“It seems we have ourselves in quite a quandary,” the man chuckles, his grin light, but shadowed by danger. Intelligence gleams darkly in his eyes, along with a keen killing instinct. Sirius is not so stupid that he doesn’t recognize it.
“So it would seem,” he says, but never lowers his wand. He’s fallen through the veil. He should be dead.
He should not be standing here in the middle of a dusty road in some foreign land facing down three odd men with various bits of medieval weaponry. Except for the girly guy in the robes. For some reason, the priest has a gun, and it is pointed at Sirius.
It’s the bespectacled chap that’s speaking to Sirius. The others keep muttering in a language Sirius knows isn’t English, but he’ll be damned if he understands it.
The little guy is laughing, bouncing from foot to foot, grin stretching ear to ear in genuine glee. And the red-haired fellow is calmly smoking a cigarette, hands tucked in his pockets. He seems content to leave the negotiations to his companions.
If Sirius could even call this tense situation a negotiation. Hell, his sudden appearance in the back of their jeep – which turned into a dragon by the way, what the fuck? – wasn’t Sirius’ fault. He is supposed to be dead. Not here, wherever here is.
“Are you, perhaps, an assassin sent by Gyumaoh?” the bespectacled chap asks.
Sirius blinks. “Are you one of the Dark Lord’s loyal pets?” he counters, figuring that his question must be just as insulting as the one the other man must have asked. Though Sirius has no idea who this Gyumo must be.
“Hmm.” The man says something to his friends that makes the kid pout in disappointment and the red-head shrug. The girly priest sneers, but he lowers his gun.
Sirius, however, is not so easily convinced. His wand doesn’t waver. “I still haven’t gotten any answers!” he calls out.
Green eyes turn his direction – they really are a nice color, that green. Like James’, only much darker, and Sirius isn’t referring to the shade. “It seems to be a long story, stranger. Care to join us for dinner while we exchange tales?”
The invitation seems to come out of nowhere, but before Sirius thinks to protest, his stomach growls. He figures, what the hell. He’s already dead. What more could they possibly do to him? So he shrugs and flashes them a fang-bearing grin.
“Sure. Why not?”