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.

"For me." He repeats the words with relish, readily accepting the fork and the pie both. "You know, I dunno that anyone's ever given me an entire pie to myself. Your generosity is boundless."

All of his declarations of love have been, of course, wildly exaggerated. But Sirius is fond of Ned. The pie helps. He leans down first to pat Digby on the head, quickly--he's sympathetic to dogs, of course he is; you always pay attention to dogs.

But then there's the pie, and Sirius takes up his fork and studies his, trying to pick the perfect angle to start in on it.

"Can I ask questions about the pie? What is it--I mean, what sort, I know what pie itself is." And he had a load of pie memories, actually, which--now that he's faced with Ned--is a little strange to consider. Maybe it would have been better not to come? He's not confronted anyone else that he's accidentally shared memories with, and it's more awkward than he'd have reckoned. Not that he's going to show that at all. He's too good at playing cool for that.

No, hang on. There are important memory-type things to discuss, right, magic tricks and stolen cars and pie--a whole lot of pie, and that was more than pleasant to remember, even second-hand. Sirius is good at a great many things, but baking is not included on that list. Probably something to do with his impatience. Pie baking memories had proved to be weirdly satisfying.

But first things first, right. Sirius has a bite of pie ready to go, but when Ned tells him the ingredients, he pauses, squinting at his fork. "Orange." It's not as if he can see orange in there, given the mushy nature of pie contents, but he stares at it all the same. "Why would there be orange, is this some pie secret? Always put orange in your pie?" Oops, secret, that's rather too close to what needs to be discussed-- "Don't tell me orange is actually a berry."

Yeeesh. Sirius shoots Ned a sidelong glance, as he takes a bite of his pie. It's good--seriously good, but of course it is, he's a piemaker by profession, and now that Sirius has a few pie memories of his own, he knows the process and the care that's taken with each.

"All right," he says, mildly, dismissing Ned's sharpness, "keep your hair on. I'm only asking." Not that he can blame Ned for said sharpness, this whole business of spreading around memories to other people--near strangers, most time--is unnerving, to say the very least. "You're going to have your eye popping out of your head from stress, if you keep this up, I can already tell." In part, admittedly, because he's got some of Ned's heaviness communicating into his head, but he's not going to admit that, that would only further the problem. "D'you want a drink, I can fetch you a drink. Beer and pie and awkward conversation, sounds like a date. Or we can sit here in total silence, if you like, but then you've got to listen to me chewing."

"Yeah?" Sirius brightened considerably at that. Space beer would absolutely help this situation, just as it would help most situations. He's a bit too young to be a true alcoholic, maybe, but that doesn't mean that he wouldn't be interested in a drink, or six. Or more.

In any case, Sirius got out his wand, pushing back from the table a little. "Accio space beer--"

And he knew just which space beer he has in mind, and so sure enough--only a few moments later--two space beers came flying out of nowhere, whizzing in from the corridor. Sirius was ready, of course, and caught them easily. "Here you are. Cheers, mate. To-- unfortunate sharing, and, as always, to pie."

Sirius made a bit of a face as he took his initial sip, and waggled his hand back and forth uncertainly, in the universal gesture of maybe-sort-of-kind-of. Once he'd cleared his throat, he could answer more properly.

"Do I always summon space beer: no. Do I always use the summon spell, well, mostly. Sometimes. It's weird here 'cos whatever you're summoning has to wait on doors opening and lifts and things, it can't just break through windows to find you."

He grinned a little--always an appreciation for the destructive. Another sip of space beer and he found himself echoing Ned's shudder--but that stood to reason, right? Even if Sirius has a well-developed taste for alcohol, Ned's inexperience with it means that he's got to share in that--at least until they resolve their brain issues.

"Speaking of magic, that's something I wanted to ask you about, but-- Merlin." He rubbed at his mouth. "First I've got to know, have you ever been properly drunk before?"

"Oh." Sirius looked down at his beer, and laughed. "Er, get ready, then, 'cos we're sharing more than memories. We have to share feelings as well, so you're going to be double drunk. Then again, that might actually make this easier."

Sharing feelings explained the sudden surge of nerves that Sirius has just got. That's got to be Ned--he's not half so nervous about anything, ever.

"And calm down, would you," he added, rubbing a hand over his forehead with a faint scowl. "I didn't see anything awful. Just-- weird. You have led a very weird life, mate."

"Yes," he answered, with a little scowl, as he rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye. Ned thinking about his contagious nervousness made the nervousness spike a little, and Sirius took a moment to try to think as calmly and confidently as possible. He could totally counteract this.

"And I haven't, actually, not really. Not for a wizard." Well, sort of not for a wizard. There were a few different types of wizards, after all, muggle-borns and purebloods, et cetera ad nauseum, classifications that Sirius knew, thanks to his upbringing, but didn't really give a damn about. "But you aren't a wizard. Nice magic tricks, though. And, uh. Zombie?"

"Alive-again?" Sirius was more than dubious as he repeated those words back at Ned. "And you say that every time? That's a bit of a mouthful, you think you'd have a better word for it by now. All right, so they aren't zombies, and please present my apologies to any of them who you encounter for offending them with that name--honestly, y'know, we haven't got any zombies either, that was just something I saw in films-- Night of the Living Dead, and all those."

Alive-again. Sirius stopped rambling as he considered that specific choice of words. It was a better description, at least, for all its clumsiness--because from what he'd seen from Ned's memories, the alive-againers really were truly alive. It was mental.

He glanced back at the pie-maker, as he speared another bite of pie on his fork. "Y'know, even wizards can't do that."

Magic men. Sirius' eyebrows went up a little at that description. It just sounds so... silly, to a wizard. Magic men magic men magic men. Like men that are magical, which is a wizard, but when you separated it out like that, it's like--men in sparkly costumes. For some reason, that was the image that came to mind.

He did not want to see Ned in a sparkly costume. That sounded like a bit of a horror movie on its own.

"Right," he said, vaguely, swirling his beer around in his glass. "Well, you're the one that would know. So where d'you get them from, then, you just--snatch them back from death? I mean, how does it work? Or d'you not know, you can just--do it."

No judgement if it were to be the last one. Sirius was familiar enough with magic that it wouldn't be surprising if that were it. Some people were happy to try to reason everything out, but for Sirius, magic always kind of just has been. No reason or overthinking necessary, it was all guts and intuition and natural ability.

"Well, yeah, no, I know it's not science." Science. Eurgh. The word was full of disdain when Sirius said it. He wasn't much fond of science, as a whole. "But how does it work? We've got theories of magic and-- equal exchange principles and things like that. And you just, what. Touch people and they come back to life, and that's it, happily ever after?"

"It-- takes sixty seconds to work? Or it only lasts sixty seconds?" No, it's got to be the former and not the latter, right? Because Sirius has been in Ned's head, and he's seen glimpses, at least.

And speaking of glimpses... he frowns, vaguely, rubs at his face as he feels how uncomfortable this is making Ned. Normally, he wouldn't maybe notice--or he might, given Ned's body language; he'd have to be wearing a paper bag over his head not to notice that hunch over the beer.

"Has anyone got this, er, ability, where you're from?"