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!
[Does he hold it against him? Sirius gives it a moment of thought, or at least puts on the moment of thought, because he can. Love, beauty, and peace. Nice thoughts.]
I wouldn't say against.
[He sets down his glass again. His mouth tastes of whiskey, faint tingling somewhere around his teeth. It has been awhile since he's drank anything--well, not so much anymore; since he's been here, after the end of the world, he has supplied himself as regularly as possible. Still not quite the resistance that he had before.]
More I'd wonder how you were hoping to get those things, if you can't be arsed to fight for them.
[If Sirius had never seen Goldstein again, he would have been quite all right. There was--is--nothing particularly wrong with her, except that she's an auror and she has no discernible sense of humour or, really, any true redeeming qualities. Remus has halfheartedly vouched for her, obliquely, in his give-everyone-a-chance-unless-they-are-truly-wankers sort of way. This is part of how Sirius and Remus became friends, so he should perhaps trust in this geniality, but he doesn't. And Remus isn't that firm in that trust, or else he doesn't really care, or else he prefer Sirius anyways. And now they have a great deal else to talk about, nothing at all to do with Goldstein, really, except perhaps by tangent.
So when he is in the marketplace one day, on his way back to the house, and he sees Goldstein standing less than idle beside a market stall, he nearly turns to go down a different way. Then he thinks, stupid, and because he's a Gryffindor at his heart, he walks right up to her.]
Tina keeps to herself which, altogether, isn't unusual in any time of place. She's always been a career girl, the one to make sure that she and Queenie had enough money. She's used to taking care of things and while there's a distinct Queenie-shaped hole in her life the woman tries her best to ignore it. Perhaps she's not quite thriving the way her sister might want her to, but she's surviving and that's enough for her. Besides there was enough emotional things going on lately she needs none of that.
Work at least, while so far from being an Auror, is at least similar in some regards. She still has her investigations to do alongside her patrolling. Now is a bit of both as Tina settles into the work day. It's quiet for the moment short of a few pickpockets and thieves (magical or otherwise). Tina's gotten used to the natives and the shopclerks who are there daily and offers a nod and a short greeting to most.
She's used to the faces and when a somewhat familiar voice hails her she turns her head sharply to it. Ah. At least she doesn't move to seem ready to attack or anything else, but she doesn't warm up either-- Expression more neutral than anything else.]
It's here I've been stationed. [So, she's not in charge and she's not going to claim to be.] Arrests are only made with due cause.
[Which is as close as he's getting right now to I'm not going after you.]
[One day, when Edmund is out walking the streets, going somewhere--the market, perhaps, or home from the market, engaged in business, heading for a meeting--he will hear a loud bark.
There are other animals in the city, of course. But this is A Dog, a signature creature that Edmund will surely recognise, on account of how brilliantly clever it is, and how quickly and directly this dog trots up to him, tail already wagging, ears already cocked. No owner in sight, no collar, still nothing at all that would mark him as a dog that anyone owns. Except, of course, the dog looks better fed this time, glossier in the coat, brighter in the eye. Same personality though, in the way it bumps right up against Edmund's leg with a cheerful bark.
Hello, says that bark. It's your old friend, the cleverest dog that you've met. Perhaps you have a treat in here, says the cold nose that pushes into Edmund's hand, any treat will do.]
[He puts his hands in his pockets and does a half-step so that he's about faced and standing, sort of, beside her. More casual than the way that she's stood, probably, because he's studied at being more casual and loose in his posture, to set himself firmly apart from all the hours of lessons at manners and things. He surveys the market alongside her as well, as if he's here to help.
[Her answer is simple, glancing at the man before turning her attention elsewhere. What did he want? There's something that itches under her skin about a Black playing nicely. Pureblood names were well known even in the US.]
It's no less important. Some of the others don't know how to deal with magic users.
[ A sigh as he sits back in his chair. Oh, he knows what currencies he deals in. His own honor is what he pays. For a Vor, one's word is one's soul, but he breaks his as easily as breathing. He betrays, lies, destroys. He manipulates and baits and taunts. He screws people he hates and people who don't deserve his cruelty and people who are just trying to live their lives because that is what it means to serve. That is what it means to take an oath to Gregor's vision of a better Barrayar. I live to serve. Even when service consists of slicing out your heart sliver by narrow sliver.
Or: I rat out my friends for money. Sure. Yes. Of course. ]
I do wish I knew.
[ His voice is light - as ever, not a hint of his darker thoughts coming through in his words or face. ]
I'd like to buy a sweeter world. But I'm afraid I don't exactly have a full purse in any regard.
[ By rolls his head to the side to look at Sirius. He would like very much for the conversation to turn to discussing him, instead of focusing on Byerly. ]
Tell me, have you been working to make this world a better place?
[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.
[Her answer is dry and obviously ill-amused. If they had a wand then, certainly she would have chosen to use that. His change in physique does little for her and if anything she looks more closed off at his suggestion.]
And protect a bunch of no-majs? [Said as if she finds that laughable. She wants to say there's no power to gain from being in the Guard, but there is the trust of the people-- Her frown deepens.]
[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:]
[He smiles, tightly, at that note in her voice. It's not a smile that reaches his eyes.]
Why not? I did it before, among other things. Wasn't something I was paid for, either. S'ppose in some ways, that's a firmer vote for my character over yours.
[ 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.
Then do it without getting paid for it. [Her answer is sharp and biting. Given that he and his friend have judged her from the beginning without any real proof one way or another, the benefit of the doubt she was asked to give them was strained.] America's not all that far from England, you know. We hear about your family.
[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.]
[That reference takes him by surprise. He stares at her a moment--and then, abruptly, laughs, once, a short bark.]
My family.
[The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. He knows what she'll have heard, more or less, because he knows what everyone has heard. Whatever dilution of time and distance has taken place--it will still be, generally, the same.
[ 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. ]
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B. VORRUTYER
[Does he hold it against him? Sirius gives it a moment of thought, or at least puts on the moment of thought, because he can. Love, beauty, and peace. Nice thoughts.]
I wouldn't say against.
[He sets down his glass again. His mouth tastes of whiskey, faint tingling somewhere around his teeth. It has been awhile since he's drank anything--well, not so much anymore; since he's been here, after the end of the world, he has supplied himself as regularly as possible. Still not quite the resistance that he had before.]
More I'd wonder how you were hoping to get those things, if you can't be arsed to fight for them.
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Not all things are paid for in blood, you know. There are other sorts of currencies.
[ He takes a swallow of whiskey. ]
P. GOLDSTEIN
So when he is in the marketplace one day, on his way back to the house, and he sees Goldstein standing less than idle beside a market stall, he nearly turns to go down a different way. Then he thinks, stupid, and because he's a Gryffindor at his heart, he walks right up to her.]
Goldstein.
[Sort of a hi.]
You're in charge of the market?
Re: P. GOLDSTEIN
Work at least, while so far from being an Auror, is at least similar in some regards. She still has her investigations to do alongside her patrolling. Now is a bit of both as Tina settles into the work day. It's quiet for the moment short of a few pickpockets and thieves (magical or otherwise). Tina's gotten used to the natives and the shopclerks who are there daily and offers a nod and a short greeting to most.
She's used to the faces and when a somewhat familiar voice hails her she turns her head sharply to it. Ah. At least she doesn't move to seem ready to attack or anything else, but she doesn't warm up either-- Expression more neutral than anything else.]
It's here I've been stationed. [So, she's not in charge and she's not going to claim to be.] Arrests are only made with due cause.
[Which is as close as he's getting right now to I'm not going after you.]
E. PEVENSIE
There are other animals in the city, of course. But this is A Dog, a signature creature that Edmund will surely recognise, on account of how brilliantly clever it is, and how quickly and directly this dog trots up to him, tail already wagging, ears already cocked. No owner in sight, no collar, still nothing at all that would mark him as a dog that anyone owns. Except, of course, the dog looks better fed this time, glossier in the coat, brighter in the eye. Same personality though, in the way it bumps right up against Edmund's leg with a cheerful bark.
Hello, says that bark. It's your old friend, the cleverest dog that you've met. Perhaps you have a treat in here, says the cold nose that pushes into Edmund's hand, any treat will do.]
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[He puts his hands in his pockets and does a half-step so that he's about faced and standing, sort of, beside her. More casual than the way that she's stood, probably, because he's studied at being more casual and loose in his posture, to set himself firmly apart from all the hours of lessons at manners and things. He surveys the market alongside her as well, as if he's here to help.
After a moment:]
Seems a little boring.
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[Her answer is simple, glancing at the man before turning her attention elsewhere. What did he want? There's something that itches under her skin about a Black playing nicely. Pureblood names were well known even in the US.]
It's no less important. Some of the others don't know how to deal with magic users.
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[ A sigh as he sits back in his chair. Oh, he knows what currencies he deals in. His own honor is what he pays. For a Vor, one's word is one's soul, but he breaks his as easily as breathing. He betrays, lies, destroys. He manipulates and baits and taunts. He screws people he hates and people who don't deserve his cruelty and people who are just trying to live their lives because that is what it means to serve. That is what it means to take an oath to Gregor's vision of a better Barrayar. I live to serve. Even when service consists of slicing out your heart sliver by narrow sliver.
Or: I rat out my friends for money. Sure. Yes. Of course. ]
I do wish I knew.
[ His voice is light - as ever, not a hint of his darker thoughts coming through in his words or face. ]
I'd like to buy a sweeter world. But I'm afraid I don't exactly have a full purse in any regard.
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[He shoots a glance back at her, entirely blasé. Now that he's had time to fill out a little more, he looks handsomer, or at least far less of an intimidating specter. Whether or not that transformation makes him more trustworthy or less is entirely up to her.]
Unless they haven't got wands. This place takes all kinds. People going on about staffs, of all things, as if they're entirely reasonable.
I've been thinking of joining the guard.
[Casual.]
i hate you for not telling me that my html was f'd
[Here: this planet, yeah, but larger than that. Here as in after the world has ended. Sirius encompasses it with a shrug of his shoulder.]
For a sweeter world. Perhaps someone will point you to the correct currency to make that dream of yours happen. Hopefully it's not just cooperation.
No you don't, your love for me is pure and unconditional
[ By rolls his head to the side to look at Sirius. He would like very much for the conversation to turn to discussing him, instead of focusing on Byerly. ]
Tell me, have you been working to make this world a better place?
(un)fortunately yes
[Like, that is explanation enough. If not, Sirius sits back to survey their surroundings, an action that invites Vorrutyer to do the same.]
I'd say that's a no so far on that point. But we've not had many proper opportunities just yet.
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[ He grins over his own whiskey. ]
But alas. I suppose if you had had more opportunities, they'd have raised a few more of your friends from their slumber, eh?
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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.]
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[ His voice all but drips honey. ]
Then you'll never see him.
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I said when they get him awake, didn't I. Which means I would be seeing him, and will be.
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Dear fellow - why would they ever sever your final string? Then they'd not be able to puppeteer you at all.
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They've given their word. To more than just me.
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[ He takes a deliberate sip of whiskey. ]
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[Her answer is dry and obviously ill-amused. If they had a wand then, certainly she would have chosen to use that. His change in physique does little for her and if anything she looks more closed off at his suggestion.]
And protect a bunch of no-majs? [Said as if she finds that laughable. She wants to say there's no power to gain from being in the Guard, but there is the trust of the people-- Her frown deepens.]
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But he's not, so instead, with snappish impatience:]
Say what you mean.
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Why not? I did it before, among other things. Wasn't something I was paid for, either. S'ppose in some ways, that's a firmer vote for my character over yours.
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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. ]
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[Which is to say she doesn't believe him.]
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And what d'you reckon we do about that.
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My family.
[The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. He knows what she'll have heard, more or less, because he knows what everyone has heard. Whatever dilution of time and distance has taken place--it will still be, generally, the same.
Still, sharply:]
And what have you heard?
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Cooperate.
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Cooperate, so they can keep stringing us along?
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[ 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.
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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.]
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[ 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?
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[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.
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And yet your ambivalence is as clear as this whiskey.
[ He holds up the translucent drink. ]