msdeputyspeaker (msdeputyspeaker) wrote,
msdeputyspeaker
msdeputyspeaker

Perfect. It's always something to ruin Saturdays. Bring on the werewolves, I suppose.

*Dawn is having a perfectly pleasant afternoon working in her garden and doing a spot of DIY on the garden shed. Saturday is her one real day off, and she intends to enjoy it.

Suddenly, she has a sinking feeling as she remembers that her mobile hasn't been charged in some days. She's not the most adept user of mobile-phone technology. People have tried to teach her, but really, she's much too busy to waste time fiddling with a tiny screen chatting away with people she talks to every day anyway. And it seems that once your number is out, everyone bothers you all the time. She really doesn't want to have Jeremy Browne on her radar at all times. Or Chris Bryant. The chamber is bad enough.

But now she has the suspicion, quickly turning into a certainty, that the damn thing has died on her. She'd thought this idyllic Saturday was too good to be true. Watch, she'll charge this thing and have to pop up to Glasgow or something to deal with a horde of pissed trolls. Although surely if there was a magical emergency someone would have paid her a house call by now. Magicians don't rely entirely on accident-prone mobile technology, do they?

Her heart sinks as she reads the first text message from John (and since when did John start sending text messages? She'd have sworn he didn't know how). That was sent yesterday morning. What has she missed?

Quickly clicking along and swearing under her breath as she does so, she finds the second text message from John.*

Holy fucking fuck on a broomstick.

*She drops the blasted thing in a pocket, slips on sensible shoes, and is on her way.

On second thought, she pops back to get some silver tableware. Then she's off to Westminster.

By now they must have caught the werewolf, or she'd know about it. She should know about it anyway, but apparently John has fallen asleep on the job. Or his phone's as dead as hers was. Or eaten by the werewolf, perhaps. But she doesn't think werewolves would have the taste for them, somehow.

Anyway, if they've caught the werewolf, it'll either be dead or in the Parliamentary prison cell, where it can be safely warded. And if she knows John's soft heart, she knows exactly where to start looking.

She arrives in the corridor outside the parliamentary prison cell.*
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