tampopo
Yesterday, there was a breakdown of communications during Anger Management therapy. Black accused me of seeking out to persecute Perfect Potter, using the detention plan as ammunition. I pointed out that the reasons why I do the things I do. Honestly, if Potter is going to face the Dark Lord again, as is his yearly habit, then he has to understand that he can't break rules, that more is expected of him because he'll need all the help he can get to live. Then Black said that I was justifying my own dislike of the boy. Apparently throwing a quill at someone's head is not conducive to therapy. We got into an increasingly vehement argument when Albus was finally called in to mediate.
Albus took no note of the circumstances, opting to assign us more "quality time" as he is fond of calling it. Of course, I suggested another chess game immediately, but Albus insisted that it was Black's "turn." So what does the blasted man do? He decides that he wants to go into Muggle London for dinner. Soon after that, I found myself changed into a Muggle suit and walking up to Black's room.
He must have been taking lessons in the style department, because for once he looked rather decent instead of looking like the poster boy for Wizards with Wands. He then insists that we had to ride that blasted motorbike to London. The thought still drives me into an apoplectic fit. So soon, we arrive at a sushi restaurant of all places.
My irritation level was at an all-time high. I have never in my life ever had the slightest desire to consume raw fish of any kind. However, the Japanese beer was rather good. At that point, the evening didn't seem to be an entire waste. Reluctantly, I had to confer with Black on the safest thing to eat.
I had to admit that perhaps it wasn't as bad as it looked. To show that I was not a close-minded simpleton, I sampled a variety of sushi. And of course, Sir Martyr was showing off with his use of chopsticks. I was most unimpressed.
An older couple approached us right after I accused him of that fact, and made the most ridiculous proclamation that I've ever heard in my life. Believe me, knowing the people that I have known in the past, this was no plain declaration. I was outraged to put it lightly, and I immediately stood up with the intent to leave. Japanese beer must have a higher alcohol content than I assumed because the room tilted. Black attempted to steady me from falling, I suppose, but wound up grabbing me. Reacting to that, I spilled beer all over myself.
Oh, Black was having a blast I imagine. I found nothing amusing in the situation in the least, and told him as much. Black went off to pay the bill, and informed me on his return that I was free to leave if I so wished. Never let it be said that I take the easy out. I refused, and we ended up going to a proper pub.
Note to Self: Billards is Black's forte.
Another Note to Self: Beer and Billiards makes for a poor combination.
The ride back was a bit turbulent. Winds were gusty and tossed the bike around. I had two choices; either hold on to Black and live, or fall off completely and die. Seeing as I am still among the land of the living, I'll leave the assumption as to my choice up to supposition.
I suppose overall, the night wasn't too terrible. However, there are still many issues to work through. And I see now that we're back to the status quo in our verbal sparring. At least...well, there's something to be said for the comfort of familiarity.
Albus took no note of the circumstances, opting to assign us more "quality time" as he is fond of calling it. Of course, I suggested another chess game immediately, but Albus insisted that it was Black's "turn." So what does the blasted man do? He decides that he wants to go into Muggle London for dinner. Soon after that, I found myself changed into a Muggle suit and walking up to Black's room.
He must have been taking lessons in the style department, because for once he looked rather decent instead of looking like the poster boy for Wizards with Wands. He then insists that we had to ride that blasted motorbike to London. The thought still drives me into an apoplectic fit. So soon, we arrive at a sushi restaurant of all places.
My irritation level was at an all-time high. I have never in my life ever had the slightest desire to consume raw fish of any kind. However, the Japanese beer was rather good. At that point, the evening didn't seem to be an entire waste. Reluctantly, I had to confer with Black on the safest thing to eat.
I had to admit that perhaps it wasn't as bad as it looked. To show that I was not a close-minded simpleton, I sampled a variety of sushi. And of course, Sir Martyr was showing off with his use of chopsticks. I was most unimpressed.
An older couple approached us right after I accused him of that fact, and made the most ridiculous proclamation that I've ever heard in my life. Believe me, knowing the people that I have known in the past, this was no plain declaration. I was outraged to put it lightly, and I immediately stood up with the intent to leave. Japanese beer must have a higher alcohol content than I assumed because the room tilted. Black attempted to steady me from falling, I suppose, but wound up grabbing me. Reacting to that, I spilled beer all over myself.
Oh, Black was having a blast I imagine. I found nothing amusing in the situation in the least, and told him as much. Black went off to pay the bill, and informed me on his return that I was free to leave if I so wished. Never let it be said that I take the easy out. I refused, and we ended up going to a proper pub.
Note to Self: Billards is Black's forte.
Another Note to Self: Beer and Billiards makes for a poor combination.
The ride back was a bit turbulent. Winds were gusty and tossed the bike around. I had two choices; either hold on to Black and live, or fall off completely and die. Seeing as I am still among the land of the living, I'll leave the assumption as to my choice up to supposition.
I suppose overall, the night wasn't too terrible. However, there are still many issues to work through. And I see now that we're back to the status quo in our verbal sparring. At least...well, there's something to be said for the comfort of familiarity.