*

I'm against slaughtering innocent animals for fashion, yes. Emphasis on 'innocent'.

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Fiona!

*He scowls and tries to pull the knot round to get it on his side of the bars. It moves a little, but not enough and he bangs his face on the wards. He curses. It might be possible for him to get at the knot if he stretches the tie, but John had been right- he'd really rather not damage a gift from Freddie.*

I didn't mean to chase Alastair, I... I wasn't myself.

...sorry?

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*Alastair, who is watching intently, catches on to the presence of a spell just seconds behind Fiona. He sees her start to thread the end of the tie through the bars and starts.*

What are you doing - ?

*Then suddenly Peter is tied to the bars and a grin spreads across Alastair's face. As Fiona backs away, he moves in to take her place, pressing his face up an inch from the bars. He sniggers as Peter struggles.*

Wriggle out of that, mister. Serves you right. Be careful, now - we wouldn't want you to choke yourself or anything!

What's that? Fiona, I think I just heard him apologise. You'll have to speak up, Peter, it's very hard to hear you grovel from inside that cage.

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*Under normal circumstances Fiona would rescue Peter from her partner at this point, but considering the whole eating incident she feels Alastair is entitled to get a bit of his own back.*

I couldn't be sure, it was kind of ambiguous.

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I-

*He sees Dawn prick up her ears, grits his teeth and pitches his voice to carry to the two bastards tormenting him, but no further.*

I apologise for trying to hunt Alastair. It won't happen again.

*He loosens the knot around his neck slightly- Fiona's yanking on his tie had made the noose uncomfortably tight.*

Now could you please untie me from the door?

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