therealpm

*Alastair scowls at Peter.*

You could be as cheery as you like if it had never happened in the first place. But if you must have regrets, be a love and keep them to yourself for now, all right? It's unseemly. You don't even remember what happened. I do, and I don't need you reminding me.

*He meets Fiona's glare gratefully, nods in agreement, and glances round the room to catch sight of an untouched steak in Peter's food bowl.*

I'm never wrong. You really should eat something, Peter - what happened to that crazy appetite the first few days, hmm? Can't pulverise Tories properly on an empty stomach.

From:

*Peter scowls at the floor.*

I've got... scraps of the first night. I can remember bits of things. That's enough.

*He gestures at the bowl.*

I'm hardly going to eat that now, am I? It's raw.

From:

We could bring you a takeaway, I suppose. You look like you could use a treat. What do you want?

From:

*He interrupts eagerly.*

You know, there's a Pizza Express on Victoria. We'll get you extra meat on yours, Peter. Our treat.

From:

~~But I don't like pizza and I'm sick of meat by now.~~

*Peter's expression is less than enthusiastic.*

Do they do salad?

From:

*Fiona notices Peter's wince.*

It doesn't have to be pizza- it doesn't, Ali.

What would you rather have?

From:

But -

- *sighs* fine. Just so you know though, Peter, we're going to have trouble finding a takeaway that serves mashed oysters with snow leopard sperm, or whatever the fuck it is you and Little Lord Fauntleroy normally have for lunch.

From:

*Peter represses a flinch at the mention of George and tries to deflect.*

Well Harrods do deliver...

*He shrugs and gives Ali a flat glare.*

Battered cod, chips and mushy peas.

From:

Oh, you don't want it from Harrods, Peter. We'll get it from that Halibut place; they're much better.

Fish n' chips it is. *Fiona takes out her mobile to call in the order and grimaces at the lack of bars.*

Right, I'm going outside to order our food. You stay and entertain Peter, Ali. Try not to kill each other. If you behave we'll get pizza for dinner, all right?

From:

You drive a hard bargain, Ms Millar. Best behaviour it is. You can count on me.

*He beams at her as she leaves, then turns back to Peter.*

Mushy peas, then, is it? His Lordship would not approve. Good call.

The chips at this place she's ringing are really nice, by the way - you've got to let me have a few when they arrive. I'm starved.

From:

*Peter's stomach twists- usually he'd be irritated by Alastair's blatant jabs, but then he'd go home to George and they'd laugh about them over a couple of glasses of red. The knowledge that he can't do that any more, that he may never be able to share those moments with George again, makes him desperately unhappy.*

Take as many as you like, I'm not particularly hungry.

From:

Great! You have got to eat something at least, though. Not much point in us coming to check up on you if we're going to let you waste away even further. Skinny is not a good look for you, Peter, it's giving me Eighties flashbacks.

*But there's something about Peter's wretched demeanour, his failure to haughtily refuse or make some totally unjustified jibe about his waistline, that makes Alastair uneasy.*

Look, do you have to keep thinking about the vic- the bad news all the time? We get it, okay, you feel crap. You're capable of human emotion. Now it's time to put it on the back burner and lighten the fuck up.

From:

Hmph. No chance of you giving me eighties flashbacks- you're never getting that hair back.

Change the subject then.

From:

I'm sorry if the natural consequences of my high-testosterone virility are interfering with your viewing pleasure, mate. At least I never let my hair run amok on my face.

I'm happy to change the subject. I just don't want to be sitting here talking about the weather, or the climate in your cell or whatever, when you've got a frown on you like a man who's just remembered he's Nick Clegg. Seriously, it could be worse, couldn't it? Try to get the good out of anything bad, that's what I always say.

From:

'High testosterone virilty', eleven-seconds-Ali?

I'm stuck in a cell- I'd be worried if I wasn't frowning.

From:

You wish I had eleven seconds to waste on you.

Stuck in a cell with me, though! You're just being stubborn now. Give us a smile or I will not hesitate to tickle you.

From:

You wish you could last eleven seconds with me.

Attempt it and I may yet shape shift for an unprecedented third time in one day.

From:

Hi boys. Everyone still alive? Good, good.

From:

*Alastair eyes Peter, wondering how serious he is about the shapeshifting. Probably not at all, but you can never tell.*

For now, yes. I think Peter'd be happier if that weren't the case, but he'll be fine once he's got some food inside him.

*When Fiona has left to go and pick up the order, Alastair turns to Peter with a grin and wiggles his fingers purposefully.*

Who's a grumpy wolf who wants his tummy scratching, then?

From:

*Peter groans, he's too tired for this. He forces his canines to grow slightly longer than usual and grimices at Ali, grinning even wider as the man looks wary.*

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?

From:

*Alastair doesn't like the look of those teeth. Peter's probably toying with him. Still, he sounds like a man at the end of his tether, and Alastair doesn't like to think what might happen if it snaps.*

Yes, yes, you're very scary. I am appropriately scared. Now, put away the fangs and play nicely or we'll send off for an extra portion and you'll be eating the whole lot.

From:

*Peter shifts himself backwards a little and slumps against the wall, drained. The wards are old enough by now to be a thrum against his shoulders, rather than the bolt of pain they were two weeks ago. In a way it's oddly relaxing.*

So. Conference highlights.

From:

What do you want to know? I was the centre of attention, of course. Ed did well, for a Miliband. But nobody really cares about us these days. He may as well have got up on the stage dressed as Tarzan and roared his tiny nerdy lungs out for all the difference it'll make to the general public.

From:

Mmmm, and nobody thought the doppelganger looked suspicious? Good.

Miliband... well. We have to work with what we've got, I suppose.

From: