Waiting | Sirius & Open |
The last roar bounced around the walls of the alley before the motorcycle halted. Sirius kicked down the piece to support the motorbike standing up whilst unmoving, and Sirius un-straddled his vehicle, sitting sideways on it instead.
It was dark, people milling in and out of The Leaky Cauldron, Muggles passing the store by, blinded of the gate to a world unbeknownst to them. They gave Sirius looks, wary of his lone appearance, of his leather jacket and heavy boots and distressed, black jeans, hair unruly from the wind of speed, the nonchalant way he stretched himself out. His hands were playing with a matchbox, finally striking up a flare of fire to set alight the cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
He slouched somewhat more, lazily looking up and down the street time to time, his boots scraping against the asphalt underneath him in a flare of impatience; as if he was waiting for someone that took their good time showing up. He pulled a deep drag of cigarette smoke down his lungs; emitted it slowly through his nose, a hand tussling his hair as he ran it through his strands.
Relaxing. Watching. Waiting? Yes, perhaps that, too.
It wasn’t until she was halfway to where she was going that she realized that for the first time in awhile, Amelia was without a match. Her hand in her purse, she made her way to the doors of the Leaky Cauldron without finding anything half torn matchbozes in the bottom of her bag, potentially saving her ass. But where there wasn’t a will, there seemed to be a way-- if the eldest Black brothe was anything to go by. “I hate to be that person-- but any chance I could steal a match?”
