9th October, 7 am. Prison Cell.

[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.*

Comments

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*Too busy drawing out a few space, empty timetables, John doesn't spot Peter's shock. He copies out one exactly as things currently stand and then begins trying to shift things around a bit.*

If we move Nigel to this slot from there... and extend Dawn's shift that day so we can cancel out mine there... but then Frances will be on for too long. Hmm.

*John scribbles over his workings and tries again.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter takes an empty copy and fills in all the places where he doesn't mind being in the cell with 'Dawn'. He then tries to slot all other potential guards around those.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*Having scribbled on his page to the point that most of his comments and suggested solutions are unreadable, John takes a new timetable and starts again.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter passes a completed timetable across to John. It relies rather more heavily on Paddy and Norman (neither of whom Peter rates as mages, Paddy because he isn't and Norman because it's Norman) than the original, but as that cuts down on Dawn's shifts, Peter hopes it will go unremarked.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John looks through the timetable.*

No, Peter, Nigel isn't going to be on night duty; he's terrified enough of you in the day as it is.

We'll need to swap that shift around.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*By the time they've settled on a final version of the timetable, it's almost lunch time and Peter still hasn't taken his potion. Peter nudges John out of his contemplation of the draft and asks him where it's kept.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John nearly kicks himself - how could I forget about the potion?!*

Don't worry, I'll get it - would you like some lunch too?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He nods, and lunch passes amicably enough.

The afternoon is spent quietly: catching up on casework (John) and reading novels of his own choosing (Peter). The peace is broken by the slam of a door and a screamed 'The nerve of that woman!' in what sounds suspiciously like Sally's voice. The two men exchange glances, neither wanting to be the first to investigate.*