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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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Nin--

[A beat, and then, a little weakly:]

Well. Never mind. You've more than earnt that nickname for just about anyone you want. Do you-- are you--

You hardly sound ninety-seven.

[ Jim switches to video, and waves merrily to Remus. He doesn't look a day older than twenty-eight. ]

Are you functionally immortal, then?

[An actual question! Though what a life, that he can ask that.]

I'm not sure, actually. There's only one of me in the world — [ Steve's serum is different, so it doesn't, technically, count ] You can say I know a little something about keepin' it a secret.

You most certainly do.

[He smiles at him-- shyly, but warmly.]

I know-- I mean, we're different, I haven't any idea what that's like-- but if you ever want to talk about secrets, or-- I don't know, being alone--

[What an awkward offer-- but he does mean it.]

[ He has a joke. Not much of a talker. Jim puts it away. ]

Sure. If you want — what do you English people go on about? Tea? [ he winks ] Come by the Heron. Bring somethin' warm, our ship's on the cold side.

Tea and the Queen, yes, we're very droll that way.

[HAR HAR]

I'll be by soon. Half an hour, if not sooner.

[It's stupid, to be so delighted-- but he is, for whatever reason. He stops by Crowley's bar and manages to negotiate some alcohol-- which counts as warm, doesn't it? He also brings his wand, because who doesn't like magic, and so soon he's coming over to the Heron, bottle of wine in hand.]

I'll meet you in the bay.

[ True to his word, there he is, standing at ease when Remus' shuttle docks, and smiles at the kid when he exits. ]

[It's still a little awkward, coming over so deliberately-- Remus has never been good with social situations, and something like this is so intent. But he's brought over some wine, so that's . . . something? And he smiles, albeit nervously, so he's trying.]

I don't think I'm ever going to not be nervous at going between ships. I always imagine something's going to go wrong.

[ Jim smiles, and offers to take the bottle from him. ]

You're not alone in that. These shuttles sometimes don't look like they could protect us from space. Especially not after our fleet was attacked.

We were attacked? When? By whom?

[The Paisley is, without a doubt, built for nothing but gliding along in space. They don't even have any weapons, never mind anyone who could command them.]

Let's sit down first.

[ He leads the way to the kitchen, where there's (helpfully) a kettle on (Peggy's influence) and a thermos full of something that smells like coffee. It's empty this time of day. ]

What can I get you to drink?

Tea. Or coffee, either--

[Who can think of drinking when there's a chance for attack? Stupidly, Remus' thoughts go to the wand at his side. It's not going to be much help in space-- but he'd just come from a war, and he'd honestly thought he was going to get a break here.]

How many died?

[ Remus you have zero chill. ]

No one. The ships sustained light damage, and the enemy didn't pursue us at all.

[More high strung than a violin, thank you.]

Then what was the point?

Easy.

[ He is pouring you some hot tea, k thank. ]

I'm not sure, honestly. It's most likely they were hired by the Atroma for some drama. We haven't seen them since and there's no tactical advantage to following us all the way for months after that.

That doesn't mean we won't be attacked by someone else. We stop at so many ports, it's a statistical improbability that they'd all be friendly. Especially-- [And he scowls] --for the sake of drama.

[The glare he levels at his cup of tea isn't meant for James. Nor is the way he grips his cup too tightly, shoulders hunched, mouth twisting into a tight line.]

No, it doesn't.

[ It also doesn't mean they'll survive a second time. Doomsaying, but. He's a realist. ]

We'll cross that bridge when it comes. For the moment, it's best just to stay prepared and think about something else.

[He nods tersely. A moment of silence-- and then Remus sighs, though his grip on the cup doesn't release.]

I'm sorry. I just came from a war, and-- this isn't why I came here. I apologize.

No, it's all right. I was in World War Two — if you've heard of it.

[His eyes widen in surprise-- but of course, ninety-seven, yes, that's about right.]

I have. Both sides of it, honestly-- my people took part in it, and my mother is-- you know, nonmagical, so I heard the more widely known aspects of it.

[A beat. He hesitates-- and then, a little nervously:]

Is it-- have you--

[Another hesitation.]

Do you grow less-- less paranoid, after a while?

[ Jim folds his hands on the table next to his cup, and he takes a breath. ]

Well — do you know about something called post-traumatic stress disorder? In our day it was called shell shock.

[He shakes his head. He's heard of shell shock, of course, but that-- that's for people who had to be in the trenches, in the thick of battle. Remus isn't so stupid to think he's not been affected by what's been going on, of course; they all have. All of them worn down, weary, tired; there's little to laugh about, and every day is exhausting.

But it's not shell shock.]

Remus.

[ Firm, but gentle, with an undercurrent of pay attention. ]

You might not have been in the kinda trench you're thinking about, but that don't mean there was anything less brutal. The paranoia, the [ he gestures with one hand, frustrated he can't find the words ] all of it. It's normal. You're not crazy, weird, or [ a brief pause ] broken. If anything, it's irrevocable proof you're a human being.

[His first instinct is to shrug that off-- that, despite the fact he'd asked. This isn't something you talk about, after all-- it's something that's just done, shouldered, dealt with in whatever ways you managed to do it. The war is necessary, and people are dying so quickly-- he can't just go around whining about how awful it is.

He doesn't think he's broken. Or-- well, he does, but not because of the war. But it's-- he shrugs sharply, heat rising on the back of his neck.]

Does it go away, then?

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