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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: 2012-10-01 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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