9:10 am, mandatory excursion.

[therealpm]

*Sitting in the back of a vehicle with blacked out windows, huddled up once more in a hoodie far too broad for him, Peter looks across at Alastair and smirks.  Alastair thinks they're going for the equivalent of a jog around the park, and Peter has been careful not to indicate otherwise.  Today is going to be horrible, but watching Alastair slowly lose the will to live is going to make it utterly worth it.*

Comments

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter grumbles as he is chivvied out of the back of the car. His shoes have fallen off into the footwell and by the time he's been shuffled into the boot his trousers have pooled around his paws, pushed off by a rapidly growing tail. The t-shirt and hoodie, extra baggy when in human form, stay on through.

He looks around in confusion as the collar is tied to the back of one of the car seats and gives the rope an experimental tug. When there is little to no give, he settles down with his neck at an awkward angle and howls his displeasure.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair jumps out of the car almost before it's stopped moving and watches from the roadside as John moves the wolf into the boot. He quickly takes up the offer to sit in the front, slamming the door just as a mournful howl erupts from behind the back seats. Alastair shudders.*

Drive quickly and I won't say anything about you barely being able to reach the pedals.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter's really quite cross. He's been taking the potion dutifully for the past month and John's still put him in the boot like some mutt. He scratches the back of the seats, whining to be let out and fed.

'John, I'm hungry. And cold. My fur is completely soaked and this hoodie isn't helping.'

When his whines seem to fail at conveying the full depth of Peter's discomfort, he begins to shuffle about, trying to work the hoodie and t-shirt off. He manages to get as far as getting his forelegs out of the sleeves, by dint of careful standing on the cuffs, but his attempts at getting it over his head are foiled by his own ears.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Try as Alastair might to avoid the scratching and whining noises from the boot, they eventually become so intense that his curiosity outweighs his fear.

He glances back to see the wolf looking forlorn with both hoodie and t-shirt rumpled up around its ears and collar. Alastair smirks briefly, but can't bring himself to find it as entertaining as it should be. All he wants is to get home and far from from the bloodthirsty thing.

He looks away and hits the radio, turning up the volume to try and drown out the wolf noises.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Alastair, stop being such a bastard and GET THIS OFF ME!

Peter whines. The music hurts his ears and he whines again, tired and hungry.

Eventually they arrive and Peter is allowed out of the boot. Either John takes pity on him or he realises a wolf-like animal in a hoodie is likely to attract attention, because he helps Peter out of the hoodie and tshirt.

Peter wags his tail and shakes, droplets flying everywhere. Feeling better for being slightly drier, Peter allows himself to be dragged along behind John back to the cell. Alastair is following warily, several dozen metres behind, lured by the promise of tea and biscuits.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair was just starting to dry off and now the wolf's gone and shaken itself, getting him soaked him again. Brilliant.

He follows them to the cell, only daring to approach once its occupant is safely inside. He keeps one eye on it while he hungrily eats up the Jaffa Cakes Bercow offers (fuck it, he deserves something tasty today of all days). Even in wolf form, it seems to be giving off an air of smugness.*

Stop looking at me like that! Changing shape without warning is not cool and it's not funny. I'll see you when you're human again, yeah?

*He drains his tea and gives the wolf one last knowing glare.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*I. Am. Starving, you dolt!

Peter gets up on his hind legs, paws on the door, trying to get a jaffa cake, but it repelled by the wards. He wanders over to the table where his breakfast is usually placed and gives it a pointed shove with his paw, hoping John will get the message.

He seems to, as he soon returns with a bowl which he places in the middle of the floor.

Is that... is that dog food?

It glistens worryingly, all jelly and gristle, and yet right now it looks like the most delicious thing Peter's ever seen.

However.

It is still dog food and if Peter's going to ensure he's provided with something decent when he isn't exhausted and famished, he needs to set his boundaries now. No dog food.

He pointedly turns his back on the bowl and sticks his nose in the air.

A sigh of exasperation is the only audible response, but John does return with a packet of mince. Peter decides this will do and eats it as fast as he can, whining for more once he's finished.*