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.*

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[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.*