This is the first (thing I remember)/Now it's the last (thing left on my mind)

[cowboy_newsie]

Who: Stubby Boardman and the Lone Ranger
When: Oct. 14th, noonish
Where: The sky.
Summary: Flying lessons

Comments

[atrumcanis]

For his part, Sirius didn't say anything all through the process. He could have, but he didn't. If it had been James, he certainly would've made a smart remark--no, several smart remarks, about each and every mistake--though of course it would only have been to cover up his own anxiety.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Jack, he assured himself yet again, watching his friend go through the movements of starting the bike. It was just... Mistakes were painful, that was all, and seeing them made on his bike was needling. That was literal--seeing mistakes made him want to flinch, as if there were little needles sticking him--but he held back from vocalizing any of that, much as he wanted to. Not this time around.

And he really had done a fairly good job, overall, Sirius admitted grudgingly to himself. He gave Jack a grin in return. "Wouldn't even have remembered that you were from 1899 if you hadn't mentioned it, mate," he said, pushing a hand through his hair. "We've modernised you, I think. Right," and he pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his hands. "Let's take it outdoors--the street's a bit empty, usually, so you can get the hang of steering. You kick it into first and it ought to go straight out the door."

He pushed open the garage door, stepping off to the side with a grin, trying to suppress the instinct to throw himself in front of the bike and stop the progress. It's Jack, you nonce, he'll do right by her. "Ready?"

[cowboy_newsie]

He stared at Sirius, obviously surprised; he had thought the other boy would have been coming along with him. What if he found he couldn't steer? Or couldn't stop? Or-- or god, accidentally made it fly, or did any number of the thousand and one problems that were currently flooding his mind. Beneath the shock, he found he felt a small sense of pride; god only knew Sirius was anxious about his bike, so for him to simply open the door and invite Jack to go was a sign of trust the New Yorker hadn't quite expected.

"You're not comin' along?" he finally said, raising an eyebrow and offering a crooked half-grin. There were times-- not many, but occasions-- when Jack rather wished he could come out and say what he meant; it was difficult, playing a game of teasing and jokes in order to avoid a semi-serious subject. "Come on, what's the point if I'm drivin' by meself?"

[atrumcanis]

Sirius leaned against the open door with a degree of relaxation that he didn't entirely feel. He was quite a good actor when he wanted to be, of course, and this was a moment where that was rather useful.

"Don't go and have a lack of self-confidence now, mate," he said, folding his arms over his chest, "I'm trying to be magnanimous, put all my faith and trust and hope in you, like." But it was a small bit of comfort, too--much like Jack asking for clarification had been. It meant that he was taking it quite seriously (but of course he was; Sirius would expect no less--Jack was, after all, quite the decent sort).

And he was a bit too nervous to allow that to happen straight from the off. He could do a bit of magic and stop the bike, should it come to that, but it would be better not to have to do it at all. So Sirius heaved a theatrical sigh, flipping the front of his fringe out of his face and coming over to the back of the bike. "Right, right, shove up, would you, I'll come along. Everyone needs a wingman, I expect."

It was a bit odd, climbing onto the back of his own bike, with someone else intending to drive it off into the wild blue yonder. But, well, if he could get used to magical bloody Canada, Sirius supposed, rolling his eyes a little, he could get used to this.