SIRIUS MOVES TO BRADFORD : Train Station & Wesley's Watering Hole : 27 February, 1981
The train pulls into Bradford Interchange fifteen minutes late, and the old woman sitting next to Sirius doesn't even stir (and continues to drool, slightly, from the corner of her mouth). He oversteps her wrinkled, outstretched ankles, and grabs his case and his single bag from the overhead rack, slinging them both over his shoulder. The train is still loosely hissing, settling, when he pushes through the door and out onto the platform, the low sun making him squint, and that feeling - the one like an untied and unraveling knot - jangling around between his stomach and his throat.
Bradford Interchange is rather small, for as far as train stations go. James finds the whole place rather curious; he can walk the entire length of it in under a minute forty. He did that for a while, just paced while waiting for the train from London, but eventually he loitered by the benches in a such a way as to make the granny with the three day old paper nervous enough to move. He's stretched out alone one low bench, feet propped against the sign marking it as "priority seating for the elderly or with child" when he feels a familiar kick to his thigh.
"Oi," says Sirius, still squinting into the sun, doing a rather poor job of tamping down on the grin that's tugging at his mouth.
James has never been good at hiding anything, certainly not from Sirius. He beams, and jumps up. "Mate!" He grabs Sirius in a hug, pounds his back. "Lookit you, you gorgeous being. All sweat damp and smelling of old people. My Sirius has returned to me!"
Sirius's laugh is forced out of him, by the squeeze of James's arms, and the knocking of his guitar case against his back. He pulls back enough to cuff his knuckles against James's shoulder, still grinning. "Did all right without me, did you? Wash behind your ears?"
"Don't be daft; I cannae remember the last time I washed." James grabs the bag from Sirius's shoulder, slings it over his own. "How was the trip, then? Lots of boring English country side to sleep through," he says, gesturing toward the taxi queue at the end of the platform and leading the way.
"Eh," Sirius shrugs. "Usual, innit? Baby, old bint trying to drool on you, baby crying, bloke what smells of cigars, baby, baby. Not waiting long?"
"For you I'd wait an eternity, you know that's true." They queue up and James yawns, stretches. "What do you reckon some tea before we make for the flat? There's a place that does a good fry-up."
"Oh, fuck yes," Sirius groans, scanning the low skyline. "Been living off stale crisps for the past two days."
"Time to grow up, become a man, et cetera," James nods. They come to their turn in the queue and throw Sirius's luggage in the boot before climbing in the back seat with the guitar case. James rattles off approximate directions then turns to Sirius next to him. "So."
Sirius sighs, slumping down into his seat, and he shoots James a sly, sidelong smile. "Brilliant," he exhales, briefly closing his eyes. "Can't tell you how fucking glad I am t'be out of that stinking hole."
James laughs, delighted. "I am, in this moment, picturing Mother Black's face when you informed her of your new address." He sits back as well, shoulder to shoulder with Sirius. "This is going to fucking brill. Like at Eton! Only without the unnecessary third roommate."
"Mate," Sirius raises his eyebrow, glancing at James through his hair. "Like Eton? This is so much more than fucking Eton -- total freedom!" He throws an arm wide, loosely, towards the dirty cab window, knocking his wrist against the glass.
James grins wider. "You've a point there, Black, credit to you. And Bradford is fairly decent, really. Decent pubs, good Indian place. All of life's necessities!"
"Birds?" Sirius mutters knowingly, rubbing at his wrist.
"Birds!" James nods, beaming. "One of sorts at the moment - Alice. But I don't think she's particular, so if you wanted a welcome-to-the-city go of it, I reckon she might be willing." He looks thoughtful for a moment, then shrugs.
"Pass," Sirius snorts, picking at the fraying knee of his jeans. His voice takes on an all-too familiar pitch - high and posh and vowel-rounded, like all the echoes of the old Black house. "Much as I appreciate the gesture, Potter, my eons-long depression-induced celibacy would take round offense."
James shakes his head. "I worry for your prick, mate. Truly, I do. It's so neglected. How it hasn't staged a mutiny by now is utterly beyond me." He sits up a bit as the taxi comes to a stop. "Ah, brilliant." He taps at Sirius's shoulder, digs in with his fingers when Sirius tries to shrug him off. "We're here! Best fry-up on Market, absolutely."
Sirius hisses with delight, rubbing his hands together. "Savage," he grins, digging in his pocket for the driver, and with a brief "thanks, mate," he's out the door, shouldering his guitar case.
James grabs Sirius's bag from the boot, joins him on the pavement, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "We'll get some grease and lard in ya, take you round to the flat and then to the pub, yeah?"
Sirius sighs gratefully. "That's the kind of welcome a bloke likes to get."
Since moving to Bradford, James has been very diligent about putting together a network of people who are swayed by his charm and youthful wiles to continually give him free shite. Molly, the matronly ginger barkeep, is one such person. James leads Sirius into the restaurant, a companionable arm slung round his shoulders, and Molly just points to a booth in the back. "Be over with ya coffee in a moment. What's your friend got in mind?"
"Grease and lard, apparently," Sirius grins, setting his case down and sliding into the booth. He stretches, his spine cracking, and the tension from the last few months - the loneliness of his mostly-emptied London flat, the gaping absence that knotted in his gut - just seems to melt away with the smell of bad coffee and the sight of James's stupid, grinning face.
"How savage is this, eh?" James beams, slides in opposite him. "That's Molly - she's mad about me. I let her tyke have my da's old pocket watch and now I'm golden." He kicks at Sirius under the table. "You look wrecked. Missing London already?"
Sirius kicks back without much malice, resting his chin in his hand as he glances around the small cafe. He snorts. "Not likely. That fucking city - christ. Nah, I'm just -- " he pauses, and then makes a loose, distracted gesture. "So when'm I gonna see this posh fucking place you've got, eh?"
"Soon as we eat," James grins, pushes his hair from his forehead. "Pretty decent. I've got a mattress for ya. We can go round the shops tomorrow and get whatever else you need. My uncle wants to come round for dinner, but I told him we'd ring him up once you were settled." He drums against the table top with his fingers, grins. "Got a kit in the lounge."
Sirius snorts again, laughing. "'course you do. No proper job yet, I hope. Don't wanna waste all that fucking time what with you could be annoying the neighbours."
James sighs. "Got a job, I'm afraid," he says with an appropriate amount of tragedy in his voice. "A friend of my dad's insisted."
"Ugh," Sirius pulls a face. "You disgust me, sir. What kinda proper bohemian behaviour's that?"
"None at all, and I do offer my most sincere apologies." James grins. "I could probably get you one, as well. When you're tired of being a bum and all."
"Don't insult me," Sirius sniffs, toying with a sugar packet between his fingers. "I've worked hard to cultivate myself as part of the lowest rung of society, all right." He aims, flicks the packet squarely at James's forehead. "where's it at, then?"
Dev: James scrunches his nose as the packet drops to the table. "Royal Bank of Scotland. Lending department. Bloody agonising." Molly walks over, a try with two coffees, beans on toast, bangers and mash and sweet chips piled up. James beams at her. "You're a star."
"Ta, love," Sirius adds, parroting James's adoring grin. "Christ, yeah," he inhales, grabbing a fork and tucking in.
James drowns the chips in vinegar, doesn't even bother with a utensil. "So, I've been playing a bit with this bloke from the firm. But he's moving to Leeds on a promotion."
"Bugger," Sirius frowns, mouth full. "He any good?"
James shrugs. "Decent. Anyway. All it means is I've an opening for a guitar player." He positively beams at Sirius, vinegar and grease covering his mouth. "What you say to an audition?"
Sirius raises an eyebrow, sucking salt from his thumb, palm hiding his grin. "Why, you any good?"
James snorts. "Mate, please. No need to get silly."
"Oh my, lord, no," Sirius snickers. "All right. Lemme check my schedule - I'll see what I can do t'pencil you in, darling."
"Thank you so very much, sweetheart," James snickers back, just as Molly comes over and dumps two pieces of chocolate pie on the table. James blinks up at her adoringly.
"Marry me!"
"Don't," Sirius warns her, placing a comforting hand on her arm. "Love, just -- don't."
Molly grins at him, pats his cheek. "Oh, we're well used to James's antics round here, dear." She sets down two forks. "Cream?"
"That's just what he wants," Sirius nods. "He reels you in, an' before you know it, you're completely, madly in love, and you'd never even know what you would have missed if you'd have been with me instead!"
"Back off Black," James snarls, as Molly laughs freely.
"You lads are sweet. Eat up! The both of you are too thin, as well."
"Hee-hee-hee," Sirius snickers, digging into his pie, flicking a bit of cream at James's plate. "I like her."
"She's a treasure," James agrees, dips a chip into his pie experimentally. He can feel the tension in his spine easing away, a slow loosening of his joints. "Tonight you will meet Frank and Alice!" he declares, pointing his chip at Sirius. "We will become shameful at the pub and then tomorrow we will be irresponsible with money. This is my plan, what do you say?"
"Aye!" Sirius growls, poking a forkful of pie in James's direction, triumphantly. "I say aye! and then we will pile into our posh flat and be irresponsible with drink, and play beautiful music until our fingers bleed!"
"That is so factual!" James cries, sits back laughing. "You and me and bloody Bradford, mate. It's already perfection."
And because this only makes Sirius feels a little bit like crying like a little baby, he laughs, and launches his last forkful of pie across the booth at James's face, instead.