If anyone's getting anything off of Sirius today, right now, in this instance, it would be one word: pie. Pie pie pie pie pie. Pie, right now, is a craving, and a feeling, and a keen interest, far outstripping nearly every other thought in his head.
It's been weird, getting other people's thoughts and memories, but not necessarily bad--or it wasn't, until recently. No, before, it was amusing, like going to the muggle cinema and watching a series of very short films. Some of them were a laugh and some of them weren't, and it was as the latter option became more and more prevalent that he began to feel--well, creepy. There's just stuff you shouldn't know or see.
So PIE will be a welcome distraction, even if Sirius sort of knows why he's been asked round for it. And admittedly he has some questions as well--questions beyond can you do a chocolate pie and how many space apples are in this, though he's going to ask those as well. Even outside of pie, Sirius has found himself bizarrely fond of Ned the pie-maker. He's easy-going and likable and he lets Sirius go on and on and on; those are two key components for friendship, with Sirius. The pie is a bonus.
Sirius slides into the kitchen, eyeing all of the bowls and pie tins with interest. Pies are in progress, he can tell that much. "Hullo, pie-man," and he points, immediately, to a bowl, "can I eat some of that? It looks good. Where's your dog, is he around?"
Might as well start things off cheerfully enough, yeah? It's bound to get weird in a few minutes.
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It's been weird, getting other people's thoughts and memories, but not necessarily bad--or it wasn't, until recently. No, before, it was amusing, like going to the muggle cinema and watching a series of very short films. Some of them were a laugh and some of them weren't, and it was as the latter option became more and more prevalent that he began to feel--well, creepy. There's just stuff you shouldn't know or see.
So PIE will be a welcome distraction, even if Sirius sort of knows why he's been asked round for it. And admittedly he has some questions as well--questions beyond can you do a chocolate pie and how many space apples are in this, though he's going to ask those as well. Even outside of pie, Sirius has found himself bizarrely fond of Ned the pie-maker. He's easy-going and likable and he lets Sirius go on and on and on; those are two key components for friendship, with Sirius. The pie is a bonus.
Sirius slides into the kitchen, eyeing all of the bowls and pie tins with interest. Pies are in progress, he can tell that much. "Hullo, pie-man," and he points, immediately, to a bowl, "can I eat some of that? It looks good. Where's your dog, is he around?"
Might as well start things off cheerfully enough, yeah? It's bound to get weird in a few minutes.