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Entry tags:
closed.
Who: J. Jaqobis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stabilis) & S. Black (doggo)
What: it's a meet cute
When: 22 September
Where: a pub somewhere in Olympia
Warning(s): none for now!
The thing about living in a world where you've got to blend in, is: Sirius has already done it.
It was easier, maybe, fitting in with muggles. Not that it began as easy. The Blacks kept to the wizarding world, stepped out into the muggle world only when they needed to. Side-along Apparition, the floo network, broomstick--there was once, when Sirius was small, couldn't have been more than seven, and he had vanishing sickness for nearly three months, laid about in bed with his right kneecap soft and then gone and soft again in turns. By this time he'd been just getting over it, mostly solid all the time, and they were to go to Diagon Alley. His mother would have Apparated him anyways, but Uncle Alphard had been round that day and had said no, he'd take Sirius, they'd walk to the Leaky Cauldron, and everyone was in a rush (though Sirius can't, now, remember why, what had been so important that they'd all been going to Diagon Alley) that Walburga Black had said yes all right, and that was how Sirius Black had come to be walking in the sunshine of muggle London, held tightly by the hand but still allowed to look. And what he'd seen, he had not forgotten, like his own world but tinted like a mad dream. He had never seen so much muggle stuff at once.
All that feels like hundreds of years ago, one empty life, one ruined planet. That, at least, is becoming firmer in Sirius' mind. It helps to have James here now, to ground him in the unreality of having been rescued from the end of the world. James is impossible, so if he's here, stands to reason that the rest of it can go on being impossible, and Sirius can begin to fit himself around that.
As far as blending in goes, he fits better than some, now that he's got the proper clothes for it. The backdated fashions fit together nicely with his long hair and his beard. One more advantage to wizarding style, that. Leaned over the bar, with a mug of beer, Sirius surveys the length of the rest of the bar, taking in the other patrons. It's sort of a game, trying to pick out who belongs and who doesn't. They all have to be good of course, that's their deal--but, like wizards, some are better at it than others.
There's a fellow a little ways away from Sirius, separated only by the empty length of space between them. He's also here to drink, and Sirius looks back to his beer, its pale colour.
"Only halfway decent, isn't it." But he's clearly not complaining, because he takes a sip a second later. "Better than nothing. With all due respects to the house."
stabilis) & S. Black (doggo) What: it's a meet cute
When: 22 September
Where: a pub somewhere in Olympia
Warning(s): none for now!
The thing about living in a world where you've got to blend in, is: Sirius has already done it.
It was easier, maybe, fitting in with muggles. Not that it began as easy. The Blacks kept to the wizarding world, stepped out into the muggle world only when they needed to. Side-along Apparition, the floo network, broomstick--there was once, when Sirius was small, couldn't have been more than seven, and he had vanishing sickness for nearly three months, laid about in bed with his right kneecap soft and then gone and soft again in turns. By this time he'd been just getting over it, mostly solid all the time, and they were to go to Diagon Alley. His mother would have Apparated him anyways, but Uncle Alphard had been round that day and had said no, he'd take Sirius, they'd walk to the Leaky Cauldron, and everyone was in a rush (though Sirius can't, now, remember why, what had been so important that they'd all been going to Diagon Alley) that Walburga Black had said yes all right, and that was how Sirius Black had come to be walking in the sunshine of muggle London, held tightly by the hand but still allowed to look. And what he'd seen, he had not forgotten, like his own world but tinted like a mad dream. He had never seen so much muggle stuff at once.
All that feels like hundreds of years ago, one empty life, one ruined planet. That, at least, is becoming firmer in Sirius' mind. It helps to have James here now, to ground him in the unreality of having been rescued from the end of the world. James is impossible, so if he's here, stands to reason that the rest of it can go on being impossible, and Sirius can begin to fit himself around that.
As far as blending in goes, he fits better than some, now that he's got the proper clothes for it. The backdated fashions fit together nicely with his long hair and his beard. One more advantage to wizarding style, that. Leaned over the bar, with a mug of beer, Sirius surveys the length of the rest of the bar, taking in the other patrons. It's sort of a game, trying to pick out who belongs and who doesn't. They all have to be good of course, that's their deal--but, like wizards, some are better at it than others.
There's a fellow a little ways away from Sirius, separated only by the empty length of space between them. He's also here to drink, and Sirius looks back to his beer, its pale colour.
"Only halfway decent, isn't it." But he's clearly not complaining, because he takes a sip a second later. "Better than nothing. With all due respects to the house."