Who: Remus Lupin (
lumenrelegandus ) and Heine (
stray_gunner )
When: March 12th, afternoon-ish.
Where: An undetermined street in Anatole and Lupin's accommodations.
Format: Paragraph-y.
What: Tea and biscuits with the professor.
Warnings: Heine possibly drinking tea (I know, terrifying). Also bad language, probably.
(
I've removed the cord from my phone; It no longer rings in or rings out. )
The groceries were a little more varied than usual. They were mostly just for him, since Io tended to fend for herself. The novelty of Anatole of him being able to enjoy a steady income had upgraded recently to utter vertiginous amazement at now having disposable income. As sparse and plain as the ingredients were, compared to his usual, they were downright gourmet.
The books, having always been a higher priority than interesting (or entirely nourishing) food, were a characteristically motley batch.
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He sighed quietly and stopped walking, grudgingly waiting for Lupin to come at least a little closer. He couldn't really pretend that he hadn't heard - the older man wasn't very far away at all.
"What do you want?" Heine muttered, at least sounding more tired than irritated. I don't want to talk to you, he wanted to add, but waited for Lupin's reply first. He did owe him something for all that Lupin had done (and hadn't done), after all, even if he didn't want to admit it.
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"To work out a new form of greeting," he said with a dry smile.
(Somewhere intangible, Sirius pricked up his ears at this faint echo of school banter.)
He glanced over his shoulder, back the way he'd come. "You're heading to the market?"
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He didn't have to wait for long. Of course he was going to the market - oh, no, he was just out for a pleasant walk because he was obviously that kind of person, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized he was being unfair. It wasn't (all) Lupin's fault, but -- well.
"Yeah," Heine mumbled. "Why're you asking?"
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So, disregarding the smolder, as if it were perfectly average for them to run into each other on the street, Lupin tilted his head in the direction of his flat. "This is where I live. I was about to make dinner. Would you like to join me?"
(Seems quite unconcerned with having Heine know where to find him. If necessary, make the wards earn their upkeep.)
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It's a bit disorienting.
He was about to put a quick end to the offer, but he hesitated awkwardly. Heine didn't bother being polite, most of the time, but he probably owed the man something for the trouble that he'd put him through.
That didn't mean he would completely reform, though. So when he finally replied, it was with reservations: "Only for a minute." He had no real intention of actually staying, but maybe if he spent more than five minutes with him without trying to either run away or cause damage, Lupin would leave him alone.
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He let Heine in first and locked the door after them. A thought gave him pause in the foyer and he said to Heine, "Would you please wait here a moment?"
Lupin went alone up a narrow flight of stairs. At the top was a second door, which Lupin unlocked, and went through in a rush. He closed the door behind him almost quickly enough for Heine not to hear a dog's welcome home bark.
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Heine nodded abruptly, awkwardly, when Lupin asked. Standing quietly at the foot of the stairs, he only glanced up sharply when he heard the bark.
It wasn't that unsettling, really - he could deal with animals, even if they couldn't deal with him. Heine barely considered the idea that Lupin hadn't wanted him to see or hear the dog.
Still standing stiffly in the foyer, he made a cursory attempt at civil conversation: "Noisy dog."
(Yes, very civil.)
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He waited as Heine climbed toward him, and quirked a smile at the observation. "For him that was sedate. He doesn't know the concept of temporary absence. When you leave the flat, he thinks it's for good. Thus his… undiminishing zeal, to celebrate every return."
Standing back to allow Heine through, Lupin closed the second door behind them, and they were standing in an apartment that was strangely, comfortably mismatched. Lavishly glamorous decor of rich-textured upholstery, vivid-coloured carpeting and gothic-shaped table legs, in ridiculous but unjarring cohabitation with austerely functional library lamps, quirkish otherwordly framed pictures/maps, and an ongoing invasion of books. Material as mirror: representing the dynamic of the flat's two inhabitants. Whomever Lupin's flatmate was, they didn't seem to be home.
And, somewhere, presumably, a dog? As relieved as Lupin had seemed that Heine wasn't triggered bothered, the ( ... )
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"Okay," he agreed curtly, standing uneasily in the room. It wasn't just the strange conflict of elements of the room that unsettled him - it was the odd feeling that someone else lived here that resulted from the clash.
Being Heine, though, he didn't bother asking or voicing his discomfort. Instead, he edged towards one of the chairs and leaned against the arm and made a noncommittal sort of grunt as Lupin exited into the kitchen.
He waited quietly if not patiently, shifting his weight every few seconds and giving the phonograph (not that he recognized it) a few inquisitive looks.
...well, Lupin had said to make himself comfortable. And when he was curious, he wasn't comfortable. (Yes, his logic made excellent sense.) Heine touched the trumpet-like part of the machine carefully and ( ... )
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That said, the man started slightly when Lupin returned from the kitchen, jerking his hand back quickly.
"I don't care," he muttered. Still, he glanced back at it even as he turned to face the other man.
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Without commenting on the actual song, Heine crossed his arms as Lupin set the needle to the record, expression still somewhere between blank and irritated. Finally, he asked, "Why records?" Not an odd question, exactly, but somewhat out of the ordinary for Heine.
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As the song came to an end, he lifted the needle and the music stopped.
"Mostly, enjoying records is something my flatmate and I found we have in common. It's something we can share. So we collect them together."
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Still, about half of what Lupin was saying went directly over Heine's head, and he wasn't thoughtful or well-mannered enough to pretend that he had understood it.
"Right," he said after a moment. Hesitating for a moment, he went on and asked, "Flatmate?"
He had noticed the clash of culture-lifestyle-everything, but now was an opportunity to ask. Furthermore, the style was oddly familiar in a way he couldn't place.
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