I'd sooner put some joy back--
Who: atrumcanis & mentis_reae
When: uh I guess this is backdated to October 1, the afternoon.
Where: outside the government office!
Summary: The mystery of flight solved! Is it fairy dust or is it happy little thoughts, like toys at Christmas? Sleigh bells? Sno-- oh shiiiiiit it's a flying motorbike!
Warnings: reckless driving!
It wasn't that Sirius was a bad driver. Contrary to popular belief and opinion (both of which were usually shouted frantically at him by passengers of the bike), he wasn't a bad driver at all. That would be contrary to his best interests. Having to repair the motorbike was irritating, not worth his time--and chilling, too. If there was one thing, one object or possession that he loved, it was the motorbike. Well--this particular motorbike, and the one at home, as well. If he wasn't a good driver, then he would wreck in some way, and render the motorbike undrivable--and then where would he be? No where that he wanted to be, that was for certain.
Being not a bad driver didn't make him a good driver, of course. Nor did it prevent him from doing entirely stupid things as often as possible, just to do them--just to scare passengers--just to see if he could get out of them at the last minute. Even on the ground, he was unconscious of any potential dangers: zipping through traffic, zooming through entirely-too-small spaces, threading metaphorical needles, daring more than just a bit of pavement burn. And all just to get ahead--but more, just to see if he could.
Still, despite this--wrecking his dear motorbike was not on. After all, why ruin something that he cared about? It seemed escapable above the city, as if he could simply turn sharply east and go straight back to England and Hogwarts and everything good and familiar and right. As if he were here by choice and not by circumstance. The wind in his hair did nothing to discourage this--the smell of the breeze and the feel of the early-autumn sunshine on his face--but that was easily achievable even on the ground. It was the flying that he loved best of all--and, coincidentally (or not coincidentally at all), it was the flying that he was going to show off.
There were secrets, and there were Secrets. The latter were far too important to reveal, but the former--well, it was all right to spread those around a little, among people who were either trustworthy--or people who would be wholly and hilariously surprised, shocked, impressed, or whathaveyou.
The motorbike was the former, of course--and Edgeworth, a bit of both target audiences. Not that he would admit that aloud. Not that he would even think it without immediately following behind the thought with not that I'm saying anything, as if having to swagger even for the benefit of his own consciousness. Anyways, it didn't matter. He was showing Edgeworth the motorbike, and it would be brilliant, and there didn't need to be some girlish stupid reason for it.
The motor wasn't precisely the most quiet of purrs--it was more a roar when the bike really got going--and it was no better in air than on ground. The sound was still the same, and Sirius grinned hard, leaning over the side to scan the ground. There was the government building, straight below, the street an indistinct gray line in front of it. It was early afternoon, so it wouldn't be very crowded--not that it would matter, of course; not that he cared. Sirius was entirely too excited at the moment to think too far into the future. He leaned over the handlebars of the bike and let it drop, the swift pitch nearly taking out his stomach at first. Thrilled, he nearly shouted out--but kept it to himself, even as the pavement rushed closer and closer.
The landing was always a bit jarring; he focused entirely on that, not even looking around to see if Edgeworth was about. He could be, of course--but Sirius was a minute off on his projected arrival time, and it would be so like Edgeworth to simply turn around again and go back indoors, completely missing out on Sirius' grand entrance.
When: uh I guess this is backdated to October 1, the afternoon.
Where: outside the government office!
Summary: The mystery of flight solved! Is it fairy dust or is it happy little thoughts, like toys at Christmas? Sleigh bells? Sno-- oh shiiiiiit it's a flying motorbike!
Warnings: reckless driving!
It wasn't that Sirius was a bad driver. Contrary to popular belief and opinion (both of which were usually shouted frantically at him by passengers of the bike), he wasn't a bad driver at all. That would be contrary to his best interests. Having to repair the motorbike was irritating, not worth his time--and chilling, too. If there was one thing, one object or possession that he loved, it was the motorbike. Well--this particular motorbike, and the one at home, as well. If he wasn't a good driver, then he would wreck in some way, and render the motorbike undrivable--and then where would he be? No where that he wanted to be, that was for certain.
Being not a bad driver didn't make him a good driver, of course. Nor did it prevent him from doing entirely stupid things as often as possible, just to do them--just to scare passengers--just to see if he could get out of them at the last minute. Even on the ground, he was unconscious of any potential dangers: zipping through traffic, zooming through entirely-too-small spaces, threading metaphorical needles, daring more than just a bit of pavement burn. And all just to get ahead--but more, just to see if he could.
Still, despite this--wrecking his dear motorbike was not on. After all, why ruin something that he cared about? It seemed escapable above the city, as if he could simply turn sharply east and go straight back to England and Hogwarts and everything good and familiar and right. As if he were here by choice and not by circumstance. The wind in his hair did nothing to discourage this--the smell of the breeze and the feel of the early-autumn sunshine on his face--but that was easily achievable even on the ground. It was the flying that he loved best of all--and, coincidentally (or not coincidentally at all), it was the flying that he was going to show off.
There were secrets, and there were Secrets. The latter were far too important to reveal, but the former--well, it was all right to spread those around a little, among people who were either trustworthy--or people who would be wholly and hilariously surprised, shocked, impressed, or whathaveyou.
The motorbike was the former, of course--and Edgeworth, a bit of both target audiences. Not that he would admit that aloud. Not that he would even think it without immediately following behind the thought with not that I'm saying anything, as if having to swagger even for the benefit of his own consciousness. Anyways, it didn't matter. He was showing Edgeworth the motorbike, and it would be brilliant, and there didn't need to be some girlish stupid reason for it.
The motor wasn't precisely the most quiet of purrs--it was more a roar when the bike really got going--and it was no better in air than on ground. The sound was still the same, and Sirius grinned hard, leaning over the side to scan the ground. There was the government building, straight below, the street an indistinct gray line in front of it. It was early afternoon, so it wouldn't be very crowded--not that it would matter, of course; not that he cared. Sirius was entirely too excited at the moment to think too far into the future. He leaned over the handlebars of the bike and let it drop, the swift pitch nearly taking out his stomach at first. Thrilled, he nearly shouted out--but kept it to himself, even as the pavement rushed closer and closer.
The landing was always a bit jarring; he focused entirely on that, not even looking around to see if Edgeworth was about. He could be, of course--but Sirius was a minute off on his projected arrival time, and it would be so like Edgeworth to simply turn around again and go back indoors, completely missing out on Sirius' grand entrance.