Thursday 4th October, lunch time. Prison cell.

[therealpm]

*Bored, he paces the cell.  The inedible remnents of Fiona's gift basket are stacked carefully out of the way in the fireplace, above which is tacked a hand drawn card from John's children. His legs and back ache, signalling that he's going to be changing form soon. He should, he supposes, get under the blankets and wait there, but John had been significantly less amenable to letting him out for at least short breaks than Peter had hoped: he's been kept alone in this room for days now and the confinement is making him restless.

A muscle in his flank spasms. He grits his teeth as others follow suit- it's starting. Hobbling, he makes his way over to the bed and burrows under a blanket, biting the edge to avoid crying out in pain as his form shifts.*

Comments

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Gngh.

*Peter closes his eyes- dealing with John's attempts at conversation are not what he needs when trying to deal with a ribcage that thinks it belongs in a different sort of chest entirely.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John is concerned by the response. He peers through the doors.*

Peter? Peter are you ok?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter's response is slightly terse.*

Fine!

*'It's not as though all of my major connective tissue has been ripped apart and is now being slowly rebuilt.

Sodding shape-static gnomes and their useless questions.

ARGH!

That was my spine. Does it still bend? Yes. Good....'*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*Eventually, John catches on.*

Oh. Oh!

Oh, you're-

Right.

I- what-

is there-?

*John coughs and, realizing there isn't anything he can do, settles down at the desk, pretending to do work to try and give Peter some privacy.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*A few moments later, Peter uncurls and flops his head down on the pillow, running a hand over his face. It seems to all still be in working order, but the by now rather bushy beard is going to have to go and he really needs a haircut. He props himself up on his elbows, shaking his head to clear it. His stomach rumbles.*

You can get me a shaving kit and a sandwich, if you feel like being helpful.

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

Right. Very well.

*John fetches the things Peter has asked for and hands them over without comment. It is difficult for him to keep a straight face while looking at Peter's facial hair, but John thinks he just about manages it.*

*He then returns to his work while Peter sorts himself out.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter uses the time it takes for John to fulfil his request to get dressed. He ignores John's smirking and sets the sandwich aside to be consumed later. The beard has to go.

One rapid shower and a not so rapid shave later, Peter sits at his desk, wolfing down the sandwich as quickly as possible. He wipes his fingers clean and represses the urge to nose about the floor looking for more.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John gives Peter some privacy and focuses on his work. He only looks up to take the razor from Peter once he has finished with it.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter inspects his nails and tries not to think about how long it's going to be until dinner.*

So... How are the children?

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

They're fine, thank you for asking.

They miss-

you

Benji

...how things were over the weekend.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Hmph. I refuse to play 'fetch' in this form.

*He pauses*

Piggyback rides would probably still be manageable.

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John smiles a little*

I am sure they would be thrilled to know that.

Have you had the newspapers yet today?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter raises an eyebrow. Still 'would', not 'will'... doesn't bode well.*

Not yet.

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John rummages through his bag and pulls out two newspapers, which he offers to Peter.*

I've got The Telegraph and The Guardian with me if you would care to look through them?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter takes the papers and flicks through them briefly.*

No news of the...

...the two people, what happened to them? Have their been any updates on their condition?

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

Not a lot has been reported publicly about the case. There was a line in The Independent a short while ago that indicated that the two had awoken and were - how was it put? - "on the long road to recovery", but other than that I have no idea.

It seems that DEFRA are trying to suppress the reporting of the incident and any follow ups to avoid widespread panic.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

I see.

Thank you.

*He sits down on the bed slightly more sharply than he expected and begins to read the papers.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*Unsure how exactly to react to Peter's actions, John falls back on a classic line of conversation.*

Tea?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Hmph.

My place or yours?

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

Here should do for now.

*John summons the tea things and a plate of biscuits. He lets himself into Peter's cell and pours out two cups. Then he hands one to Peter and offers him the plate.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter grumbles that teleported food and drink never taste quite right, but sips his tea anyway*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John sips his own tea.*

We're expecting a visit from DEFRA any day now to check on your conditions. I've no idea what's taken them so long....

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Wonderful. Can I expect a spot of redecoration: new wallpaper, perhaps a better carpet, before they arrive?

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John smiles and waves his hand. Beneath them, the original carpet sinks back into the stone of the cell and then in its place grows a new, thicker one. Colour starts to drip down the walls from the ceiling until all of the stone is covered (but any decorations and windows are left as before).*

*Both of them are House of Commons Green in colour, and the wallpaper is decorated with small golden portcullises.*

Better?

*John sips at his tea once more.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

You're amusing nobody but yourself and besides, the illusion is fraying near the ceiling.

*He points upwards- the original stone is bleeding through the deep green.*