I'm not an addict, baby - that's a lie

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

*Rose can be a lot of things. Selfish, and unapologetically deceitful, and irresponsible, and, lately, starting to come off the tracks. She knows it even if she won't admit it even to herself; on some level she knows perfectly well that what happened last night will happen again, and again, and that trying not to would be like trying to catch a dragon in a butterfly net. So she's just not going to acknowledge that fact, and tells herself it was a one-off, that it's under control, that her using isn't getting worse and that she doesn't need to do it. That it's fine.


But even though she's selfish and deceitful and irresponsible, even though she's lying to herself about what she's spiraling down into, she does have loyalties. Sirius is on the shortlist of people about whom she gives a fuck, and she knows her behavior last night at Fiona's was out of line on a few different counts. She doesn't have a lot of friends, and so, in the interest of preserving the few she does have, she' s now knocking on the door of his flat.


She looks okay, considering the night before. She's sober and clear-headed, with the hangover gone and the drugs out of her system (but not gone long enough to get her itchy for it yet). Her hair's done up in careful pin curls and her clothes look like something out of a Katherine Hepburn movie - classy and in keeping with her normal style, but more 'comfortable' than 'bombshell'. She's traded out her usual scarlet lipstick for a more subdued one; it's just not a red day. It's rare that it isn't a red day, but today isn't.*

Comments

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

I don't need a therapist, Sirius.

*Her tone darkens resentfully as she glances up at him, but next second she's taking another sip and pointedly changing the subject.*

So who is she, anyway? I still think it's stupid you won't just say.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*Sirius snorts, and shakes his head. But she's right, she's risking a lot--he's not going to tell her, but he owes her something closer to an honest answer.*

You want the truth?

The truth is, it's complicated for us, for a lot of reasons. And telling anyone makes us both targets. So we're keeping it secret from everyone. Even James doesn't know. I don't want to tell anyone anything without--discussing it.

*And none of that's even a lie. No pronouns to give him away or anything. Feeling a bit smug, he moves on.*

And by the by, you're sidestepping the issue. You don't need a therapist, all right, what do you need?

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

*It's not the answer she wanted, but it's a fair one, and she's not enough of a bitch to push about his private life. She can respect him - them, whoever she is - wanting to keep it under wraps.

What's less okay is him shooting through the evasive maneuver. Scowling, she takes out her lighter and pack of Lucky strikes, tapping one from the box and lighting up. It's partly a stall, and partly because if he's going to drag her through this, she's going to need a cig.

Still. If he wants to do this, he's gonna work for it.*

Who said I need anything?

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*He raises an eyebrow.*

You need something that you're not getting out of doing enough blow to kill a lesser man. Otherwise you wouldn't be looking to Alecto fucking Carrow for something to fix you up.

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

*There's nothing of a stall about her derision; she makes a disgusted noise, puffing smoke into the air.*

Carrow, please, like I'd have taken anything from her if I hadn't already been itchy about it. I'm not an idiot. That was a one-off.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

Itchy?

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

*Fuck. It's all Rose can do not to react, or to try and cover the place on her arm where she'd all but scratched it bloody yesterday, just below the elbow. Maybe he'll take it as just a saying, maybe he doesn't know enough about it to know how literal 'itchy' can be. Trying not to panic, she shrugs.*

Figure of speech. Like first thing in the morning when you want a cigarette.

*Except really, really not.*

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*Sirius isn't very well-versed in this sort of thing, but he's not stupid. That kind of itch can't be a good symptom.*

Must be a pretty powerful metaphorical itch to get you to trust Carrow.

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

Okay, it was a bad move, I got it.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

It's not just that.

Have you tried--I don't know--stopping? Entirely?

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

*She doesn't lash out, doesn't yell, but the look she fixes him with could kill. She stares for a second, panic and anger clashing violently and pinning her to the spot for the moment, and then drops her cigarette into a half-empty tea cup left on the coffee table. She picks up her purse and stands, straightening out her blouse. There is nothing of the warmth in her voice that's usually there for Sirius, none of the playful drawl.*

It's been swell, really, but I gotta get going.

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

Wait a minute.

*Sirius stands as well.*

You came here. Come on. Calm down for just a second and actually talk to me about this.

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

I came here to apologize, which I did. There's nothing to talk about.

*But she's not moving.*

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*Sirius rubs his forehead, wishing Remus were here to say something--the right thing, the thing that'll make her listen instead of storm out. But at least she hasn't stormed out yet.*

Look, Rose, I'm your friend, but I'm not a--what was it you called me? I'm no knight in shining armor, all right? I know that. I've made mistake after mistake and I am trying--trying very very hard--to make fewer of them. But I think I know you well enough, and I've fucked up my life enough, to see what's going on. No one can stop you from doing what you're going to do. But I'm your friend, so I've at least got to say something.

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

*It's almost enough. He's not attacking her, not accusing, and that's what makes all the difference, and for just a second, she lets herself see the truth in what he's saying. For a second, she's willing to look at the fact that maybe needing it this badly means it's got her by the tail, and not the other way 'round anymore. That it's not about having a laugh at all. Maybe.

The hard, stubborn set of her pretty features softens ever so slightly, and she shifts her weight back toward her chair. Rose opens her mouth, and then the door to the flat swings open.*

[looneyloopy.livejournal.com]

*Oblivious to what he's just walked into, Remus steps in with his head still full of Egyptian artifacts and Assyrian statues and all the magnificence of the British Museum. He's been hundreds of times but it never gets old; there's always something to be curious about, always something worth seeing, and he's always in a good mood after museum walks.

He comes home smiling with a bag of cherries in hand from a Muggle street vendor in Covent Garden, and has one almost to his lips when he crosses the threshold and the feel of the room hits him.*

I'm back, I went the long-long-way 'round, d'you want a -

*Breaking off abruptly, he doesn't ask stupid questions or address either of them verbally at all. He just gives Sirius a quickly apologetic, questioning look.*

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

--Oh. You're back.

*Well. Shit. Sirius chews his lip, and decides to face it down, hoping that years of breaking rules together will help Remus pick up the please make yourself scarce that he is thinking very hard at Remus' head.*

We were just talking. About . . . . things.

[looneyloopy.livejournal.com]

*That's the thing about years of being (sometimes literally) thick as thieves: all four of them generally have excellent nonverbal communication with one another, and now is no exception. He catches exactly what Sirius isn't saying, but still hesitates - after last night, frankly, he's not so sure he wants Rose alone with him. It's probably petty of him, but he wants to ask whether she hasn't already caused enough trouble.

But he doesn't. She's standing there looking like she's about to go up before the Wizengamot, and Sirius knows how he feels about Rose hanging 'round the flat, he wouldn't be doing this if there weren't a good reason.*

Right. Though - if you don't mind, I've got those Muggle papers I needed to go through for Moody - ?

*Lies, all, and he watches Sirius closely for verification that things are okay.*

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*Sirius nods, answering both the spoken question and the unspoken one.*

Yeah--I think those are still on the desk in the other room.

[looneyloopy.livejournal.com]

*He nods back casually, but the faint tightening of his mouth speaks volumes: he doesn't like Rose being in here alone with Sirius. But for all that he doesn't trust her, he does trust him, and heads for the study with the cherries in hand. He speaks without looking over his shoulder, as though he can't be bothered with it.*

I'll be back here, then.

*Once there, of course, he silently moves a chair to near the study door and listens carefully to what's going on in the living room, a book in hand just in case he's caught at it.*

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*Once Remus is away behind a closed door, Sirius lets out a breath and then turns back to Rose.*

Sorry. He has awful timing.

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

*Wound up too tightly to really respond, she just shrugs a shoulder in a little twitchy motion. Despite having heard the door shut, she looks in the direction Remus went, clearly uneasy.*

[fleasaremurder.livejournal.com]

*He follows her gaze, and chews his lip again, shaking his head. After a long moment of silence, he rubs at his stubble. If he knows Remus--and he does, better than anyone--he's listening, and all the suspicion Rose is feeling is perfectly justified. He hates saying it when he knows Remus is listening, but she has to feel at least a little safe if she's going to open up at all.*

We could go somewhere, if you want to keep talking in something a bit more like private, there's a little bar up the street--

[gin-and-smoke.livejournal.com]

*Shrugging again, she mumbles something that could be consent and starts lighting another cigarette as she moves to the door.*