WHO: Sirius and Eames WHAT: Drunken Film Dissection. WHEN: A little while after this WHERE: Eames' sitting room. Status: Closed/Incomplete RATING: Medium/Highish for swearing.
The film finished, and there was a long pause. Sirius had been watching with his feet resting on the back of the sofa and his head dangling upside-down off the seat. There was an expression a bit like a bemused baby twisting his features, his mouth a little open, his brow pulled down. Or up. It was giving him a headache, actually. Sirius lifted his head up to direct his expression at Eames. His eyes were a little bright and unfocused, and the world was a bit saturated and fuzzy, but he couldn't tell if that was because of all the blood draining to his head or the half bottle of vodka he'd drunk this evening.
"What in the name of Merlin's saggy left ball was going on there??" He asked, before wincing at the volume of his voice. Sirius pulled himself up to a sitting position, swaying a little as the world pinwheeled around him, his centre of gravity apparently taking root somewhere in his right ear. Sirius frowned, smacking his lips together as he looked around for the bottle. He finally found it lying half under the sofa, and the animagus fished it out to peer curiously at the last inch or so of spirit.
"Huh." He unscrewed the lid and took a swig, grimacing around the sharp taste and the burn at the back of his throat before passing it over to his friend. "I liked the bit where you fell off the bridge though. That was good. And all the... explosions and stuff. And the fire. Where the hell did you find that shirt, anyway? The circus?"