6:00 AM, Buckinghamshire

[therealpm]

*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

Comments

[therealpm]

*Peter shoves a cup of tea cross the counter and continues scribbling on a piece of paper.*

I've examined your election literature. It will do for today's doorstepping in these wards...

*He slides across the top sheet from his notepad*

...but by tomorrow we need something that will make voters want to get out and vote positively for you, rather than simply getting them to stay home and not vote Green or UKIP.

I have quotes from three...

*His phone pings*

...four printers, all of which are substantially more affordable than your current supplier. Of course your campaign funding is still somewhat dire but there is a list...

*He flicks through a stack of papers.*

...of potential donors that The Machine prepared overnight - I suspect that after a few home visits over the next couple of days we should be able to raise enough to reach the spending limit. That will cover the printing and possibly some phone calls to the more remote houses...

*He sips his tea and keeps reading.*

[bamfbercow]

*John blinks at the caffeinated offering and eventually takes it.*

It's just gone six o'clock in the morning, Peter - if I were to go door knocking or start calling potential donors now I'd be more likely to lose their support than anything.

Can't this all wait - another hour at the very least? We stayed behind rather late at the meeting last night - on your orders, I should add - and I didn't get to sleep until well past 1...

[therealpm]

*Peter ignores John's protestations*

I assume you have a home printer somewhere; there's the briefing and route for today that needs printing off. By the time you've absorbed that and got ready and visited your constituency office to discuss artwork for the new leaflets and actually driven to the wards in question I suspect we'll be fairly close to 8am.

[bamfbercow]

There's a printer in the office, but whether there's any ink is another matter...

8am? But no one gets to the office until 9!

[therealpm]

...

I will return momentarily. Go and get ready.

*Peter heads off to the fireplace, back towards civilisation where things actually work.*

Oh, and it's St George's day, so try and avoid anything unpatriotic.

*He starts a new fire and scrambles through.*

[bamfbercow]

*John drains the last of his tea and then sets off to get ready, grumbling to himself all the while.*

*Eventually he emerges - freshly washed, shaved and in his canvassing suit. He had contemplated the St George's Cross bowtie but decided against it as he knew Peter would frogmarch him back upstairs and make him change it anyway.*

We're going to be a bit short staffed this morning, I'm afraid; a few of the sixth form students have early classes on a Thursday and won't be able to join us until after lunch.

[therealpm]

*Peter makes his own preparations in London while the documents print. He packs enough clothes for several days, his ipad, and the other miscellany that one needs on a trip. He considers trying to float himself through the fireplace to avoid having to touch the rather grubby brickwork but decides against it. Hands can be washed, but mockery from John if he lands face first in a grate would last for years.

He can here John nattering through the fireplace but doesn't pay much attention. Whatever it was, John will probably repeat it several times in the car anyway. He takes a last look around to make sure he hasn't missed anything before gingerly clambouring back through to Buckingham.*

[bamfbercow]

Peter? Peter are you even lis-

*John watches as Peter climbs back through the fireplace. With a suitcase. And a grubby, yapping Jack.*

Peter, what is all this? You said we had to get going!

[therealpm]

*Peter puts his suitcase down on the sofa and stretches.*

Have you had breakfast? You'll be far too irritable on the doorstep by 9 if you haven't.

*He wipes his fingers on a handkerchief, then unclips the suitcase and takes out a sheaf of papers, passing them to John.*

Those are for today. Try not to lose them or let any of the press or public see them.

*He scratches Jack behind the ears*

Yes, I know, in a minute.

*He straightens up*

Anyway, you were saying?

[bamfbercow]

What's all th-

You're only a fireplace away for Merl-

Wh- no, I haven't had-

*He splutters as papers are pushed into his hands*

What are th...

*John quickly looks over the notes and route maps in his hand*

Peter this route is preposterous! It's miles of walking!

[therealpm]

You can jog if you prefer.

*That the sun is shining and there won't be a terrifying ex-Libdem leader growling threateningly at regular intevals means that this won't quite be the revenge for the exercise program that Peter had hoped for, but it'll do. He heads off to the kitchen to get breakfast for himself and Jack.*

[bamfbercow]

*John wanders through to the kitchen and makes his own breakfast when it becomes clear that Peter isn't going to prepare any for him. Eventually the three of them are in the car and on the way to the office. It's not a particularly long drive but not all the roads are paved and the ride isn't exactly smooth.*

*They pull into the gravel car park of the converted barn that houses John's constituency office. The old, painted wooden doors might look pretty, but there's the usual fight with the aging wood to get into the building. The sun is streaming through the windows in the roof highlighting all the places John and his team have failed to dust.*

Well, this is HQ. Is there anything you particularly need?

[therealpm]

...

*Peter wasn't averse to rural living - he had fond memories of Foy, but there's chocolate box cottages and then there's aggressive provincialism. The hunting prints lining the walls and lack of any technology younger than five years tended to skew the office towards the latter. It was also completely deserted.*

When did you say your staff were likely to get in?

*He grimaces at the answer. They can't wait that long. He'll just have to leave written instructions for the new leaflets then come back at two - that should give the staff enough time to produce a first draft and Peter enough time to edit it until it's actually presentable before it's sent to the printers at 4:30. He hesistates before signing off - he can't exactly sign it as Peter Mandelson and his handwriting is distinctly different from John's more affable scrawl.*

[bamfbercow]

*John notices the hesitation.*

So, what are we to call you? I suppose that, for the purposes of misdirection, "Peter" is right out - it'd be enough prompting to break through a glamour or notice me not, I should think.

And there's no point in a name with no meaning to attachment to you; I don't want to be standing in the middle of the office yelling - oh, I
don't know, Terry or Frank - at you and you not responding. It would ruin the pretense somewhat.

...I don't suppose you'd care to use your old nickname from the '97 campaign?

[therealpm]

*Pete grumbles and signs the note.*

Well I'm not using Benji.

*He shoves the pad of paper over to John.*

Write a note to let them know 'Bobby' is now running the campaign, and cast a glamour.

*He'd spent the entire car journey trying to get a glamour to stick, but as little as the constituency regarded John at the moment, it liked Peter even less and the spell always fizzled out.*

[bamfbercow]

*John finds a stack of post-its on his desk and writes a quick cover note which is stuck to Peter's instructions. He leaves them on the front desk where they should be noticed - he can always call the office and point it out to them when he finds a patch of constituency with phone signal.*

*John looks at the map with the route Peter has prepared for him. It's a small village a few miles over which shouldn't take too long to get to. It also contains a few home on Peter's list of 'hits' for donations. The rest of the route appears to wind back to the office. All in all it's a rather good plan - for a candidate half John's age.*

*John puts the thought to one side for a moment and turns to Peter's request. He could mock Peter for not being able to cast even a simply glamour here, but the smirk falls from his face as he starts to struggle with the spell himself - he didn't realise he had grown so used to the power of the Mace. His link with the constituency magic was unpleasantly strained. John tried not to worry about it too much and instead focused his nervous energy on transforming Peter.*

*Eventually, and with much pulling of ridiculous facial expressions, John gets a charm to stick. It's not his best work, but Peter certainly doesn't look like himself anymore.*

*John grabs a mirror off of one of the desks and hands it to Peter.*

I trust this meets with your approval?

[therealpm]

*Peter prods his face experimentally and grimaces. They're not the features he'd choose to be saddled with for two weeks but he supposes they'll have to do.*

I suppose so.

*He checks his watch. 8:30 am with fourteen days until polls open and they haven't even started canvassing most of the villages. He squares his shoulders. It'll be interesting.*

Jack can go with you - dogs play well on the doorstep, particularly with the sectors you're targeting.

*They head off into the morning sunlight, carefully locking the constituency office door behind them.*