*She's only just arrived when Remus strolls up, a few minutes late despite the cafe's close proximity to home. Amrita's frowning politely at the sign and looking a good deal more subdued than their last meeting, having traded in her riot of pleated silks for a smart gray dress. But the fit is immaculate, and her jewelry is appropriately small and tasteful but it certainly isn't paste, that's for sure. And she's still wearing sindoor (every day, without fail) and alta on her hands; she's gotten back into the habit, now that she can look however she pleases.
As a result the Muggles milling around the cafe are looking ever-so-slightly sideways at her moneyed strangeness--but she's completely unconscious of them, as if they are flies or potted plants. It's only when she spots Remus that she smiles.*
Hello. It's closed, apparently. Something wrong with the, ah-
*She circles one red-tipped finger in the air, groping for the word.*
I'm not sure there's another place 'round here, unless we--
*But it's all proper restaurants, and none very good. The nearest halfway decent cafe is four blocks over--or is it five, she can't remember exactly--and it looks like it's threatening to rain. Her little frown deepens, but it's more fretful than angry.*
Oh, I wish they'd figure out a way around it, or something--honestly--
*He makes a good show of it. Tapping on the window, he flags over a hassled-looking waiter and has a quick, through-the-door conversation regarding outages and the power company and 'closed for the rest of the day at least.' It's with a small shrug that he returns to Amrita, looking regretful and playing his cards carefully. He's got a very specific target here, but it won't do to put too fine a point on it.*
No luck, they don't even know what's wrong with it. I would suggest my flat, but it's a bit of a hike to Southwark, I'm sorry. Is there anything else around here?
*She fiddles a little awkwardly with her purse as Remus talks to the waiter, and by the time he turns around she's already made up her mind. It'll be fine; the flat is warded and safe and Evan is out so there's nobody to surprise. Anyway, she isn't too keen on meeting Mrs. Lupin The Muggle, whoever-she-is, and she knows Evan wouldn't be all that keen on it, either--*
Don't be ridiculous. We'll go to the flat, it's only just 'round the corner. Do you mind?
*He follows obediently, thinking that Sirius is probably having a fit right about now - they'd discussed this plan, and the fact that it is probably a stupidly dangerous plan, last night. He doesn't have to fake his little double-take at her, though, certain he's heard wrong.*
The bar. It's very nice, you'll see. And I can show you that book I was telling you about, that plays music for you as you read-
It's not far, just there, see?
*She points at the rather majestic building they're heading towards. It hails from when factories were built more like temples or castles--but it obviously hasn't been a factory in quite some time.*
*At once, she makes a small and sympathetic little noise, her brow creasing. Perhaps he hasn't got a contraption like the one she once used--and if his wife, Hazel apparently, is a Muggle she can't be any use at all helping him. It hadn't been often that her own measures had failed, but she remembers vividly what it's like to wake up bleeding and gashed open from hip to knee.*
Oh, how awful. Don't you have a thing you can use, stop yourself biting?
It's just up here.
*They're in the building, now, and she leads him into a bronze-latticed lift much like the one they shared the day they met.*
*Following, he shrugs and gives a little vague gesture.*
I do, it's just not fool-proof. I don't handle restraints very well, I'm afraid, I nearly broke my own neck once as a child. Usually the alternative works out, though, this is as bad as it ever gets these days.
*Sirius can't very well pin him to the floor the entire night - appealing as that prospect might be under other circumstances - and accidents happen. This month he'd just gotten distracted from play-fighting and (as usual) frustrated at the lack of exits. He'd been calmer back when they'd been able to roam free; the wolf doesn't respond well to captivity, and it's more of a constant struggle to keep it occupied in close quarters. Sirius's presence still helps him keep some of his sanity, but it can't undo the drive to get out, to run, to hunt.
He smiles, dryly, and fingers the fastening on the bandage gently.*
I believe it. I'm a mess all down my side here, and it only failed once or twice when I was younger. I've always used it, since, you know. It cut down on most of the, ah, messier bits. So I'd stay presentable. I only really would bounce off the walls, and that isn't so bad, considering.
*Amrita is very conspicuously avoiding the word muzzle; still, it's easier to talk about when she's looking ahead at the lift shaft crawling evenly downwards on the other side of the bronze lattice. She speaks softly, now, almost inaudible over the clanking of the old-fashioned lift.*
It's difficult, isn't it, for the wolf be held back from what it's meant to do?
*He isn't acting now. Watching Amrita, the way the shadows shift across her face as the lift rises past floors, it's too easy to remember why they connected in the first place. She's literally the only person who understands what it means to have this thing in you that at once is and is not yourself, to remember after waking the lust for tearing and ripping and blood. She's the only one who gets that the problem isn't the pain, unfathomably hellish as that is. The problem is the fundamental schism in your sense of self, and the knowledge that you aren't wholly yourself, aren't even wholly human, and the baggage that comes with that. Something sad settles in his face as he watches her; they could've helped each other so much, and it's hard not to mourn that. His own voice is no louder than hers.*
Oh, none at all. Evan's just wonderful. He does so much. But-
*But fascination and solicitousness and love and generosity don't quite add up to a full understanding, either. It's good to have Remus back.*
Ah, here we are.
*There's no complicated wandwork, no tell, no glow or chime or showy magical flourishes in the way she undoes the wards to the flat: they are truly top-of-the-line, and that shows in the way it doesn't show. She simply presses her right palm flat to the door and fits the key into the lock with her left hand. It was clumsy, at first--damned Evan and his cack-handed apasavya way of doing things--but now it's second nature to her. The door opens willingly, and she leads him inside.*
*He pays close attention about the wards; touch-sensitive, then, so probably specific to just the newlyweds. That's potentially problematic.
Shaking off the pensiveness and refocusing on the job at hand, he follows Amrita into the flat - if you can even call something this palatial a flat - and takes it all in as innocently as possible.*
It's - lovely, Amrita, really, this is beautiful.
*And such a very far cry from the flat on Borough High Street, with its cracked walls and old wooden floors and draughts. It's home, and it's pleasantly unpretentious, and he loves it, but he's never felt the class difference between them quite so acutely as now.*
As a result the Muggles milling around the cafe are looking ever-so-slightly sideways at her moneyed strangeness--but she's completely unconscious of them, as if they are flies or potted plants. It's only when she spots Remus that she smiles.*
Hello. It's closed, apparently. Something wrong with the, ah-
*She circles one red-tipped finger in the air, groping for the word.*
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Electricity.
*He should know; he's the one who just Vanished a pair of wire snips back to the flat.*
Well - that's bad timing.
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I'm not sure there's another place 'round here, unless we--
*But it's all proper restaurants, and none very good. The nearest halfway decent cafe is four blocks over--or is it five, she can't remember exactly--and it looks like it's threatening to rain. Her little frown deepens, but it's more fretful than angry.*
Oh, I wish they'd figure out a way around it, or something--honestly--
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*He makes a good show of it. Tapping on the window, he flags over a hassled-looking waiter and has a quick, through-the-door conversation regarding outages and the power company and 'closed for the rest of the day at least.' It's with a small shrug that he returns to Amrita, looking regretful and playing his cards carefully. He's got a very specific target here, but it won't do to put too fine a point on it.*
No luck, they don't even know what's wrong with it. I would suggest my flat, but it's a bit of a hike to Southwark, I'm sorry. Is there anything else around here?
*There isn't. He's already checked into that.*
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Don't be ridiculous. We'll go to the flat, it's only just 'round the corner. Do you mind?
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Oh - no, Amrita, I'd hate to impose -
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Psh. It's very close. You can meet the bar.
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- Meet the what?
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It's not far, just there, see?
*She points at the rather majestic building they're heading towards. It hails from when factories were built more like temples or castles--but it obviously hasn't been a factory in quite some time.*
And how've you been?
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*He holds it up a bit; with his cuffs rolled back to the elbow, the bandage is plainly visible.*
I had a bit of a go at it this time but it's not too bad. And other than that I've been well. Hazel's good, too. You?
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Oh, how awful. Don't you have a thing you can use, stop yourself biting?
It's just up here.
*They're in the building, now, and she leads him into a bronze-latticed lift much like the one they shared the day they met.*
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I do, it's just not fool-proof. I don't handle restraints very well, I'm afraid, I nearly broke my own neck once as a child. Usually the alternative works out, though, this is as bad as it ever gets these days.
*Sirius can't very well pin him to the floor the entire night - appealing as that prospect might be under other circumstances - and accidents happen. This month he'd just gotten distracted from play-fighting and (as usual) frustrated at the lack of exits. He'd been calmer back when they'd been able to roam free; the wolf doesn't respond well to captivity, and it's more of a constant struggle to keep it occupied in close quarters. Sirius's presence still helps him keep some of his sanity, but it can't undo the drive to get out, to run, to hunt.
He smiles, dryly, and fingers the fastening on the bandage gently.*
Believe me, I've had worse.
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*Amrita is very conspicuously avoiding the word muzzle; still, it's easier to talk about when she's looking ahead at the lift shaft crawling evenly downwards on the other side of the bronze lattice. She speaks softly, now, almost inaudible over the clanking of the old-fashioned lift.*
It's difficult, isn't it, for the wolf be held back from what it's meant to do?
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Agonizing. And they have no idea.
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*But fascination and solicitousness and love and generosity don't quite add up to a full understanding, either. It's good to have Remus back.*
Ah, here we are.
*There's no complicated wandwork, no tell, no glow or chime or showy magical flourishes in the way she undoes the wards to the flat: they are truly top-of-the-line, and that shows in the way it doesn't show. She simply presses her right palm flat to the door and fits the key into the lock with her left hand. It was clumsy, at first--damned Evan and his cack-handed apasavya way of doing things--but now it's second nature to her. The door opens willingly, and she leads him inside.*
And here's home.
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Shaking off the pensiveness and refocusing on the job at hand, he follows Amrita into the flat - if you can even call something this palatial a flat - and takes it all in as innocently as possible.*
It's - lovely, Amrita, really, this is beautiful.
*And such a very far cry from the flat on Borough High Street, with its cracked walls and old wooden floors and draughts. It's home, and it's pleasantly unpretentious, and he loves it, but he's never felt the class difference between them quite so acutely as now.*
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