7 am, Parlimentary prison cell
Peter wakes up with a shiver and a groan. The air is cold and the rough carpet does nothing to ease the ache in his limbs. He raises an eyebrow at the darts and rope strewn on the ground. Whoever brought him here was clearly taking no chances. He supposes they may have stripped him for same sort of security reasons that apparently lead them to tie him up and drug him, but he is baffled by the mud, grass and... blood stains covering his skin. What the hel happened last night?
He shivers again, and forces himself to stand up and inspect the cell. His legs scream pain, as though he'd been running for his life, but he hadn't, had he? The last thing he recalled was asking Alastair to hang the curtains.
Alastair.
Well. It wouldn't be the first prank the man had played on him, though it was certainly the most elaborate and he had to give the ginger tribble an A* for effort. Clearly he had far too much spare time in retirement if this was how he chose to spend it.
A brief exploration with his magic confirmed that he was warded as well as locked in. The Alastair prank explanation was beginning to look distinctly flimsy. A look out of the window confirmed it: parliament square. Creative and persuasive as Alastair was, there was no way Black Rod would allow him to use part of the Westminster palace for a prank. John, Frances, Betty, or any of the other magi who'd gained seniority through speakership throughout the years, then.
Peter mentaly enumerated all the times he'd annoyed each of the likely candidates. If this was Betty then this most likely was a prank, and after being laughed at thoroughly, he'd be given breakfast, some trousers and allowed to leave. If it were Frances or John... well... Peter just hoped that neither had discovered his little trick of miniturising The Machine's components. He didn't fancy being detained at their Speakerships' pleasure- getting out of it generally involved a lot of grovelling (from what he'd heard, anyway) and the thought really didn't appeal. He reflected gloomily that the intruder the night before, cloaked from scrying, should probably have tipped him off to being 'wanted' by a particularly powerful sorcerer.
Turning away from the window, he sat knees drawn up to chest in front of the fireplace and set a magical fire burning. If he was going to be confined here, and/or humiliated, he may as well be warm.
He shivers again, and forces himself to stand up and inspect the cell. His legs scream pain, as though he'd been running for his life, but he hadn't, had he? The last thing he recalled was asking Alastair to hang the curtains.
Alastair.
Well. It wouldn't be the first prank the man had played on him, though it was certainly the most elaborate and he had to give the ginger tribble an A* for effort. Clearly he had far too much spare time in retirement if this was how he chose to spend it.
A brief exploration with his magic confirmed that he was warded as well as locked in. The Alastair prank explanation was beginning to look distinctly flimsy. A look out of the window confirmed it: parliament square. Creative and persuasive as Alastair was, there was no way Black Rod would allow him to use part of the Westminster palace for a prank. John, Frances, Betty, or any of the other magi who'd gained seniority through speakership throughout the years, then.
Peter mentaly enumerated all the times he'd annoyed each of the likely candidates. If this was Betty then this most likely was a prank, and after being laughed at thoroughly, he'd be given breakfast, some trousers and allowed to leave. If it were Frances or John... well... Peter just hoped that neither had discovered his little trick of miniturising The Machine's components. He didn't fancy being detained at their Speakerships' pleasure- getting out of it generally involved a lot of grovelling (from what he'd heard, anyway) and the thought really didn't appeal. He reflected gloomily that the intruder the night before, cloaked from scrying, should probably have tipped him off to being 'wanted' by a particularly powerful sorcerer.
Turning away from the window, he sat knees drawn up to chest in front of the fireplace and set a magical fire burning. If he was going to be confined here, and/or humiliated, he may as well be warm.