Day 52, Evening - Sirius Black

[suddenlysirius]

Funny story. Stop me if you've heard it before. One minute, I'm in my flat with a very inappropriate and adult series of events in play which are hereby censored from this journal broadcast. The next minute, I'm standing in this room with one Mr. Gregory West. Picture it, if you will: I'm trying to secure my trousers and he's telling me I'm fictional.

Now, let's ignore the fact that old loon Disapparated me right out of a very fun-filled evening for a moment and focus on the really important thing here:

Me. Fictional.

Legendary, maybe. Mythical in proportion. Not a bad lover, either, if I do say so, myself. But bloody hell. Fictional. I'm almost insulted, but I understand. No, I do. Epics are written about me. Ballads are sung. Books are written. I wouldn't believe I was the real deal, either, if I didn't know me personally.

So he gives me an envelope and tells me to go forth. Entertain me, he says. Something to that effect, anyway.

Then I'm standing in the middle of a nice big slice of Americana (Merlin help me), holding my envelope, a key, and this journal.

What can you do?

Carpe canem.

Ah haha, I slay me.

Now, where's my wand?

...

...We appear to have ourselves a problem.