sociopolitically | open

( there's something to be said about how well claude reads him, how much it too reminds him of remus. it's enough that sirius considers remaining hidden for at least another few minutes to add to the mystery, but it's very difficult to ignore the hungry clench if his stomach, especially as a dog. the fact he can smell a lot of sausages doesn't help, both because the hound hungers and also because sirius had meant for claude to get something for himself too and now feels guilty for turning whatever claude's breakfast could have been into the mountain of sausages that have replaced it.

he's silent as he passes through the nearby trees to approach, remembering to make more sound as he stalks closer to keep from starting claude. the hulking beast remains fit in this form, a mass of muscle the size of a small bear, and so it is that sirius also knows just how frightening that can be.

walking into view, the black dog pauses, nose twitching appreciatively at the scent of salt and meat. but rather than tuck straight in, his paws guide him to a seat beside claude, and he offers a hot, wet, sloppy lap against his friend's cheek in gratitude. while he does tend toward this form when he wants to avoid feeling or thinking too much, for however dull the mind of a dog is, sirius still maintains willful control when he wishes to. )

[ He isn't startled. Mainly, that's Sirius' doing, moving through the mass of dead leaves and broken branches littering the forest floor noisily enough that he hears him approach after a little while. He could have bought a whole plate of food for himself and still have had enough money for some sausages, but he felt bad about insisting so vehemently on talking Sirius through the thing with his friend. Sometimes, Claude, he can hear Yves say at the back of his mind, people just want a fucking hug and not to talk about shit.

Of course, Claude knows, but words are his tools and his weapons both. It's the only way he knows how to resolve anything and secondarily - the only way he truly believes in.

But Sirius appears finally and sits his bum down next to him, licking him in the face like, all forgiven or sorry about that or both, and they can share that sentiment, right? They can both feel a little bad and thereby, show how much they actually care. It's nice. He huffs out a breath and wipes his cheek once the dog draws away. ]

Yeah, me too, my friend. Me too. Here. [ Holding out a sausage for him on flat palm, he adds, teasingly. ] Forgive me for not licking you back.

( sirius certainly means more of the latter, always plenty sorry after a good sulk, but with his upbringing, he'd never quite learned how to process the guilt better, only thinking of it as mark against him that anyone might then use to hurt him with. it's worse, with friends, the guilt. for however defiant and pompously spoiled he can be, he doesn't want to lose anyone he feels is important. and claude surely is important, a lifeline in another country.

first giving the sausage a sniff — because it certainly smells like the best damn thing in the world right now and the dog salivates from the prospect — he offers another big, sloppy lick against claude's cheek before bowing his head and snatching up the sausage. It's gone within a few quick snaps of his jaw, so quickly one could even wonder if he bothered chewing. )

[ At the next lick against his cheek, Claude gives up on wiping it off, letting the smell of dog and more importantly, the imprint of Sirius in place where someone apparently thinks it belongs. Watching sideways as the dog gobbles down the sausage, not really bothering with the chewing thing you should do, he breaks the next sausage in two and offers it, one half at a time. Just to make sure no one's gonna choke on their meat.

He leans his head back and looks at the forest from below, the tree crowns mostly branches and dead foilage at this point, but the colours are vibrant and alive, still. Leaning back on his hands, he lets the silence settle between them for a moment while Sirius eats up. ]

Have you been giving it some thought?

( while he wolfs down the next sausage half, it's after claude has leaned back to observe the canopy, as padfoot starts to work on the second half, that sirius shifts back. the timing of claude's question couldn't be more apt, though sirius had only changed back so he could better enjoy the sausages. can't taste them much when one is quite nearly inhaling them with a great hound's maw.

the chewing is much more subdued with the change, and it takes longer too, which works in his favor because sirius still isn't really in the mood to discuss it. it hurts a little. a lot. he doesn't like it. he's angry. and sad. and he doesn't have a right to be.

swallowing, he licks his lips clean, ever polite being raised in the house of black, and sighs as he slumps a little. he's dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, a loud shirt that screams of punk music underneath, and the side of his jacket arm brushes up against claude's arm with the resignation. )

It doesn't feel good. I don't like how thinking about it makes me feel.

No, I understand.

[ It's said gently, with a sympathetic note to his voice. Claude hasn't as such gotten used to the whole magically changing in and out of animal shapes and it's only because he has a pretty good poker face that he isn't busy staring at the way Sirius went from furball one moment to leather jacket, punk rocker the next. He gives the other man a long, lingering look, then shakes his head and takes a deep, calming breath. They couldn't be more different at this moment, Claude in his dress pants, a dark grey colour and a dark purple pullover, with a white shirt underneath.

They live in different worlds, sometimes very literally, Sirius and him. It's part of what Claude loves about their friendship. The perspectives. The broadening of horizons.

Those intersections where they both know, being anything but straight and narrow isn't a great look, if you ask most people in the UK. France is better, but France isn't Sirius' home, this isn't where his friends from school live.

There's only Claude and like, shit, Claude doesn't have the answers, only the questions. ]

But not thinking about it doesn't make it go away, it just makes it build up, so I'll advice you to feel like you do for a little bit, although it sucks and I'm really sorry it has to be like this, Sirius.

It just feels like a. Like a massive betrayal. From the both of them. ( he scrubs a hand through his hair to distract himself.

he'd met dora before, of course. andromeda had made such a point of it, making sure sirius knew he had a safe place with them, if walburga ever grew too overbearing. and she did, at times, but it had been easier to flee to james so sirius wouldn't have to admit he was too weak to endure and needed somewhere safe to hide. he didn't want to hide. it puts more shame on his mother to see what she's done instead, to be with his closest friend, just out of reach, and mixing with a less respectful family, in his mother's eyes.

but since he'd never gone, andromeda's remained safe. protected. a haven that would always be there, as a last resort. until he'd called remus that morning to catch up and learned a snake lived in the safest place. remus, even shy to admit it, had sounded so happy, too. vipers, the both of them, tearing into his heart and leaving the poison to spread. )

How can they do this while I'm not even there to say anything about it? Why couldn't they wait until semester's end?

They must think me a nuisance. He's gone, isn't he? Time to get together with Sirius out of the way!

( he chews on the remaining bit of sausage in his hand sullenly, like a spoiled child being denied a third helping of ice cream. )

Edited 2023-11-08 07:38 (UTC)

[ Claude frowns, listening to the rant, watching the other man devour the remaining bit of sausage he's holding, more manners and less saliva than in his dog form, if only barely. He's never met Sirius' friends - and something tells him he might prefer it that way for now, they sound like A Lot - but if they are truly his friends, it's not a betrayal. It's something that happened, like these things do, and he's ready to bet someone has agonized over how to break the news to Sirius in the first place.

Doesn't help how the other man is feeling, sure, but it establishes a reality different from how he perceives it, a reality that might be less about him than it's about them. And maybe that is truly what hurts.

Everyone would like to feel the centre of someone's universe.

Claude knows. Oh, he knows. ]

Maybe the real problem for them was that you weren't there to see for yourself what was going on, what was happening. [ Leaving the rest of the sausages in his lap, Claude reaches up and places a comforting hand on Sirius' shoulder, giving it a stroke. ] I'm sure your friends would have wanted you to be there just as much as you wanted to be there yourself, Sirius.

( there had certainly been a lot of agonizing on remus' part, knowing fully well how sirius would likely take the information. after he'd finally admitted it that morning, sirius had pressed him for specifics, to find out when this had all started, and he couldn't help but feel guilty and so admitted the truth: they've been together several months now. the werewolf knew he'd really messed up when sirius promptly hung up. that sirius then had to stew on this, never receiving a follow-up text from moony, only riled him up further. but remus knows, as claude knows now too, that there are times when sirius needs the space before he can be approached again.

the emotions overwhelm him quickly at times, and nothing can quell the surplus that spills forth freely except time. time and advice, as claude offers him now, to cut through the noxious cloud that threatens to suffocate and offer a lifeline back to safety. the reminder of how much he cares for them, and they him, breaks apart the built up hurt, melting it into sorrow, a strange mix of regret and shame. how can he blame them like this? they would never hurt him on purpose. how awful. bad, padfoot.

deflating, he slumps toward the side, leaning his head to claude's shoulder and letting out a sullen, resigned breath. )

I'm the worst friend. I can't even be there for them, and even if I could port there or apparate freely, it's not the same as being there consistently, is it?

( drained of his earlier furor, his hand shifts sluggishly to pluck up another sausage from claude's lap and nibbles on the end gently. )

I just never thought, never thought that— ( he stops the thought to keep from admitting the dreadful fact he'd assumed remus wouldn't ever have a friend as close as him. he'd really taken moony for granted, hadn't he? ) ...I hope they're happy.

[ It kind of seeps out of him, all that anger and hurt, the notion of self-importance that made him feel those emotions in the first place. Claude reaches up with his hand and runs his fingers soothingly through Sirius' hair once, twice, like petting a dog, leaning in against him slightly in turn, for support, comfort. He might be far from his friends in the UK, but he isn't far from here and Claude is doing his best to make that distance bearable in the meantime. Knowing well it's not forever. Knowing at some point, Sirius is gonna give the last little fuck about his family and do what makes him truly happy.

But until then, they're just sitting here in the quiet after Sirius has spoken, coming to the only logical conclusion which is, his friends don't wanna hurt him, he just wants them to be happy, and it's never quite enough, is it? Wanting the best for others, if it's not what you wanted for yourself.

Like, fuck, Claude knows, right? He knows. About wanting something for your own sake.

Glancing sideways at the other man, he smiles, finally letting his hand drop back to his shoulder. ]

Same way they want you to be.

( his eyes flutter shut with the touch to his head, instinctive even after all this time of knowing the difference between the hound and the human. but the touch soothes, tells him that everything will be okay. sirius is still alive, isn't he? he still has his magic, his wits, his passions. his mother can't take those away from him. never could, never will. )

Happy is difficult when it's supposed to be a state and not a moment. I'm not sure I ever learned what that meant. ( difficult to when the only way he could even realize the moments was from escaping the legacy of his family name. ) He always wanted to be accepted for who he is, though. And her, too. Bet they're over the moon.

( he nibbles a bit more at the sausage skin before switching tracks. )

What makes you happy, Claude?

[ Why do you want to know, a part of Claude thinks at the sudden change of direction to their conversation. He's been listening to Sirius, saying he doesn't know what happiness is as a state of being rather than the being in the moment and that, if nothing else, tracks perfectly. It's how Claude knows him to be, too.

Living from one joy to the next, one grief to the next. There's really no static with Sirius Black. Unless you count chaos as a static, supposedly you could.

Claude smiles and shakes his head, not to say no, but to indicate that he's considering it. Then he looks at the small pile of sausages still resting in his lap and Sirius nibbling away at the one he just picked up, hand digging around somewhere between Claude's thighs briefly. The smile turns playful. ]

Always makes me happy when you eat sausage out of my lap.

[ Then, a shrug, it's a joke, don't get ideas - though, he isn't sure who exactly isn't supposed to get ideas, himself or Sirius. Maybe it doesn't matter. ]

Fighting for what I believe in makes me happy. Seeing change in the world and in people makes me very, very happy.

Edited 2023-11-09 20:25 (UTC)

( right, fighting for what one believes in is dandy and all that, but more importantly, sirius hangs onto the first thing claude says, cause even for a joke, it's rather strange, isn't it? yeah. it's. yeah. )

You want me to eat sausage out of your lap? ( his head shifts a little to try and peek at claude without displacing himself from the comfortable position. he manages to get a lovely view of claude's chin, the rest needing sirius' sacrifice of comfort. ) Shall we be making a habit out of this, then? I do rather like sausage, and I'm quite comfortable like this. You're shoulder is at an optimal height for leaning, you know.

( spoiled is a word. )

[ Oh. Well, time to back-pedal. Elegantly. No swaying. No waddling. Claude, too, inclines his head when Sirius does, able to make out the outline of his face, the most prominent features, brows, bridge of nose, corner of mouth. He smiles and shakes his head.

I was being stupid, don't get your ideas from me, it means.

Then again, it's not like 'being stupid' and 'Sirius Black' are exactly antonyms. Not synonyms either, but there are nuances in between those two. Slowly, he turns his head back, letting Sirius sit in comfy silence with his head on his shoulder.

It's nice. He wants it to stay nice. So, he says: ]

I'm not bringing you a kilo of sausages next time.

[ His smile quirks. ]

And it's because I'm short.

Short is good. Means I can do this. ( he reaches around and wraps his arms around claude, giving a hug.

claude's so warm. and soft. his clothes smell nice. this feels nice. claude feels nice. sirius takes a slow breath, closing his eyes, and sighs fondly. )

I'd be okay if you only fed me one sausage, really. I didn't expect you'd spend all of it sausages. Wanted you to get food for yourself...

Yeah, but this way, I can guilt you into buying me dinner instead, right?

[ A huff of laughter to emphasise he doesn't mean it, he would never guilt Sirius into anything and besides, he has eaten, he can buy his own food, he can do pretty much anything except giving himself hugs like the one Sirius is giving him now.

Claude can't do that on his own and part of him is very sad about it, for some unfathomable, no doubt silly reason. So, he just sits there, leaning in against Sirius until he, after a moment, reaches down, catching a sausage in his lap and raises it to his own mouth, taking a bite, chewing, swallowing. ]

Philosophy was boring today, though. Didn't even listen through most of it, fair warning.

[ He means, the notes. He means, he was busy thinking about other things. ]

( sirius hums softly. for posterity: ) I'd always buy you dinner if you asked me to. I'd do a lot for you, you know.

( his voice shifts back to something more casual to respond about school. )

What were you thinking about? How philosophy is just a bunch of stuff we made up? And how it's crazy we made it up but it's how people see things anyway?

I know.

[ For posterity.

A laugh at Sirius' roast of philosophy. He shakes his head once. ]

The professor has a grating voice. It makes me sleepy when he just drones on and on. Besides, I'm waiting for us to move past the Ancient Greeks. Existentialism or something would be a nice change. Skip a millennium or two.

So you were tired? Did something keep you up? Or?

( he nuzzles claude's shoulder slightly cuddles closer as a dog might, for contact. )

That professor loves you, though. He smiles every time you raise your hand and offer your input. I think he knows I did a wee on his car last month.

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