10am

Sep. 29th, 2012 08:09 pm
bigalcampbell: (sleepy)
[personal profile] bigalcampbell
Arghmph.

Oh god it hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much?

*Alastair tries to wrap the duvet around himself for comfort but freezes as the pain in his arms explodes. He opens his eyes, which thankfully aren't quite so stiff and sore, and looks around the bedroom, powerless to move. He knows who is to blame for this, who will he be calling to shout at when he finally regains easy movement in his limbs and face. In the meantime, he needs sympathy.*

Help?

Date: 2012-09-29 09:29 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bigalcampbell.livejournal.com
*He accepts breakfast gratefully and, after considering it for a moment, scoops both bacon and eggs between the toast to make a sandwich of sorts. He digs in.*

Can't he? Shame. Anyway, you're only as old as you feel which admittedly this morning means I'm about eighty - reasonable expectations are for wimps. Nobody ever won an election on the back of reasonable expectations.

Date: 2012-09-29 09:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] furiously-fiona.livejournal.com
*Fiona scowls* The reasonable expectation would be that no one would vote for the fucking Tories in the first place. We don't live on a reasonable planet.

*At the rate Alastair is plowing through his improvised sandwich, seconds will be required. She scoops her own egg and bacon out of the pan and puts on some more rashers, taking her plate over to the table to eat while the next round fries.*

But you're not going to be much use to the war effort if you kill yourself racing Peter through some ridiculous obstacle course. Right before Conference is a bad time to give yourself pneumonia-

Wait, Conference. Isn't Peter meant to be doing that Philip panel with you? How's he going to give a talk if he's liable to turn into a wolf at any moment?

Date: 2012-09-29 09:50 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bigalcampbell.livejournal.com
Too fucking true.

He was meant to, yeah. You won't be surprised to learn that he's pulled out. The fashion for hairy Labour politicians died some time ago, and never extended quite that far. I'll just have to up my game to make up for his absence, which won't require much effort.

Date: 2012-09-29 10:00 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] furiously-fiona.livejournal.com
All that extra flirting you'll have to do to make up the balance, though. You'll exhaust yourself.

*Fiona finishes her breakfast and goes to get Alastair's second helping.*

Right. You finish that, and I'll put together something for Peter. And then we can go to the pet shop and see if we can find him a nice bone to gnaw on.

*Although most of the responsibility for Alastair's idiocy lies with Alastair, Peter must have known he wouldn't be able to resist a dare. Fiona is not above getting a little of her own back in the form of humiliating gift baskets.*

Date: 2012-10-01 07:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bigalcampbell.livejournal.com
Irresistible as I am, I may have a hard time flirting with myself. But if anyone could do it, I could, I guess.

*Alastair accepts his second helping and finishes it gratefully.*

Hey, while we're there we can get him a nice bell to go on his collar. You know, to warn off birds and other potential snacks.

Date: 2012-10-01 07:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] furiously-fiona.livejournal.com
*Fiona grins and puts another set of rashers on the pan for Peter*

I meant with the audience!

Birds, Tories, you...

Date: 2012-10-01 07:38 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bigalcampbell.livejournal.com
Aha. Are you sure that's wise? They'll be enraptured enough as it is; if I encourage them I may not escape unscathed.

Oh, no, we don't want to warn off Tories. Peter eating or at least severely maiming one could be the only good thing to come out of this mess. I was thinking more of the protection of the innocent public... and me, yes.

Date: 2012-10-01 07:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] furiously-fiona.livejournal.com
*Fiona shrugs* I've resigned myself to you being mobbed by besotted journalists in denial of their homoerotic crushes by now.

Tempting, but I'd hate for anyone in this Government to be killed- they couldn't replace them with anyone more incompetent and alienating than the people they've already got. Hopefully we can fill him up with bacon instead so he'll just nibble on a leg or two.

*She goes to the fridge to see if there are any sausages she can add to the fry-up.*

Date: 2012-10-01 07:58 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bigalcampbell.livejournal.com
Are they even in denial at this point? Bloody media, no interest in self-scrutiny...

Huh. Yeah, I suppose you're right. God, but I wouldn't mind taking him a hamper full of George Osborne's internal organs...

*Alastair looks wistfully into the pan full of frying bacon.*

Date: 2012-10-01 08:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] furiously-fiona.livejournal.com
It seems he's more interested in George Osborne's external organs these days.

Oh, for fuck's sake, Ali. You've had two rounds already!

*Fiona gives him two strips of bacon and wraps the rest in foil for Peter. She puts the sausages on, although Alastair is probably going to wind up eating half of those as well.*

Date: 2012-10-01 08:14 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bigalcampbell.livejournal.com
Oh, thanks a lot, Fiona. You've put me right off my food.

*Despite this, Alastair accepts the bacon and eats it up in four bites.*

Don't say that like it's a bad thing. I ran the length and breadth of the horrible English countryside yesterday, I need sustenance.

Date: 2012-10-01 08:25 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] furiously-fiona.livejournal.com
*His pleading face is hard to resist, at least when she isn't angry with him over something.*

Oh, all right, you can have some sausage. I guess we can buy Peter some dog biscuits to make up the difference.

Date: 2012-10-01 09:04 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] bigalcampbell.livejournal.com
Hurrah! Peter won't mind, he loves dog biscuits. I assume.

Date: 2012-10-01 09:11 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] furiously-fiona.livejournal.com
*Fiona packs the basket while Alastair finishes his breakfast, and they drive over to the pet shop. Fiona scans the cluttered aisles until she finds the one with the bones and chew toys. She calls to Alastair over the constant screeching of the parakeets.*

See if you can find something avocado flavoured!

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