[Today, when Jack comes home from work or wherever he is when he's not hanging out with Sirius (and what is even worth doing; what could be better than hanging out with Sirius)...
When Jack comes home, Sirius is not in his usual position by the front door. Instead, there is a massive, red, gold-edged chest standing beside the front door. Standing.]
[He's shopping for food, actually, is what he's doing. And so when he comes home, carrying three bags, kicking the door open, his eyes aren't toward the ground.]
[The trunk doesn't move. It stays perfectly still. It might give off the feeling of raising its hackles--but that's only a feeling, of course, it doesn't have any hackles to raise.
But if it did, they would be raised. And it's growling louder now, more insistently, as if in warning.]
[There's no panic in his voice, but there's definitely wariness. If Sirius ever used that tone on him, Jack would come running-- and, frankly, vice-versa.]
Sirius, you here? Sirius--
[Jack doesn't move forward, but nor does he put his knife down.]
[The trunk continues to growl at that same pitch and frequency. And Sirius doesn't answer, not at first--there's just the growling--
And then there's a thud from directly overhead.]
Bugger, ow, bugger--
[And Sirius comes stumbling down the stairs, looking a little wild-eyed and definitely concerned. There is dust in his hair and his nose is smudged with dirt.]
[He grins up at Jack, clearly quite pleased with himself.]
Or, well, that's what I've been calling him, temporarily--I had to call him something for the way home, to get his attention. I thought you ought to be the one to officially name him. He's ours!
He's ours! I bought him! They had an advert on the newsfeed today and I thought, well, what does our house need more than anything else, and clearly this was the proper answer, so--
You don't like him? [He looks around at Growly Old Edgar who has not stopped growling just yet.] There, there, love, he doesn't mean it. He just hasn't gotten to know you yet.
When Jack comes home, Sirius is not in his usual position by the front door. Instead, there is a massive, red, gold-edged chest standing beside the front door. Standing.]
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I'm home! Gimmie a hand, will ya?
[And he walks right by it.]
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It growls.]
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Slowly, he turns.
He sets the groceries down quite slowly.
And then he pulls out his knife.]
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But if it did, they would be raised. And it's growling louder now, more insistently, as if in warning.]
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[There's no panic in his voice, but there's definitely wariness. If Sirius ever used that tone on him, Jack would come running-- and, frankly, vice-versa.]
Sirius, you here? Sirius--
[Jack doesn't move forward, but nor does he put his knife down.]
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And then there's a thud from directly overhead.]
Bugger, ow, bugger--
[And Sirius comes stumbling down the stairs, looking a little wild-eyed and definitely concerned. There is dust in his hair and his nose is smudged with dirt.]
Jack, what the hell--
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[--he hisses, not tearing his eyes away from the figure.]
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[Sirius looks vaguely troubled, but it's then that he realises what Jack is referring to--and his face breaks into a grin instead.]
Oh, that-- [He finishes his way down the stairs and goes over to the trunk, crouching beside it, entirely untroubled.] That's Growly Old Edgar!
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It-- what!
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[He grins up at Jack, clearly quite pleased with himself.]
Or, well, that's what I've been calling him, temporarily--I had to call him something for the way home, to get his attention. I thought you ought to be the one to officially name him. He's ours!
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[He stares long and hard at the trunk, looking quite suspicious of it.]
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You don't like him? [He looks around at Growly Old Edgar who has not stopped growling just yet.] There, there, love, he doesn't mean it. He just hasn't gotten to know you yet.
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[He gives Jack an offended look.]
He doesn't talk.
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It walks! Who cares!
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