therealpm | 6:00 AM, Buckinghamshire

Current Location: Buckinghamshire
Crossposts: http://therealpm.livejournal.com/39733.html

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6:00 AM, Buckinghamshire

*He's been semi concious for about half an hour (fucking birds and their fucking dawn chorus) by the time his alarm goes off at six. He rolls over to tap it off and nearly falls when the bed turns out to be a sofa and the bedside table turns out to not exist.

Urgh.

He rubs the sleep and remnants of last night's glamour charm off his face and goes to make two cups of tea. There's no signs of life from upstairs but perhaps that's to be expected. John's campaign thus far has reeked of indolence at every level. Peter will have to set about sorting that (and their finances) later - for now he needs to get Bercow out doorstepping.

There's a heavy copper-bottomed pan hanging from the wall. By the look of it, it's never been used for anything other than show. He grabs a ladle and gives it an experimental thwack.*

BONG

BONG

BONG

*Peter pauses, from the muffled cursing and thuds as various objects are knocked to the floor, it would appear that upstair's occupant has finally awoken.*

...BONG

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*John is steered into the backroom and somehow avoids knocking into anything. Thankfully, Peter swiftly closes the door to stop the rest of the campaign team staring at John staring at the papers.*

H-How did you...

...You were gone for one morning! How in the world did you...

*He looks up from the papers, eyes wide in disbelief.*

*Peter massages his eyes.*

You have some very wealthy constituents and they're quite susceptible to the conceit that donating to your campaign helps maintain Britain's political heritage and constitution. Oh... and you're popular in the over 65 knitting circles. You may wish to canvass that group again - with a little care they can be very reliable fundraisers and voters.

...

So. How was the response on the doorstep?

We'll have to arrange a carpooling system to get them all to the polling stations...

*John snaps out of his donations induced coma quickly at the mention of the doorstep.*

It was... less fruitful than your exploits.

*Peter narrows his eyes and makes a mental note to schedule a couple of visits to retirement homes - it's a very efficient method of meeting lots of voters at once and John seems to get on well with the blue rinse brigade.*

Any points of contention that stood out in particular? If we can at least address some in the leaflets it might give you a softer reception elsewhere.

The biggest point of contention it seemed was the candidate... me, really.

*John sighs and looks around the small room.*

I've been away from the constituency for too long - it's not just the magic that seems to be forgetting me...

Edited 2015-04-23 15:14 (UTC)

*Peter, in a supreme act of willpower, resists the urge to say 'I told you so'. He also resists the urge to point out that John's possibly being a little over-dramatic.*

...fine. Go and get a sandwich. I'll organise a few events for this afternoon for you to do whilst the rest of us finalise the new leaflets.

*He waits for John to leave before looking up the nearest care homes - at first in John's copy of the Yellow Pages, but switches his phone when the book starts to fall apart. By the time John's returned from the newsagent with something vaguely edible and wrapped in plastic, Peter has booked him in for two retirement homes and a local book club. Nothing too strenuous and they should be finished by 6.*

*John's already halfway through the sandwiches before he gets back to the office. He's bought a packet of every type of biscuit they had, but is mobbed by the office team and they are all taken away before he can have one.*

*He sits, gloomily, in behind his desk and eats the last of his lunch.*

*Peter shoos John out as soon as the other man has finished eating, telling him to come pick him up just before 5. Once John and his associated aura of misery has left, Peter tries to load the proposed election literature on John's constituency office computer. The keys are sticky and the mouse has black gunk accreted on the sides from biscuit smeared fingers. He wipes his hands and tries it with his ipad instead.

The content isn't too bad. After all, he wrote most of it. There are only 4 glaring spelling errors and half a dozen less obvious ones. He changes the template to something a little less 1980s, then changes it back because on reflection, the 1980s probably poll well here.

A few more minor changes and it's ready to be sent off.*

*John returns to the office a few hours later. The visits Peter had set up had done wonders for his mood - the old ladies cooed over the pictures of his children and assured him that they were on side. A couple had talked of their own children and grandchildren who they were now going to suggest come round to Bercow's office and help him out since he was such a nice man. "I might like UKIP" said an old man in a rocking chair "but standing against the Speaker isn't on in my books."*

*John had thanked him and either the social status or force of the man's words helped to turn a few more UKIPs into possible Bercow-voters.*

*The book club session went even better. John dazzled with Disraeli quotes and, thankfully, he'd actually read the book they were discussing that week and so could provide some relevant commentary. They'd laughed at his jokes and made him promise to come back after the election was over so they could have a proper discussion about some of the finer points of John's favourite books.*

*By the time he got back to the office - later than he had planned - he was almost bouncing.*

Bobby! How are things in the office?

*Peter was bored. They'd got the design sent to the printers by 3:30, after which there wasn't much for him to do. He'd tried making some phone calls to other potential donors, but while people were willing to accept him as 'Bobby' when they saw his face, they grew slightly suspicious when all they had to go by was his voice. He could disguise it, with difficulty, for short calls, but for the longer conversations needed to persuade people to hand over large lumps of cash, it was almost impossible. Eventually he gave up and began working on an email campaign of his own.

By the time five o'clock rolled around and the rest of the group had headed home, Peter was almost bouncing off the walls with frustration. There's only so many emails you can send before it begins to look desperate - never a good thing, especially this early on. His tone, when answering Bercow's question, was therefore not as concilatory as it might have been.*

Peaceful.

*Running high on a job well done as he was, even John could recognise that tone of voice. Thankfully, he had come prepared...*

Ah...

*John pulled a bottle of wine - the most expensive he could find in the off license - out from a blue carrierbag.*

A little gift, Peter, just to say thank you for all this.

*He offered the bottle to Peter.*

Shall we open it here or would you rather get home first?

*Peter takes the bottle and gets up to leave.*

I may have a glass later. You are going to stay sober until all the votes are in and counted.

*He shrugs off John's look of disappointment and tries to get both of them to the door as quickly as possible.*

*John tries to protest but is ushered out of the door before he can form a coherent argument.*

*The office is locked and John is driving the three of them home in no time. It takes longer to get back home with the last of the after-work traffic still on the roads, but they make it home in one piece.*

*Once at home, John realises just how hungry he is.*

Shall I fetch a take away for dinner?

*He looks at the whining dog at his feet.*

What shall I get for Jack?

*Peter picks the dog up and fusses him.*

You like meat don't you, yes you do, yes you do...

...but you're an older puppy, aren't you. You need mushy food...

*He coughs and studiously avoids John's gaze.*

Mincemeat will be fine.

*John, tactfully, doesn't say anything. He knows he was just as bad when the children were younger.*

A trip to the local supermarket it is.

*John fetches his coat and shoes.*

Is there anything else you would like me to fetch while I'm out?

*Peter has already started on the wine. It's been a long day and his interview with Jon Snow could best be described as necessary, rather than enjoyable. He understands that he's not universally popular and that playing the thwarted villain is the best way he can currently serve the party, but it's unpleasant and not his favourite way to spend the day.*

No, not that I can think of.

*He pours himself a top up.*

*John looks at the glass longingly but heads to the shop nevertheless.*

*He returns a while later with far more groceries than is strictly necessary. There's food for Jack, oven meals for the two of them for days and enough alcohol to sustain a small campaign team in the final two weeks of a general election. John has no inclination to take it to the office - Peter's bound to need a drink most nights given the state of his election group. There's also an impressive collection of biscuits.*

*He puts the food away, gets dinner ready for Jack and starts preparing dinner. He calls through to the living room.*

Everything alright in there? In need of a top up?

*There isn't any wine left in the bottle - it's been a hot and thirsty day and Peter is now feeling intensely relaxed about everything.*

...I'm fine.

*John has known Peter long enough to realise that code. He tops up Peter's glass once dinner's in and the frozen pudding is thawing on the side.*

*He'd love a drink, but he knows that Peter's right - Bobby can hide away in the office directing the campaign but John is the one with his face on the leaflets. He can't risk a hangover.*

Dinner will be in about 20 minutes.

*John wanders back through to the kitchen to make sure everything's tidy and pour himself a glass of squash. In the right light the blackcurrant drink almost looks like wine...*

*He hadn't actually intended to drink more than a couple of glasses, but his glass seems to have refilled and someone else is sorting dinner, so it isn't that irresponsible. He lies down on the sofa and starts to flick through the channels until he gets to the news.*

Edited 2015-04-23 20:01 (UTC)

*John sorts dinner onto two plates and carries them and cutlery through to the other room. He has to nudge Peter into sitting up but the other man takes the meal without protest.*

*The fall into affable if somewhat slow conversation about the news.*

*All in all, John thinks, sipping at his soft drink, it has been a rather good day.*

Mmm!

*Peter wakes up slightly as he remembers what he had meant to complain about to John earlier today.*

The sofa. You need to trans.. transf... turn it into something less cramped. Like a bed.

I... I can't right now, Peter. Maybe in a few days, but for now I'm afraid the sofa stays as it is.

You could always go through the firepl...

*Even as he says it, Peter's blurred glare makes him stop.*

...I could get an inflatable bed set up for tomorrow night?

...I am going upstairs. You are welcome to the sofa, or the inflatable mattress, or the other side of the bed, but I need a good night's sleep on something with some semblance of lumbar support.

Peter! That's- but-

I'm the candidate, damnit; I'm the one that needs-

Are you even listening to me?

*John follows Peter upstairs, arguing all the way.*

*Eventually the issues is resolved; Peter claims half the bed, but at least John gets to sleep on his usual side.*

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6:00 AM, Buckinghamshire

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