therealpm

It's not our fault! They changed the rules on us with no warning; now everyone's mortgage is underwater. The train fares were pure stupidity, I'll grant you. You'd have to ask Ed Balls why he thought that was good value for money.

And you should ask him! You're not that retired; you blogged about politics just this morning. We both know you'll come back for the next election. You're not going to just sit back and watch Tom cock everything up. You could save yourself a lot of trouble two years from now if you apply a tourniquet now. ...That doesn't count as me asking you for advice, by the way- that's me giving it.

I wanted to know about Peter because I expected you to tell me to "stop fucking turning to you"! Whereas Peter will do anything if you suck up to him enough. And this is kind of an emergency.

Edited Date: 2012-10-21 10:48 pm (UTC)

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You're giving me advice to give you advice, Bryant. What did I just say about subtlety?

Anyway, who gave you permission to give me fucking advice in the first place? I will call on you for advice when I need someone to help me present the persona of a sexually frustrated tosspot, and not before! This won't make a difference the election, they think you're all corrupt as sin anyway. It'll come down to the state of the economy and you bloody know it, you just want your own skin saving.

True. Well... give me a moment.

*He places a hand over the receiver and glances at Peter.*

Oi. It's for you.

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My skin's fine. They've got half the Shadow Cabinet in their sights now. No one is going to bother with little old me.

But that doesn't mean I want to spend the next six months ignoring tweets about my rental arrangements! And there's that Corby by-election in a few weeks, too. This is a bad time for this story to break.

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*He groans and holds one hand out for the phone.*

Bryant. Hello.

I assume from the timing and recipient of your call that you require some assistance at keeping your shenanigans out of the media spotlight.

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Oh, I don't ask on behalf of myself. Ed Balls casts quite a large shadow.

But it would help the party quite a lot if you could save our Shadow Cabinet from themselves. Or from Tom, more to the point. The Eds want to do everything themselves but our media operation simply isn't up to your standard. We're in desperate need of your expertise, Peter.

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The party has decided that I am to be put out to pasture. Should Mr Miliband change his mind, then of course I shall leap to the party's defence; but at present it would simply undermine him were I to make any sort of return and I am far too loyal to our democratically elected leader to do any such thing.

I suggest you look elsewhere.

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Peeeeeeeter!

The party decided no such thing. The party didn't even decide on Mr. Miliband, as far as that goes. I'm sure he appreciates your loyalty, but I'm equally sure you can think of times when one of our glorious leaders got a silly notion into his head and needed a discreet nudge in the right direction. You don't have to make a dramatic return to the political stage, just tell me what we should do!

I promise I won't tell anyone I spoke to you. Please? Please help, Peter. We really need you.

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No, Chris. I'm not going to go behind Ed's back on this. Besides, at some point you need to start sorting these things out on your own without running to either Alastair or myself.

*He pinches the bridge of his nose. Chris clearly isn't going to listen to either him or Alastair on the subject of their retirement.*

One moment, Chris.

*He covers the mouthpiece and holds the phone out to Fiona.*

Bryant's requesting Alastair and I un-retire and dig him out of his expenses-related PR hole.

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Fucking- give me the phone.

*Fiona rips it out of Peter's hand.*

Oi, Bryant! Here's some PR advice for you- if you're going post naked photographs of yourself on the internet, buy better pants! And don't claim them on your fucking expenses!

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*Ow. Chris winces and holds the phone away from his ear before the shouty woman can shatter his eardrum.*

Okay, one, I didn't. Two, obviously if I was wearing pants it wasn't a naked photo.

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Alastair is RETIRED. And the reason he is retired is because when he isn't retired, dickwads like you- well, mostly like Tony, but also like you- keep calling him on a Sunday to sort out messes that any six year old would have been bright enough not to get into in the first place.

There's a simple solution to your problem. Stop trying to line your pockets and do your fucking job. Until you figure that one out, no amount of spin is going to save you. Now FUCK OFF.

*Ending a call on a mobile lacks the visceral impact of slamming a phone down on the receiver, but Fiona still experiences a little surge of righteous satisfaction as she clicks the button. She's feeling slightly better about the papers now. Not as good as she'd feel if she had a parliamentary Labour Party that weren't all complete shits, but slightly better. She smiles ruefully at Alastair.*

Maybe I should let you stand for Burnley after all.

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*Alastair smirks through Fiona's rant, then splutters in surprise at her last remark.*

Who are you and what have you done with Fiona Millar?

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*Meanwhile, Peter has managed to lift Jack up and onto the bed spread. The dog is wary, but unlike last time doesn't seem inclined to bolt. Peter tickles him under the chin, cooing quietly in that semi-intelligible creole that unites all pet owners; only half paying attention to the others in the room.*

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Oh, it's still a terrible idea, but when I consider the current state of the parliamentary party it begins to look appealing.

Just think, that idiot is one of our better MPs.

*Peter's conversation with Jack is rather adorable. The juxtaposition with Bryant gives Fiona a brief fantasy of surreptitiously filming it and putting it on the internet- it's difficult to think of him as the dread Prince of Darkness when he's cooing over a dog, which means it would drive Peter crazy and help his reputation at the same time. But she'd have no idea where to start, and she couldn't film him tied to a bed in a cell, and anyway the press would just denounce it as more New Labour spin.*

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It wasn't even my idea! Anyway, even I couldn't counterbalance all their incompetence alone. Best to stick to the sidelines of the media battlefield.

... By which I mean stay completely out of it and not get drawn in again, dear, naturally.

*Alastair can't be sure what's going through Fiona's mind as she gazes at Peter tickling Jack, but unless he's mistaken it's a disturbing combination of affection and scheming. In response he reaches down to scratch Jack behind the ears.*

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*Jack and Peter have re-familiarised to the point of mutual nose bopping (and in Jack's case, face licking), when Alastair interrupts with an ill-judged attempt to pet the dog. The two turn to give him identical glares and warning growls.*

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*Alastair jumps back, and Fiona sniggers.*

It looks like you have a new member of your pack, Peter! Better than Jack whimpering and running off to cower behind the statues in the Members' Lobby like he did last time, I suppose. I had a hell of a time getting him out of there.

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*Alastair turns his glare from Peter and Jack to Fiona, and rubs his hand as if it had been bitten.*

That's gratitude for you. We should just leave Jack here if he prefers Peter so much - they can chase squirrels together.

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We.... he was just startled. That's all.

*Peter strokes behind Jack's ears and the little dog calms enough to sit down.*

He's not terribly good at chasing squirrels, are you? No you're not... no your're not... much better at getting your own tail... silly Jack...

*Peter tickles Jack under his chin whilst saying this, rapidly falling back into pet-speak.*

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We can't leave him; it's against DEFRA regulations to confine an animal in the same room as a werewolf. Remember? We asked John back in the beginning after fucking Osborne completely bailed as a pet sitter.

Okay Peter, get another birthday kiss from your new, species-appropriate boyfriend and then we've got to go. Ali's got some dinner to speak at in Leeds.

I promise we'll bring Jack back to you soon, all right?

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Good grief. Hurry up and recover, Peter, before your dog dies of heartache. You make such a cute couple, I almost feel bad doing this.

*He clips Jack's lead to his collar, taking care not to touch him too much this time.*

This has been nice, but I'm just so in demand. Speak to my agent next time and we'll talk fees, yes? See you later.

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Osborne's bailed on pretty much everything.

*Peter replies, in a rather quieter voice than usual, staring fixedly down at Jack.*

Good luck with the speech.

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Wait, what?

*She puts up a hand to stop Alastair, who's about to tug the dog off the bed.*

I'm guessing you don't mean repairing the British economy.

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*Peter shrugs awkwardly, eyes still focused on Jack, and chooses to focus on his satisfaction at keeping his voice level rather than the issue that might cause his voice to wobble in the first place.*

He bailed.

When the confirmation came through from DEFRA, he... left.

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