Sometimes, Peter found, complaining was a fantastic way to get what you wanted. He had learned this because he not only had seven children, but he also had...Deirdre. And complaining to the cops that he wanted to see his cousin had gotten them to relent in the end, when he had finally played the 'I own a hospital so I should be allowed in the infirmary' card.

( Strength )

Peter's second night in jail hadn't been as restful as his first. His Uncle Gabriel had gotten to him and while his faith in his friends had by no means diminished, he had to admit that his faith in the justice system wasn't all that great.

In the morning, he was taken in for questioning again before breakfast. He knew they were doing it on purpose, hoping that in his unfed state he'd somehow let something slip. He had to admit he didn't feel all that flash as he ignored his growling stomach and leaned against the table to wait for someone else to come in and assult him with an endless barrage of questions.

( Welllll, shite... )