Disclaimer: Not. Mine. People should realize these things.
Author's Note: Shortest in my semi-series of completely random little ficlets/drabbles, collectively referred to as "The Life And Times of Sirius Black, In No Particular Order" -- which we're going to call Part Two, as I only have Part One up besides this. Whee, on with the fun.
(And don't forget to review. It's good for you.)
o.o.o.o
'Holy arse! YOU DRANK MY MILKSHAKE!' Click. Ffzsht.
'Ohmigod, Sarah! I'm having his baby!' Click. Click. Ffzsht.
'...And if you call within the next twenty minutes, we will also include...' Click. Ffffzzt. Thunk.
'There's nothing on,' Sirius whined to no-one in particular, his voice echoing through his flat. With a grunt, he leaned further back into the cushions of his sofa and swung his feet onto the coffee table. Th-thunk. Shhh-clatter.
He groaned. His feet had knocked the telly remote, which he'd only just put down, off the coffee table. Now, if he wanted to watch the telly, he had to get it. And watching the telly was better than sitting doing nothing.
But he didn't want to get up to get it. And his wand was five feet away on the end table. He'd have to get up to get that, too. Which was worse, though? He'd have to think about it...
After several minutes, Sirius compromised with himself by throwing his shoe at the television, knocking the antenna off.
'Fuck,' groused Sirius, wiggling his sock-clad toes in the air and admiring the lovely hole that was growing under the big toe. He had to stop that too, though, when his toe slid out through the hole and started getting cold.
Now thoroughly put out, he grumbled and removed the sock. After a moments deliberation, he shrugged indifferently and tossed it over his shoulder.
Nothing happened.
'Maybe I should get a cat,' he mused, wiggling his whole foot this time and absently noting that he needed to trim his toenails again. Then, as he remembered why he ever even thought of trimming his toenails to begin with, he thought better of it with a snicker.
The tea kettle in the kitchen whistled, and Sirius made a face in its direction. Glancing around looking for a way to get his wand to turn it off without moving, he mumbled to himself, 'Evil gru inhabited minion of satan...'
At last, running a hand through his perfectly unbrushed hair, he gave it up and got to his feet to deal with the temperamental kettle in the other room. Whereupon he promptly stepped on the telly remote with the foot that still had a shoe on it.
He cursed, jerking his foot up and away, and banging his knee on the coffee table in the process. He howled and grabbed for it with both hands, clutching it to his chest.
Crackle-fwoosh. The unlit logs in his fireplace flared up green flames, and James' head appeared, smiling widely. The chipper expression barely flickered when he spotted Sirius, dressed in boxers with shoe and sock on one foot, hopping around his apartment wailing and swearing.
'Sirius, it's two in the afternoon, get dressed,' he ordered sternly, still grinning. 'And then come over. Lily and I need help with the crossword.' Whoofzt. His head disappeared and so did the flames.
Sirius, now with something to do, was suddenly in a much better mood and moved eagerly to his room to put some trousers on before going to James'.