thursday pic prompt

[basslines]

the picture prompt meme

i. COMMENT WITH CHARACTER
ii. OTHERS LEAVE A PICTURE (OR TWO OR THREE....)
iii. REPLY TO THEM WITH A SETTING BASED ON THE IMAGES.

THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY.

link to an image: <a href="IMAGEURL">TEXT</a>

embed an image in your reply: <img src="IMAGEURL">

control width and height: <img src="IMAGEURL" width="INSERT"> OR <img src="IMAGEURL" height="INSERT">

Comments

[doggo]

Sirius drinks from the bottle first, pointedly. The swig stings briefly at his throat, warm, weirdly cleansing. Chases that first sip with a second, quicker, and it's better. Doesn't do much to cheer him, but it does turn down the volume on his sudden despair.

Which means he's very nearly joking when he smiles, wryly, at Remus. "You're just trying to soften me up."

Admittedly a gamble on Remus' part, since Sirius could just as easily turn that nostalgia around. He wants to and he doesn't. What's the use in being nasty to Remus, who is stuck with him, confined to a house arrest that he didn't ask for. Sirius is largely incapable of directly his anger properly, especially these days, walking a brittle edge, one foot in front of the other.

He decides in that moment to try. Mostly because, even beneath his self-loathing and preoccupation, he can still feel needling displeasure at the quick death of Remus' stupid smile. Because he has always been, in his way, eager to please--or not to please, exactly; that smacks of a desperation that Sirius does not feel. He
likes to please. Rebellious to everything except his friends, who he would die for, and let's not go down that road again just yet. Down there is Peter Pettigrew in the Shack, in the street, blasting away a load of muggles to escape his own fate. You should have died. Not James.

Sirius sets his jaw. Then he takes the second cup from Remus and pours himself a brandy. A gesture of mannered peace, in a way. No more drinking from the bottle. This will be a conversation, for as long as he can make it last. "You never have thanked me properly for the madrake leaf."

[cur]

The mention of the leaf begs another small smile. More like before, this time, young and amused, muted more out of respect than exhaustion. The image of Sirius and James and Peter holding leaves in their mouths (and it had taken Peter even longer to manage it, of course, because he was only half as stubborn) is easy to call up. It should be, considering that it'd had a month to sink in.

But it shouldn't be a good memory. Not knowing what he knows now about Peter, and James — now that he knows that mandrake leaf is the only thing that's kept Sirius alive and, hopefully, sane. It should all be coloured by what came after, burnt at the edges. He's naive to think he can keep it all separate, or desperate; possibly both. The familiar tug of guilt at having kept all of it from Dumbledore is there, as always, given a bitter twist by the realisation that the only thing Remus really regrets is that he'd probably do it all again, exactly the same way. He hasn't really changed.

He's still keeping secrets. Still kept Sirius's when it put others at risk. Hadn't it been the same for Peter? Knowing how quickly fear could slip into betrayal and still trusting, blindly, always assuming the best —

Remus tips his mug up to avoid thinking or talking, and the sharpness of the brandy does a good job of chasing out thought. He turns away from Sirius when he does speak, attention shifting to the fireplace and drawing it to life with a stray thought. Light flickers over their features as it crackles to life, heat quick on its tail.

"Nonsense. I've bought you this brandy."

Carefully serious in delivery, obviously bullshit.

[doggo]

Perhaps it's a sort of desperation that gets Sirius to smile. Perhaps he shouldn't think so hard about it. Remus was often funny, is often funny. If he hadn't been, he wouldn't have lasted. Straight humour, delivered in an even tone, deadpan to the end. Brief spells of mania are just that, these days: brief. Sirius has become better suited to these quiet sort of jokes.

"Ah." Very serious in return. "So it was intended for me, and now you're only drinking it as a gesture of noble politeness. Not outside your character" --without adding a politer no offense; they're friends, old friends, they don't need to soften blows-- "but still, Lupin. You could have gone a bit more upscale, if it's meant to be repayment."

That's not to say he won't keep drinking, because he will. Proof to the point, Sirius takes another swallow as he turns to cross the room and take up by the fireplace. There's chairs, a sofa. He opts instead for the floor, sprawled out somewhat ungainly but with his mug of brandy still unspilled; the bottle on the floor beside him, ready for refills--and, once settled, gives his mug a cultured sort of swirl, twist of the wrist--more obvious bullshit, as well as a gesture weirdly anachronistic with, you know. His everything.

[cur]

Remus doesn't rush to follow, though he does, of course; as always. He doesn't join Sirius on the floor, instead pulling one of the lighter chairs a bit closer to where he's sat in front of the fire, a rickety old wooden one that creaks when he sits down. He leans forward, elbows on knees, smiling lightly at the image of Sirius appreciating the not-so-fine brandy.

He still looks like a mess. That's probably to be expected, given that he's spent weeks of near-isolation out here, in the middle of nowhere — and given that he's been a dog for half of it. Remus studies the worn edges on his clothes and the lines on his face, wondering absently if his appearance would be more improved with more comfortable circumstances.

Probably not. There isn't much that can erase a decade in Azkaban.

"Thank you."

Offered simply, though there's nothing about such an honest and heavy remark that's simple. Remus doesn't dwell on it, taking a shallow drink and turning his gaze to the fireplace.

"Dumbledore's been eyeing your old place." A beat, unhurried, like this is a very casual and not at all touchy subject. Remus knows it is, though he isn't sure just how touchy; Sirius's past is much more than just family disagreements, now. "He thinks it'll make a good safe house."

tags this first bc samples, decency

[doggo]

The first thought Sirius has, your old place, is his flat. The incongruity of the image is nearly enough that he laughs: the swayback sofa that he and James had floated up the stairs, the waterstain on the ceiling like a map. Order business conducted in the narrow kitchen, where you couldn't have the refrigerator and the stove open at the same time. Dumbledore perched on the spare square of countertop, the silver of his long beard threading with gold in the light from the tiny window over the drainboard.

It's not a moment after the thought comes to him that Sirius puts together what Remus actually means. "Yeah?" When looks around, there's a little more of a dog in the hunch of his shoulders and his narrowed eyes. Wary, hackled. "Then he's mental."

Goes without saying, of course. They used to throw the fond suggestion of that madness around like a quaffle: mad, but brilliant. This is different. This is Grimmauld Place. Sirius huffs something that's nearly a laugh as he takes up his mug again.

"And just what's put him on to thinking of my ancestral manor? Since you're in his confidence on the subject."

Somehow. Despite being sat here, with Sirius, behind shutters and closed doors most times. Sirius tries to let the warmth of the brandy flush some of that bitterness out of him, but it rises quickly in his throat again, like bile or worse. Colours everything these days anyways, why not this as well.