(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

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

You're nicked, sunshine. The Lord Speaker would like a word.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair takes Peter's temporary motionlessness as an opportunity to move in behind him and take hold of his arm, slightly more tightly than necessary. He addresses Jenny.*

Sorry, who're you? It's just that we're a bit busy here at the moment. Peter has things to do. Don't you, Peter?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

...Baroness McIntosh, this is Alastair Campbell. Alastair, Baroness McIntosh, one of the Deputy Lord Speakers.

*He carefully dislodges his arm from Campbell's grasp and mumbles something about going to make tea.*

[furiously-fiona.livejournal.com]

*Fiona, who's been following at a more sedate pace, finally catches up to Alastair.*

We brought grapes. *She holds up the bowl, and notices the woman standing in the fireplace.* Oh, hello, Jenny.

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

Oh, hello Fiona!

*She turns to Alastair.*

He can do those things after he speaks to Frances.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

You two know each other? No, never mind, I don't really care.

*He spots Peter creeping towards the kitchen and lunges after him, managing to grab him by the shirt collar and haul him back over.*

Where do you think you're going? It sounds like you've managed to cause trouble for your colleagues as well as everything else. Mustn't keep the Lord Speaker waiting. *He shoves Peter back to Jenny, then addresses her again.* Is he in a lot of trouble?

[dasouzzle.livejournal.com]

That depends to a certain extent on how helpful he makes himself in the next few minutes.

*She stands aside and gestures to the fireplace.*

Lord Mandelson?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He glares at the both of them, steals a couple of grapes from the bowl Fiona is still holding, and marches off through the fireplace with as much panache as is possible whilst still hunched over like a woolly jumpered vulture.*