driftfleet | (no subject)

Who: Remus Lupin
Broadcast:
When: January 14th, early evening

[Remus sits on the floor in James' room, back against the bed, holding the communicator in one hand. The other is tangled in his hair; he pushes his hand through the tangled curls again and again throughout this little speech. Still, he smiles pleasantly enough. This first part is easy, after all.]

Right, hello. My name is Remus Lupin, I've been here a few months, and I've noticed a bit of a trend among those taken. There's quite a few of us with-- well, abilities, for lack of a better word. Abilities that most human beings don't have. They vary, of course, but-- it's an odd consistency. I've met more people with magic than I usually do in a year. Something to think on, perhaps.

In any case: even if it's a meaningless connection-- something that has no significance beyond sheer entertainment value-- I'd be interested to hear what everyone can do. Whether you call it magic or alchemy or even if it's-- god, I don't know, if you have a talent for juggling, I'd be interested. I want to know more about what kind of company I keep.

[His smile fades, now, and he hesitates visibly.]

For example, I, ah. I'm a wizard. Wand and all. I can do magic, which means anything from transfiguration to charms to knowing what plants to use to brew a good cold remedy. It's hardly infallible, but it's certainly useful. And, ah . . .

I'm a werewolf as well. The sort that only changes once a month. It's lasted here, but I seem to have control over it. I take quite a few precautions, so-- so it won't be a problem. I'm not the only werewolf here, nor the only other supernatural creature, but--

[He shrugs. His face is pale, now, the little scars standing out sharply against his skin-- but he forces himself to keep talking.]

I'm used to keeping it a secret at home. And I'm sure others are as well. So I suppose this is a . . . a way to let everyone know. Even if they don't want to tell anyone else, they know they're not alone.

[His mouth twists in a wry smirk.]

That, and I'm tired of keeping it a secret.

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[His laugh is just this side of hysterical, betraying just how tense he really is. It's all right to reveal it to Mal (and by extension, James, just off-screen).]

I'd appreciate it quite a bit, actually.

All right. Well, in your own time, you look a little shaky.

[No judgment.]

In the meantime, if anyone mouths off, let me know and I'll kick them somewhere unholy.

Mm. Call it an hour or so? I, ah-- can't just say something like this and then run, much as I'd like to.

[That offer is heard, too, and appreciated-- his smile grows a little stronger. In so many ways, Mal is like another Marauder-- like Sirius, offering to kick heads in indiscriminately.]

Naturally. I shall make a note in my day planner that the rest of the evening is for Remus Lupin and Remus Lupin alone. It'll give me time to scratch up some absolutely awful space liquor, or steal some from the pub.

[She would love to steal from a demon.]

I wasn't kidding, you know, that was fucking magnificent.

James rather prompted me through most of it.

[He drawls that, self-deprecating.]

Don't get in trouble on my behalf, please. I can live without a drink if it's too difficult.

James is lovely, even if ungulates are not. Don't tell him I said so, I'd like us to have a nice fight.

[the pouting is real.]

But I like trouble.

If you're looking for a fight, call him a deer, not a stag. The distinction is apparently quite important.

. . . They're the same.

Yes, but a stag sounds more noble.

Nothing that eats grass is noble, Mr. Lupin.

Now, now. Let's not be patronizing simply because they graze instead of hunt. Those antlers are quite painful when applied correctly, I can tell you from experience.

Pshaw. Pshaw, I tell you.

You're going the right way to bruised ribs, my dear.

I heal very quickly.

Far be it for me to protect you. Things seem to be settling down, shall I come by?

Yeah, I found some . . . thing. Something. With alcohol in.

Possibly best if I don't know the specifics of that. I'll be over soon, and-- thank you.

Don't thank me, I'm going to draw a mustache on you when you fall asleep in your cups.

[But she will be waiting in the Caprine kitchens, with Mystery Booze.]

You seem to have a set of expectations as to my alcohol tolerance.

[He calls that as he beams over, a little smile on his face. In person, he'll be able to see the way he's gnawed down his fingernails, the way his hair is messed from his hand mussing it all the time.]

Hallo. Is it still moonshine if you don't brew it near a planet or moon at all?

[If she were a different sort of person, she'd fuss and sort his hair back into order. But since she's Mal, she just reaches over and musses it up even more.]

Moonyshine. I haven't actually brewed it, I made a little trade with the pub. It's for a good cause, I said, and that was not enough! No one has any heart anymore.

Oh, har har.

[He never should have revealed that nickname.]

What did you trade, then?

[He settles in, ignoring his mussed hair in favor of taking one of the cups.]

Just a little coffee, nothing too much. But they use coffee in some of their liquors there, I had no idea.

[A WHOLE NEW WORLD IS OPENED UP TO HER.]

It smells a little like it could strip paint, but I thought you might not be picky.

You know there's some liquor that's made to taste like coffee?

[He says it cheerfully and offers a cup.]

Go on, then.

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