S. aint Brutus Godric Zulfiqua Orion Black (puppyanarchy) wrote in _bollocks_, @ 2008-06-11 18:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | main staircase, regulus black, sirius black |
September 5th, 1975: Broken Quills
Who: Sirius Black and Regulus Black.
When: 12:05pm (During Lunch, after this).
Where: Main staircase.
What: Brotherly chat.
Rating: PG-13.
Incomplete/Complete: Complete
“Well?” Sirius huffed loudly as he descended the marble stair case with exaggerated annoyance. “Throw your stupid sticks at me, or whatever, so I can go.” It wasn’t as if the trip to the main staircase had been troubling, or a difficulty from where Sirius had been sitting when he wrote in his journal; McGonagall’s office alone was a hop, skip and jump away. It was just a pain to be doing anything that involved his family shortly following what he had just dealt with ten minutes prior. The boy’s lavatory, and the solitude of a single stall, had been perfectly fine for the time being. But it was Lunch time, which meant he should probably get out and eat. Never mind if Regulus wanted to see him. Sirius shifted on his feet just a few inches short of where Regulus decided to sit, and looked down at the back of his brother’s head with a frown. It couldn’t be helped that his Mother’s words stung at him just from the sight of Regulus. Sirius’s mother always ranted off about the same things: Sirius was a disgrace, Sirius was not taught to be disrespectful, Sirius was nothing like his brother; but that didn’t make her words any less painful, or easily forgotten. Seeing his brother now just made them come to life all over again in the back of his frustrated mind. It wasn't at all that Sirius's voice was needed to know Sirius was in one's presence. You likely heard him coming in one way or another; today seemed to come with the sounds of something like a wounded animal dragging his feet, right up until the footfalls stopped just behind. A finger slipped in between the open pages of Regulus's journal as he turned around, just in time to gleam the full effect of Sirius's words, annoyance unbound and unhindered plain in just about every syllable. The wince was mostly internal, though a brow shifted faintly under the verbal assault. And in return Regulus sighed. It seemed a reasonable reply given a dozen other responses that came to mind which would likely wouldn't improve Sirius's mood. There wasn't any talking with him if one decided to take up the conversation with a defensive tone; lessons learned over the years: Blacks hold a temper better than they knew how to forgive. The choice was rather plain, then, and he procured a duo of quills from the guarded area between himself and the railing of the staircase, holding it up in very much the manner of an olive branch. "I'm not tossing them. They're expensive," he casually returned, glancing upward with a vaguely expectant expression. "Idea here being not to break them, as well." Mostly content with glaring from every inch of his profile, and body, Sirius didn’t move at first. He felt as stiff as stone, and even when Regulus reached up with his two quills for Sirius to take, the desire to move and close the gap between them was a fight in itself. Why should he take anything from Regulus? Why should Regulus even care about Sirius’s quill? The broken bits left in an empty sink, bleeding black all over porcelain was none of Regulus’s concern. Yet it really wasn’t that simple, and Sirius knew it. He knew there were reasons beyond miscellaneous objects and stained journals, and he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to deal with those unspoken things. His arms crossed, folding his journal that was clenched in one hand, against his chest. “They are just quills,” He said with a grit of teeth and a squint of his eyes, “and I don’t care if I break them.” This was obvious, but so was the fact that Sirius wasn’t just talking about the item in question. “Do you?” One foot jutted out as Sirius pressed his weight onto it, forcing an untied shoelace to snake out from under his pant leg. The hand didn't even waver, steadily holding out the set with a patience that Regulus only managed to find when around his brother. Elsewise, what was the use in it? Everyone else generally held enough of the stuff that he usually could sneak by on the excuse of his age. But to lose it now that it he'd managed to get Sirius at least mostly willing in his standing an arm's length away wouldn't do. There was a cusp he could sense, and things were teetering upon it dangerously. Back home there wasn't a fair chance to get Sirius alone for anything like normal conversation. Surely he'd want to just talk -- given the chance now. None of Mother's watching, and the other students couldn't see anything more than a thoughtful gesture of fourth year Regulus Black to reckless fifth year Sirius Black, who had the devil of a time with quills, apparently, and breaking them. Regulus waved the quills again, not having broken off his upward vigil. The pains in his neck were starting to make themselves known; he narrowed his eyes reactively. "They are quills, yes," he nearly drawled, but fetched a decently more chummy tone just in the nick of time. For Salazar's sake, they were just quills. "And they work better, you may find, when not broken. I'm sure the professors will appreciate that one." A silent moment passed. "My arm is starting to hurt, Sirius." As quick as a snap Sirius’s arms unfolded; he pulled the two waving quills out of Regulus’s hand and into his own without so much as another thought. Had an onlooker blinked, the whole movement would have been lost. “I got mine to work just fine broken,” he replied as he decidedly stuffed both quills into a side pocket. When his hand slipped out of the pocket it went immediately to his thigh, where it was rubbed idly. Anyone who looked could see that it was stained messily with black in all sorts of places. Obviously the quill had bled on his hand when it was used in a broken state. “I could give a shite, Regulus.” Sirius added as an after-thought. The stained hand then reached up so he could scratch his nose with his unsoiled wrist, which exposed the underside and unsightly vision of what appeared to be a nasty cut on Sirius’s palm, dyed black from his fight with his quill. But the sight didn’t last long as Sirius folded his arms again. “Don’t expect them back. Or in one piece. - In fact don’t expect anything, alright?” The shifts in Regulus's visage were all minor: a brow raise, a small squint at Sirius's palm, eyes moving away in a thoughtful moment, and finally a feigned front of bemusement. "No, no. Of course not. And it's 'I couldn't give a shite', actually," he told his brother. The raised arm, all pins and needles now at the shoulder joint, gently eased down to rest over the cover of his journal, which was now a proper, unoffending slate grey. There was more than a suggestion of a smirk across the young face. "See, if you could give it, then you're telling me that you still hold some ability to care... to which I'm rightfully chuffed by the news." Regulus eased back, using one arm to support the weight of his upper body. The new angle hardly improved the strain of looking up; pangs of dull pain persisted on. "Now, are you going to hover up there or take a seat?" he asked, craning to find some compromise in position and failing miserably. "Look, take the quills and stomp them if you want -- they're yours now -- but at least decide if you're staying or going." It was chance, certainly. A bit of teasing could likely make that 'going' sway to favour over 'staying', but with Sirius one just never knew what was going on inside that head... There were many times Regulus felt that even Sirius himself couldn't sort it out. It wouldn't surprise if that was the case. Sirius’s ill-tempered expression scrunched up into the corners of his eyes and over his jaw when Regulus took the time to correct what was said. It wasn’t the fact that Sirius hated to be corrected. Sirius really didn’t care how awful he bollocksed up words he said or wrote. It was the fact that people thought it was needed that irked him. It was the fact that he had some sign over his head that said: ‘I’m an idiot, please help me.’ He didn’t want, or need help. Especially from his younger brother; the better son of the two of them. “Actually, I could give a shite, but then you go and open your mouth and I remember that I actually don’t want to.” He snapped back; frustration slipping between the syllables. At that moment two younger year girls, both in Hufflepuff house from their color coordination, breezed past Sirius and Regulus on their way to the Great Hall in a joyful skip that nearly collided with Sirius as he had decided to move away from his brother at that same moment. He had to throw up his hands, and creatively dodge their steps with his own before all three, possible four went tumbling down the last stretch into the entrance way. The girls gasped, Sirius grunted and swerved, and almost stepped on one of Regulus’s limbs, before the girls got away and Sirius ended up a few steps above Regulus’s position. Sirius cursed under his breath as he watched the girls go running off. For the moment whatever he was angry about was transferred to careless girls and their knack for getting in the way. It was unknown to him at that moment that his journal had fallen out of his grasp and ended up a few steps down past the two boys. “Sodding hell!” So perhaps a bit of jesting wasn't a good idea in retrospect. A poor gamble, though if anyone might be proud of a bit of that blamed bravery the Gryffindors were always on about, maybe Sirius would come around to seeing it later. At least one of them was trying. And it certainly wasn't the one whose palm seemed to have been torn up by a likely stupid fit of anger turned physical, the stupid git. Regulus had opened his mouth, on the verge of volleying a helping of his own growing annoyance back; though, before he could -- collision. With Sirius nearly about to flatten him in what was looking to be a vastly painful way, it was all purely reflex: his hands flew up to guard himself feebly and head ducked down as he cowered into the railing. Sirius wavered above, and the blur of limbs moving was just visible through the cracks of Regulus's fingers. Fearing the worst, Regulus pulled tighter... Until nothing happened and it seemed like the danger had passed. He drew himself up from crouching, cautiously starting his survey for damage in front of him. No bodies tangled up and groaning -- good. His own person unharmed -- a good sign, for certain. But there, resting below his feet, something poked out from under the step. Clearly as Sirius wasn't in front, he'd surely be behind still, and from conclusion of 'Sodding hell!' it sounded like he was completely fine. Though had there not been any swearing, maybe some worry would suit. That fretting was unnecessary at present, however, and the telltale corner of a book two steps down was doing well in attracting Regulus's attention, especially as the slate grey one was still very present in his lap. His brows arched suspiciously, curiosity was now taking the reigns of his actions. Sliding forward, it was a simple swipe to retrieve the second journal, and opening to the first page presented the bold statement of 'Sirius Black'. And closed it shut the moment Regulus heard movements from in back once more; Sirius Black's journal vanished neatly beneath Regulus Black's with surprising speed as one Regulus Black jumped up and pivoted from the spot. On the lower landing, he turned to face his brother, arms folding behind his back and concealing both books from sight. Now, where was he again before...? Oh, oh, right. For the proper effect, Regulus narrowed his eyes. "What's gotten into you? You'd think after this morning, someone like yourself might be in a better mood. Not assaulting fellow students with your grandiose tantrums." Sirius knew girls were nothing but trouble, especially the little ones that sang songs and played silly games all over the place, infecting the school like a deathly plague. What was worse is they got older and started to turn his head, and other blokes just like him were left wondering why they couldn’t think of anything else but girls. He watched the two small ones run off, laughing as if they knew all along they would spoil a blokes plan, and he gritted his teeth. One day, one day he was going to completely swear off liking girls, once he figured out how to stop thinking about the older, fit ones. Then another girl caught his attention and his narrowed eyes jolted onto Regulus, completely focused from his younger brother’s words. His idle hands had nothing better to do but ball into fists, making one sting in the process and force pain up his arm in retribution. But that didn’t make him tense up as much as Regulus’s comment did. “You’re supposed to be the smart one. Why don’t you act like it and stop asking stupid questions.” Sirius responded with a growl, as he stepped down a few steps to get closer. It was always fun to look down on his brother, but something was forcing him to face the little shite in close proximity. Perhaps it was the faltering aggression he felt itch his arms, and the need to punch or grab or do something physical was stabbing through the joints. The idea to punch Regulus always whispered in his mind when Sirius was agitated by his brother, but it wasn’t the first thought. Not yet. When he was but a step above the one Regulus stood on, and Sirius was glaring holes into Regulus, the maddening itch that wanted to act instead of speak slipped into his pained palm and he remembered the real reason he was mad. “Our Mother told me to tell you to stay away from me.” The frustration ebbed away as he spoke, but just barely. It was obvious Sirius was hurting; he knew the song and dance of his Mother but the reminder of how much he didn’t belong with anyone couldn’t be ignored entirely. Sirius Black, as much as any person could argue the fact, had a heart. There were pieces of it clinging to family; his brother, his father, Uncles and Aunts and cousins. A piece of that was ripped out, just as his palm had been ripped open when he pressed his quill so hard in his grip that it had snapped. There was a defensive mechanism that whirred to action, prompting Regulus's feet to take a step back as Sirius closed in, but stubbornness won out. He didn't even sway on the spot. Steadfast and defiant: just as he'd seen Sirius hold himself upright under Walburga's never-ending condescension unto him. Regulus hardened his jaw, fingers gripping the two journals behind his back tighter and tighter for the sake of trying to maintain his composure. He hadn't done a thing to Sirius. No matter, right? Righteous Sirius, can't even be civil to his own brother who spared his own time to help -- cracking the gavel down like he knew everything. Ungrateful. Always ungrateful. Fine, then -- he ought to take those quills and break them up and hopefully the pieces would fly into his eye. Or at least something equally unpleasant, Regulus thought, though the entire sentiment dissipated the moment Sirius stopped directly above and with fists curled. Maybe there hadn't been any spectacular fisticuffs between them in times before to suggest something was coming now, but it was that precise thing that worried all the more. The older they both grew, the closer things came to having it out, and one day It would happen. It was fear of that moment coming sooner than later that saw Regulus flinch back, but fortunately a calmer tone seemed to be blanketing the earlier biting one of Sirius's words. Regulus eased his frame up, breathing freely now (though he hadn't realised that part of the suffocating feeling was to do with a held breath mere moments ago). Relief washed in like a cool tide over a sweltering beach. That was it then: Mother. "Oh," was the younger Black's reply. It seemed lacking, and that's because it was. The grip on the journals loosened drastically, and for a moment he almost thought he might offer Sirius his back, but not yet. This wasn't at all over. "Well, that's a bit botched, isn't it?" he asked, voice notably more amiable with Sirius's revelation. “You think?” Sirius’s face actually moved out of its stern mold as an eyebrow arched to match his inquiry. Not that it was a question that needed answering, but even rhetorical questions have their moments. A pause followed, allowing Sirius to get his head together. It wasn’t as if he could exactly talk about things that really hurt him with James, Remus, or even Peter; they were his pack of friends, but they couldn’t understand. He did try to express something of what it felt like to be the bane of his mother’s very existence to Remus once, but words could go only so far. Especially with Sirius who was more action than words could ever relay. With Regulus, words didn’t pose the problem. With Regulus, it was equally understood and nothing else was needed. It was comforting, yet distracting when the wedge of family restrictions demanded attention. Sirius’s chest rose up greatly and his arms relaxed as he breathed out the silent fight of what he wanted to do, and what he should do. Then he stepped down, to Regulus’s level, and shrugged off whatever weight had pressed down on him earlier. Easy as pie, it was gone and all that was left was a bemused, sardonic remnant. Regulus had that small thing going for him, that one thing that could push Sirius back when he wanted to rage. He was the brother, someone that had meant the world to Sirius at one time in his life. “I suppose she thinks I’m going to taint you, or some nonsense,” Sirius offered as a way to break the silence surrounding just them. There were students coming and going now, but Sirius wasn’t paying any mind to anything “Whatever, right? We both know you can’t be bothered.” His voice was casual now, as if he was talking with an unfamiliar acquaintance. It was the only way he knew how to hide his feelings; anger was easily exposed, but anything else hid in uncomfortable and awkward shadows. "Hah," Regulus countered, though it bore no sort of mocking timbre. He allowed his focus to drift away momentarily with a quartet of approaching students, taking the time to compose something more meaningful to offer. The past few years had taken a high toll on the ease of conversation that once existed between him and Sirius, and its effects were often made known in places where there wasn't another member of the party to encourage a more neutral topic. It was useless sometimes. There was more to be said in anger than in their trying to get along. It didn't used to be like that. Didn't used to be anything like that. As the group of students rounded a corner and fell from sight, the only option seemed to be looking back toward Sirius, even if nothing sprang to mind to offer as any solace. "Whatever, yeah," he echoed. The upper right corner of his mouth tugged upward in a half-hearted sort of way. "Least you won't have to see her until the winter hols? That has to be something for you to be glad for. Anyway --" Hands holding the journals shifted. His resolve was weakening, or else that flat tone Sirius had taken to employing was rooting in his conscious thought and nestling, creating a discomfort that no amount of trying would dislodge. There was a distinct air of things not being fine, even if Sirius hadn't chosen that f-word itself. Then again, what else was new? It had was starting to tally up to years since anything was 'fine' between them. "Anyway, good show this morning," Regulus added, both brows lifting. "I'm not looking for an admission that it was you, you know, but... Snowmen. Clever, that." “I’m not going to go back for the Hols if she keeps at it. I refuse to.” Sirius replied with a sudden jerk in his voice that alerted anyone near of his attention refocusing. This was equally seen as he gave Regulus a glance over. “I’ll get in so much trouble that it’ll make her not want to see me. Detentions for weeks if that’s what it’ll take. She always ruins Christmas, anyways.” Determination set up over the disappointment Sirius had once felt, as was the usual way of things; his survival mechanism to continue on without crumbling under the force of his Mother. But when Regulus mentioned that morning’s prank, Sirius’s thoughts stopped dead and he didn’t refuse the smile that crept. At least his own brother could see him as clever, even if it was only a slight apprehension. “McGonagall suspects… but there’s nothing pointing at anyone. It’s not like I wrote my name in yellow snow, or anything. –Should have, at the rate things are going.” Finally. Whatever emotional deathtrap their meeing had been earlier, it seemed the metaphorical sun was poking through the clouds. If the topic had come down to talking about piddling in snow, then so be it. There were worser things, after all. "Yellow snow?" Regulus asked, quirking a brow his brother. Regulus started to draw his hands forward as per an absent-minded habit of wanting to use them when talking to elaborate, but realised and recalled in an instant there was a reason for keeping them out of Sirius's view. Within the breadth of a second, he argued the advantages and failings that would come of choosing to withhold the journal, and finally went with gut instinct. Prised from beneath his own journal, he swung an arm out with the book in question. "Yours, by the way. You dropped it," he explained, and before any reply could wedge its way in, he plowed on: "You didn't actually consider that, did you?" Suspicion etched itself out in his face, but in truth, he honestly did trust Sirius would. It felt nice to be able to remember that the morning had started out with a fun and enjoyable event of ice sledding, and snowmen with intentions. It felt nice to talk to his brother without thinking about his Mother’s influential interrogation. Nice enough, but only just. “I would have… had the complaints of sanitation issues and threats of nausea not lectured me senseless.” Sirius replied with a snicker as he casually retrieved his journal from his brother. Huh, he hadn’t even realised it was missing. “And anyways, I didn’t have to go at the time.” He said with a shrug as he pulled his journal into a tuck under his forearm by a bending of his wrist. His stomach growled in that moment, which instigated his feet to descend. “I suppose I’ll see you around?” The question turned Sirius’s head to give Regulus a considerate stare, wondering if his brother would refuse to listen to their mother. Just this once. Regulus gave a derisive, almost-but-not-quite-as-it's-unbecoming snort. "So, really, you didn't because you ran out of ammunition." He clasped both hands around his journal, drumming along its front lightly with his fingers. A substantial smile broke out over his face; if there ever were times when that sort of devil-may-care attitude amused, it was when it wasn't creating gaps in the Black family. "Isn't it just like you. Unbelievable." Gross, as well, but that did not need to be spoken. "And you know it's impossible not to bump into you. School's not that big even if I wanted to dodge." A small, informal salute was his last order of business before Regulus set off toward the dungeons with a final statement: "Be seeing you, Sirius." |