17th October, 8am. Prison cell.

[therealpm]

*Peter scowls as two DEFRA lackeys remove his bed and replace it with a hospital gurney, stomach still aching from the purging potion he'd been advised to take the night before (the DEFRA official's comment of 'You'll regret not taking it once you're strapped in." had not made the potion any more palatable, nor its effects less unpleasant).  His scowl only deepens as he notices the straps- heavy and made of the same stuff as the collar, that hang from various points of the thick iron frame and a board on one side that looks like it functions as a very spartan arm rest.  He's been given some loose cotton clothing to wear- his own possessions have been tidied out the door along with the bed.  Peter did protest the books but was brusquely informed that he'd not be in any state to read them.  The only thing left, apart from a cleared desk is the TV.

A side glance out the door shows two IV stands, several boxes containing tubing, needles bags both empty and full of various fluids, a neat stack of blankets and one very nervous nurse in the corridor outside his cell.  The nurse seems to be sticking some sort of clipboard to his door and trying to explain something to Lindsay, who just looks baffled.  Meanwhile, all the carpet in the room except for a small strip under the desk has been cut and rolled away.  The stone below has been sterilised and bolts put in to hold the gurney in place.  Peter supposes that stone is easier to wipe clean of any fluids than carpet and the thought makes him feel slightly sick.*

Comments

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[msdeputyspeaker.livejournal.com]

*Dawn snorts. For all that she disapproves of his werewolfness, Mandelson is good at verbal sparring.*

You know what I meant.

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He considers pointing out that his entire career has essentially involved forming a coherent message from the rambling splutterings of the Labour party, but decides not to antagonise her too much. He's hardly in a position to fight back.*

Your concern is touching, and to answer your question I do continue to draw breath, yes.

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[msdeputyspeaker.livejournal.com]

*She starts to turn to her work, then hesitates. She doesn't want to ask the customary 'Do you need anything?', because she doesn't particularly feel like fetching a bunch of requests (and that's John's job anyway, surely), but still, she's not heartless.*

I can charm the television to replay the Commons' sitting today, if you would like.

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Thank you. If you could position the screen so that I can see it, that would also be appreciated.

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[msdeputyspeaker.livejournal.com]

*She doesn't particularly feel like going in there, even though Peter's strapped down. A magical shove at the television to edge it into position will have to do, even though it's slightly crooked.

She settles down with her paperwork, as Welsh Questions provide a low drone in the background.*

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He focuses on the business of the House intently, trying to ignore the pain that spreads throughout his body with every heart beat and the desire to scratch out the needle stuck in his arm. As he immerses himself in the debate, his free hand moves reflexively to the exposed skin on his right arm and begins to try and scratch the itch in his veins.*

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[msdeputyspeaker.livejournal.com]

*Dawn is busy in her paperwork, but after a few minutes the fact that Peter's heckles at the television are getting progressively weaker penetrates her consciousness.

She sighs. She doesn't particularly want to get involved. But if the werewolf dies on her watch without her even attempting to give a solitary fuck, she'll never hear the end of it from John.

She doesn't bother to ask him if he's okay this time. She just stands up and marches into the cell.*

Are you...

Fuck, you're bleeding.

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Huh?

*Peter's snapped out of the debate by Dawn's entrance to the cell, but what she says doesn't register for a few moments. He peers down. The nails of his left hand have elongated and are covered in blood. His right arm is a sodden mess of shredded skin.*

Oh.

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[msdeputyspeaker.livejournal.com]

*Dawn snaps into action. She fetches the basket of materials the nurses left and cleans his arm with a saline solution, then carefully bandages it. It seems like yesterday when she was doing this for her son...although skinning up your limbs falling off your bike is not exactly the same as shredding them with werewolf claws.

Bandaging finished, she reaches for the straps, avoiding Mandelson's eyes. Much as he won't like it, he evidently needs to be strapped down.*

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

...thank you, I-

-oh, not again.

*He puts up a token protest as his left arm is strapped in once more.*

Couldn't I wear gloves instead or something?

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[msdeputyspeaker.livejournal.com]

Sorry. I don't have gloves and this is safer - those claws would probably punch right through gloves.

*She pats his shoulder awkwardly - who knows where that urge came from - and leaves the cell to go back to her paperwork.*

Re: 17th October, 9 pm

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter huffs, but returns to watching the debate until his eyes droop and he falls asleep with the recorded voices of MPs still bickering in the background.*