Sirius slumped his head onto the table, chin first, and reached for his now refilled glass of scotch. He hated losing and decided to pout obnoxiously until he got the cup to his lips. The scotch was warm and bubbly and he sipped and sipped, feeling a slight bit tipsy.
"One week? That means I have to clean, doesn't it. Good thing I'm not supervising the Quidditch game this weekend..." he sighed and sat back up, acting ridiculously similar to a five year old. "And sure, I guess that room should be fine..."
The scotch was getting to his head a little bit. That slight haze of aware or not, possibly able to make decisions based on emotion and not reason. But Sirius was better at holding his liquor than Remus (sometimes.) "And excuse me, but that room isn't that bad... and I'm going to do fine with your breakables, thank you very much..." he took another sip, ate another chip.
"What else should we bet on?" He wiggled his eyebrows.