(no subject)

[therealpm]

*He's almost finished setting up the hex for tomorrow (Frances is persistent, a simple phone block will not be enough), when he remembers the still rather pitiable state of his wards.*

Hmmmm.

*He finishes the spell, then dashes off a quick text.*


Text from 07### ######

John,

change of plan. Coming over this evening. Prepare the spare bedroom.

-Peter


*He's pretty certain John still feels enough residual guilt to maintain the apartment's wards against an angry Frances.*

Comments

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair is already waiting in the passenger seat. He looks down at the bowl of grapes Fiona puts in his lap, then back up at her as if to say, 'well, if you're sure.'*

[furiously-fiona.livejournal.com]

It's much harder to to cook for him when he's not a ravenous werewolf. Where is he?

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*He briefly covers the receiver with one hand.*

The Bercows' place at Parliament. Drive, drive, drive! He's depending on us for grapes!

[furiously-fiona.livejournal.com]

*Fiona keeps one hand on the wheel and uses the other to stick two fingers up in Alastair's general direction.*

Why is he getting involved with that bastard again anyway? Is this like how the OBR downgrades their economic forecast every time Osborne makes a statement, and then they make a new forecast and he makes another statement and they have to downgrade it again?

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

He's just a self-destructive idiot. That's on page one of the bloody manual.

*Alastair taps his free fingers on the dashboard impatiently, hoping that he'll be able to keep Peter talking until they're close enough to stop him.*

[furiously-fiona.livejournal.com]

*True enough. Fiona sighs and cuts someone up so they can get there a little quicker. A few minutes later they pull into the Westminster Palace carpark. She retrieves the grapes from Alastair's lap and they stride off to find Peter, perhaps a little faster than is entirely dignified.*