Sirius had wrangled them both tickets. He'd charmed someone who knew someone who - there'd been something about a party, and a game of indoor cricket, and a pet otter? - Remus had lost track of the story at that point, if at all he'd been tracking it.
Suffice to say, they were both there. And Remus had been dressed for the occasion, with Sirius playing the role of extremely handsy tailor. It had taken more than few firm comments before Pads had stopped coming close to sullying the dressing room of the men's boutique in a rather uh, inappropriate fashion.
Pads was out amongst the crowd, and Moony was leaning against the wall with a cocktail in hand, fingers drumming against the glass. This close to a full moon, the sound felt percussive and hard in his ears. This close to a full moon, he could practically smell every single person in the repurposed railway setting, and the underlying stink of disinfectant and paint and years and years of disrepair that lurked underneath the present. Knowing where his lover was, and keeping a nostril on him, was practically child's play. This close to a full moon, he slept poorly and woke worse, stretched out thin and pounding. As the day drew on, energy built in him, a thrum of something clawing its way out, surging. He was almost high at nighttime: he felt like he could be awake for days.
He felt like he could kill everyone without blinking. Fortunately he still seemed to care enough for that to a problem.
"Ah, well, bottom's up," he said to himself, and sank the cocktail in a few gulps.
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zvi
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Date: 2016-12-10 11:17 pm (UTC)Suffice to say, they were both there. And Remus had been dressed for the occasion, with Sirius playing the role of extremely handsy tailor. It had taken more than few firm comments before Pads had stopped coming close to sullying the dressing room of the men's boutique in a rather uh, inappropriate fashion.
Pads was out amongst the crowd, and Moony was leaning against the wall with a cocktail in hand, fingers drumming against the glass. This close to a full moon, the sound felt percussive and hard in his ears. This close to a full moon, he could practically smell every single person in the repurposed railway setting, and the underlying stink of disinfectant and paint and years and years of disrepair that lurked underneath the present. Knowing where his lover was, and keeping a nostril on him, was practically child's play. This close to a full moon, he slept poorly and woke worse, stretched out thin and pounding. As the day drew on, energy built in him, a thrum of something clawing its way out, surging. He was almost high at nighttime: he felt like he could be awake for days.
He felt like he could kill everyone without blinking. Fortunately he still seemed to care enough for that to a problem.
"Ah, well, bottom's up," he said to himself, and sank the cocktail in a few gulps.