20th September, 10 am. Prison cell.

[therealpm]

*Peter sits at his desk and stares at the courtyard outside, drumming his heels against the chair legs in a way that he hasn't really been bored enough to do since secondary school.  He's finished the paperwork along with his breakfast, drunk the potion, read and reread all the books and is now waiting for Dawn's shift to end so that he can investigate the wards again (she has a nasty habit of checking that he isn't doing anything he shouldn't, something that Lindsay is too trusting and the Tory too terrified to do).

He considers shape shifting again, but although with practice it's got easier, it's still very tiring and he doesn't like having the collar on display for anyone passing by the cell to see, so instead he sits at his desk, drumming his heels, and waiting.*

Comments

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

I am not, I have retired from that sort of thing.

*Peter taps his pen on his desk and wonders idly whether Fowler will be as easy to terrify as the other Tory guard. The man survived several year's in Thatcher's cabinet, so he supposes not.*

[lord-fowler.livejournal.com]

*Norman glances significantly at the barred window*

You have now.

*Since Mandelson seems to be contemplating his options- or fantasising about maiming him, most likely- he decides to have a look at the wards. It would be good to know exactly what young Bercow has done, although he has little chance of replicating it himself in an emergency.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter amuses himself by doodling small hex circles on his pad of paper for a while. Most of them are nonsense scribblings, but in a few he discerns the potential for use.

Cradling his chin in one hand, he drags out the shape of the more promising ones on the table with a fingertip. The first one does nothing, a dud, but the second suceeds in lighting a small fire, singeing the edge of his pad of paper. He lets it burn out, leaving a slight scorch mark on the desk's surface.*

[lord-fowler.livejournal.com]

*The cell is encased by a double shell of barriers, both interwoven with the gold and green strands from the Mace. That's a relief; the magic of Parliament is stronger than any wizard's, and Commons magic is especially resistant to any interference from a lord. Mandelson would have a damnably hard job cutting through those threads. The wards thin out around the cell door, but that's to be expected- they must fold that section out of the way every time they want to let someone in our out of the cell, and repeated strain will weaken the spell. The rest of the wards form an even net with no obvious gaps or incongruities, although...*

*They seem a bit lacy around the bottom, don't they? Perhaps it's some newfangled technique for structural support? Fractals, or some such. Norman can never keep up with all the advancements in the field.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*By this point Peter is practically climbing the walls with boredom, but Fowler is a wizard and Peter isn't familiar enough with his guarding style to risk interfering with the wards any further. Instead he grabs one of Campbell's diaries and starts adding corrections.*

[lord-fowler.livejournal.com]

*Norman glances through the window again to check on the prisoner, and finds him absorbed in annotating some book. Norman should have thought to bring reading. Silly of him, really. This is more like waiting to be seen by the dentist than standing sentry duty in the army. No one would mind if he brought a book.*

*He sighs and goes to sit at the desk in the corridor. Dawn has left a biro and a copy of Tuesday's Order Paper behind. He flips it over and starts trying to think of all the words he can form from the letters in 'Urgent Question.*