9th October, 7 am. Prison Cell.
Oct. 10th, 2012 10:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
therealpm*A combination of sunlight and the sound of snores more akin to a donkey being sawn in half than anything that should emanate from a human throat drag Peter up from the depths of sleep and deposit him, dazed and confused, in a somewhat tangled mess of blankets and more limbs than he remembered having last night. He struggles to sit upwards, blinking back the fog clouding his brain and reaches for the mug of water he always keeps on the desk beside his bed.
The wall of bottles and wineglasses in his way gives him some clue as to the source of the acrid taste on his tongue. He swirls the water round his mouth to clear it, then considers the noisy lump at the end of his bed more carefully. On closer inspection, it is clear that the errant limbs belong to the lump- Peter hasn't turned into a were-spider or something similar in the middle of the night and sprouted extra, which is a relief- his clothing bills are high enough already.
On even closer inspection, including a 'gentle' prod with one foot, the lump turns out to be a somewhat bleary and hungover Speaker of the House of Commons.
Well.
That would go some way towards explaining the provenance of the bottles, the contents of which could probably have been used as a downpayment for a family home. In London.
He prods the lump again and receives only a muffled grumble in response.*
The wall of bottles and wineglasses in his way gives him some clue as to the source of the acrid taste on his tongue. He swirls the water round his mouth to clear it, then considers the noisy lump at the end of his bed more carefully. On closer inspection, it is clear that the errant limbs belong to the lump- Peter hasn't turned into a were-spider or something similar in the middle of the night and sprouted extra, which is a relief- his clothing bills are high enough already.
On even closer inspection, including a 'gentle' prod with one foot, the lump turns out to be a somewhat bleary and hungover Speaker of the House of Commons.
Well.
That would go some way towards explaining the provenance of the bottles, the contents of which could probably have been used as a downpayment for a family home. In London.
He prods the lump again and receives only a muffled grumble in response.*
