therealpm

*Peter sits back in his chair and smirks smugly at the stack of papers in front of him. John's gift of a TV had been a greater boon than he'd expected. In his panic, John hadn't placed any wards on the TV at all, and so it had been a simple matter for Peter to 'adapt' the TV and the remote control to allow him to communicate with The Machine via a tele-text style interface. Peter did wonder whether anyone would notice, given teletext had been cancelled for a while, but apparently it appeared innocuous enough to pass under his guards' radars, and now, the fruits of The Machine's labours are stacked neatly before him on the desk. He hasn't had time to do more than frantically scribble down notes, but even this preliminary reading has suggested several new ways in which the potion might be improved, or at least rendered less likely to kill him; and who knows, if he survives this, he might even be able to get a paper out of it.  Grinning with anticipation, he picks up the first sheet and begins to work.*

Ow. I am never going to listen to anything that little troll says ever again.

I will be busy for the next few days weeks months however long it takes to get rid of this bloody limp the forseeable future. Any pressing questions should be directed here.