Who: Sirius Black (doggo) & various What: catch-all spot for some planned log threads + a spillover from the overflow post When: month of September Where: various Warning(s): language at worst probably. will update if necessary!
[That seems unlikely, and Sirius communicates that silently, with a flat look. Yeah, sure.]
They've done all right by me so far.
[James. Lily. Impossible and all the more welcome for it. Even if James weren't dead, Sirius still would have done anything to bring him here, to save him.]
Once they get my godson awake, s'ppose I'll be content enough to stop trying.
[Sirius' eyes narrow still more. This expression is quite unlike his sharper look, the one he'd worn when waiting on details from Vorrutyer not fifteen minutes ago. This look is suspicious, with anger smoldering underneath. If he were thirteen years younger, perhaps he'd have said something disarming, something funny and cutting and clever and sarcastic.
But he's not, so instead, with snappish impatience:]
[ Then he sighs, and lets a little bit of the vamping and camp drop away. He settles back in his chair, and traces the side of his glass, and says: ]
I don't need to lecture you, I'm sure, on what people - or divine beings of light and mystery - are willing to do to win a war, but I'll say it outright anyway: they do whatever they have to. So: they depend on us to fight. God only knows why, but they depend on us. Do you honestly think for even a second that they'll work hard to do the thing that'll make you lay down your arms and go into peaceful retirement? Don't be naive. They'll delay and drag their feet. Not quite ready. Not fully recovered yet. Keep on a little more. Be patient. He'll wake soon. That's not cruelty or ruthlessness - that's just good sense. And if that's not how they operate, if they'll work their utmost to make sure you're satisfied because it's the right thing to do, then this war effort is well and truly fucked.
[Yeah. That's about what Sirius was thinking as well. But hearing it laid out makes a difference. He works through it with his jaw clenched, and his hand tight around his glass. And he does not take a drink, but he goes on staring at some point just past Vorrutyer's ear, a blackness swirling deep in his chest.]
[ He toys with his own glass, and thinks about his sister. Will he ever see her again? It's silly - back at home, he hadn't spoken to her for years, too nervous of her reputation to risk it. But now she's here, under glass, he wants nothing more than to talk with her again, to sit and listen to her sarcastic jokes and odd little digressions...He misses Nadine. ]
[He shouldn't be so easily swayed toward distrust. He should remain grateful. The Orbiters have done a great deal for Sirius, but if they keep Harry under glass to force some obedience out of him--that's the sort of ask that Sirius rankles under. If they want him to trade his life for Harry's, that would be easier for him to manage. Being kept in holding is not for him.]
They resurrected my best mate.
[Maybe it's the alcohol that gets him to confess as much. He chases that fact with a swallow of whiskey. When he puts the glass back down on the bartop, it is with a bit too much force.]
Brought him back to life, just as they said they would. He's been dead thirteen years and it's like it's never been. There's no magic in all the world that can do that, where I'm from.
I'm not going to work against anyone that's done that for me.
[But he isn't going to be happy about it, either. That's why he's got his hand clenched so tightly on the glass.]
[ By tilts his head slightly to the side, and tries not to look too interested. Dear heavens. Bodily resurrection of the dead. It's positively theological. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
They've done all right by me so far.
[James. Lily. Impossible and all the more welcome for it. Even if James weren't dead, Sirius still would have done anything to bring him here, to save him.]
Once they get my godson awake, s'ppose I'll be content enough to stop trying.
[Not really. But still.]
no subject
[ His voice all but drips honey. ]
Then you'll never see him.
no subject
I said when they get him awake, didn't I. Which means I would be seeing him, and will be.
no subject
Dear fellow - why would they ever sever your final string? Then they'd not be able to puppeteer you at all.
no subject
They've given their word. To more than just me.
no subject
[ He takes a deliberate sip of whiskey. ]
no subject
But he's not, so instead, with snappish impatience:]
Say what you mean.
no subject
Must I? It's so...artless.
[ Then he sighs, and lets a little bit of the vamping and camp drop away. He settles back in his chair, and traces the side of his glass, and says: ]
I don't need to lecture you, I'm sure, on what people - or divine beings of light and mystery - are willing to do to win a war, but I'll say it outright anyway: they do whatever they have to. So: they depend on us to fight. God only knows why, but they depend on us. Do you honestly think for even a second that they'll work hard to do the thing that'll make you lay down your arms and go into peaceful retirement? Don't be naive. They'll delay and drag their feet. Not quite ready. Not fully recovered yet. Keep on a little more. Be patient. He'll wake soon. That's not cruelty or ruthlessness - that's just good sense. And if that's not how they operate, if they'll work their utmost to make sure you're satisfied because it's the right thing to do, then this war effort is well and truly fucked.
[ He drinks a toast to that. ]
no subject
And what d'you reckon we do about that.
no subject
Cooperate.
no subject
Cooperate, so they can keep stringing us along?
no subject
[ He toys with his own glass, and thinks about his sister. Will he ever see her again? It's silly - back at home, he hadn't spoken to her for years, too nervous of her reputation to risk it. But now she's here, under glass, he wants nothing more than to talk with her again, to sit and listen to her sarcastic jokes and odd little digressions...He misses Nadine. ]
They have all the power in this situation.
no subject
They resurrected my best mate.
[Maybe it's the alcohol that gets him to confess as much. He chases that fact with a swallow of whiskey. When he puts the glass back down on the bartop, it is with a bit too much force.]
Brought him back to life, just as they said they would. He's been dead thirteen years and it's like it's never been. There's no magic in all the world that can do that, where I'm from.
I'm not going to work against anyone that's done that for me.
[But he isn't going to be happy about it, either. That's why he's got his hand clenched so tightly on the glass.]
no subject
[ By tilts his head slightly to the side, and tries not to look too interested. Dear heavens. Bodily resurrection of the dead. It's positively theological. ]
Does he remember having been dead?
no subject
[Voldemort. Betrayal. Peter. Sirius stares, fixedly, into his glass.]
It's theirs to tell if they want to tell it. All I'm saying is that having them back, the two of them, isn't a gift to think twice about.
no subject
And yet your ambivalence is as clear as this whiskey.
[ He holds up the translucent drink. ]