February 3rd, 2004


(no subject)

There was a wicked play to his lips and a slither to his lanky gate. Young Sirius Black, or rather, he suspected, one in many, strode purposefully into the Graybeard Inn. Leaning an angular hip against the bar he brought his palm down against the counter.

"A rum...which just a little Coke in it, if you would please." It wasn't quite a drawl, but it was anything but sharp. His voice hit like velvet coating the room, a little gaudy, but damn smooth.
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