closed.

[doggo]

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!

Comments

B. VORRUTYER

[doggo]

[carrying over from here]

[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.

P. GOLDSTEIN

[doggo]

[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.]

Goldstein.

[Sort of a hi.]

You're in charge of the market?

E. PEVENSIE

[doggo]

[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.]