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[The camera clicks on to a low-lit room. It's difficult to see anything, but there's something moving in the darkness--

--a face. A wolf's face turned to the side, its jaws bloody and eye narrowed, teeth stretched into sharp, curved fangs. It stares at the camera for a few seconds, sizing it up, before turning. But the other half of the face isn't a wolf; rather, it's a mangled, gory mess. A young face appears on the screen, meshed horribly with the wolf on the other side-- and it's Remus' face, but one could only tell that if one knew him well, as his face is horribly torn up. Torn skin and exposed muscles make up the majority of his face, while blood pours from scratches on his forehead. His teeth are exposed through a hole in his cheek, but that's barely visible, as dripping yellow fat mixing with crimson blood are constantly slipping down his cheek. It's a horrible sight, made all the worse by Remus' sudden low laugh.

--because it's the mask, of course, and he proves that by removing it after a few seconds.]

Enjoy the show?

[There's a noticeable edge in his voice and smile, something colder and crueler than before.]

I think I quite like this new development. It's certainly far more interesting than simply another Jump, don't you agree? And far less deadly-- which reminds me, there's new people here, aren't there? I do hope that's not your first inkling that things on here aren't quite so lovely as they seem; that would be a rather poor welcome.

[He glances down, considering the mask for a few more seconds, before glancing at the camera again.]

You know, I'm always surprised at how kind everyone is here. Aren't you? How welcoming they are to the supernatural creatures. The vampires and the werewolves, the poor castaway souls that have found sanctuary here-- but you know, I don't know if that's so wise. It works out for me, of course, but don't you ever wonder what might happen if one of us snapped?

[He grins fiercely.]

Think about it. Once a month, all that separates me from a potential meal-- that is to say, you (and please don't say that you could defend yourself from me, because I can promise you, you couldn't, not from me when I'm on the hunt)-- is a simple door and a dog. Just a few inches of steel, and I'm sure soon enough the werewolf will figure out how to get out of that.

As for the vampires-- well. I don't think it would be very hard for a vampire to snap, would it? At least with me, you only have to worry once a month. A terrifying once a month, to be certain, and I could most definitely hurt you if I was so inclined now-- but in the end, I have control over myself twenty-eight days of the month. A vampire, now-- well. He could snap at any moment. His cravings are a constant hunger. Imagine, if you would, starving. Having hunger claw at your stomach, making you dizzy, making you delirious-- and then being presented a delicious meal and being told you weren't allowed to have any. Imagine having to deal with that at every hour, every minute, every second of every day--

Really, it's a wonder the poor things haven't snapped by now, isn't it?

[He slips his hand up, his finger playing carelessly at his dogtooth.]

Of course, being a creature of darkness also has its benefits. Strength, hearing, sight, smell-- they all get better. You become something better than a human, something bigger and cleverer and far more interesting. I have to say, I'm a bit surprised no one has asked for the bite yet.

But then perhaps you're all frightened.

[He shrugs and glances down at the mask again. After a moment he slips it back on and turns so the wolf side is facing the Network.]

I suppose you should be.

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[He grunts in pain, twisting as his face is slammed against the metal floor-- and it hurts, yeah, and he can taste blood from where he bit his cheek-- but still Remus smirks, because he hit a nerve and he knows it.]

Is that any way to hold up the Black family name, hm, Sirius?

Shut up--

[He snarls it, as he slams Remus against the floor again--and he can feel his father's hand on his shoulder, a heavy weight, you're a disgrace, and again, he knocks him against the floor, his teeth clenched so hard they ache--]

Or what? You'll kill me? Oh, but that'd be perfect, wouldn't it, the Black heir putting down the vermin!

[He has his fingers twisted in Remus' hair, cruelly, and his cheek is pressed to the floor, and he could do it. Sirius can feel his wand, gripped tight in his hand. He could do it.]

I wouldn't waste the strength on you.

[He breathes too fast, fear giving him away-- but there's a cruel twist to his smile even as he's pushed painfully against the floor.]

Coward.

[That's it, that's one of the words Sirius hates above all others--and even if Remus didn't know that, it's obvious from the way his face tightens, mouth narrowing--

And abruptly, he lets go, shoving Remus away with unnecessary savagery--and he whips his wand up, and the bonds fall from him, dissolving back into the floor.]

Coward?

[As slowly as he dares he climbs to his feet, his eyes never leaving Sirius' wand.]

Shall I repeat it? Or do you simply want confirmation?

[He smiles, mirthlessly, and sinks back, his wand held ready.]

Say it again and we'll see if it's true.

[His wand is still on the table, still waiting to be grabbed-- but though he wants to, Remus doesn't go for it. Instead he stares at Sirius, at his throat, very nearly panting at the thought of it.]

Coward.

[But Sirius is ready for that one, so nearly as soon as Remus has said the word, he flicks his wand up, and jabs it in Remus' direction, almost an elegant gesture for all its savagery--]

Vermillious!

[Red and orange sparks shoot out of the tip of his wand, straight at Remus' face, and he lunges for him straight after, with a punch--]

[For all his words, Remus really is shit at fighting; all can he do is reel in pain and stagger back, his arms raised defensively to try and cover himself. But the mask doesn't allow for that sort of passive action; soon he's charging forward clumsily, trying to tackle Sirius to the ground, to hit him, something--]

[But it's enough; even without skill, Remus has strength, more strength than you'd think from looking at him. Sirius hits the ground, hard--he doesn't lose his grip on his wand, thank God, but he's winded. Still, he struggles, trying to loose himself from Remus--]

[With a snarl he scrabbles to stay atop Sirius, to pin him to the floor-- left arm, yeah, easy, but it's the right that's tricky, it's the right he has to worry about--]

[He shoves up, sharply, trying to push Remus off--and he scrabbles to keep his wand hand away from Remus' grasp--jinxes, he can do jinxes in his sleep, nearly, wordless, easy--a stinging jinx at random, meant to irritate and swell whatever bit of him he hits--and again, he shoves up; if the jinx hits home it might be enough to get Remus off of him--]

[With a howl of pain he rolls off Sirius, his hands going up to his face and neck as the stinging jinx hits home-- and there's human whimpers mixed into that, a sound Sirius is so familiar with (but not like this, never when he's not transforming).]

[He moves back, scrambling back until he's pressed against Remus' bed, chest rising and falling sharply, shallowly, as he stares across at Remus. Adrenaline rushes through him, mingling and souring with fear, with guilt, guilt even the mask can't keep down, rising in his throat like bile--with the power of the mask ebbing, he stares at Remus.]

Remus--

[He stares back up at Sirius-- and for a few seconds it's as if they're back to normal, as if Sirius is still his best friend and he ought to approach him.]

Sirius--

[He hisses in pain and ducks his head. He has to remove the mask to get at his face-- and it's like a breath of fresh air, a sudden bright light that makes him whimper and curl into himself. It hurts, it's good but it's awful at the same time, and Remus whines as he fights the urge to slip the mask back on.]

[Something in his chest feels hot, and his throat feels thick and even when he swallows, it feels clogged, as if he's trying to swallow something down--

But when he reaches for his mask, there's a spike of something more vile, like swallowing tar, and Sirius chokes and retches on it, curling forward--his hands hit the floor, hard, stinging jolts of pain through his arms--he sucks in a breath, and forces his hand up, taking hold of the mask and tearing it, tearing, it's like tearing off a scab in one go, but worse, the same mingled pain and satisfaction--

And then he's free of it, it's crumpled in his hand like a loose flap of skin, and he stares at Remus, horrified, and the silence between them feels heavy, like a third person in the room.]

[He doesn't know what to say, what to do-- and so he stays huddled in on himself, one hand pressed against his neck, though the sting from the jinxes has long since gone away.

But he can't stay silent forever-- and so, eventually, quietly:]

I'll go. I'll-- I'll go.

[He stumbles to his feet, shaking like mad, and heads for the door.]

N-No--

[The word stumbles out of him, numbly--and then he's launched into action; he scrambles forward, he climbs to his feet, unsteadily, reaching to pull Remus back.]

Don't-- You can't--

[He shies away, pushing himself against the wall with a little whimper.]

Don't-- don't touch me, please. Please.

[Startled, he pulls up short, jerking his hand back. Nothing like that's ever been said, in the whole six-year course of knowing Remus--joking, yes, but never direct, never serious, and he stares at him, silently.]

Don't leave.

[He nods, though he's still curled against the wall-- god, and he doesn't know what to say, what to do, if he ought to acknowledge what just happened or if they should try to move past it--

He glances at the floor, staring fixedly at it.]

Sorry.

[He squeezes his eyes shut.]

God, I'm sorry.

[Staring at Remus--who is staring at the floor--Sirius thinks (not for the first time, and certainly not for the last) that James ought to be here. Should be here, not even ought--because if James were here, all of this would be sorted. James always knows what to do, James is--for all intents and purposes--a Leader, whereas Sirius is only Sirius, made for dark moods and dark jokes and smirking and taking the piss out of people, stupid in everything else.

But if James were here, he would never have put on a mask, he would tell them you two are gits, he would punch Sirius (possibly in the shoulder, possibly in the face) and everything would be at rights again. And he's not missed James so much since he first got here, but suddenly the lack of him hurts, made worse by the bitter guilt and fear he feels looking at Remus.

Your father's son. His mouth twists, and he stands taller, suddenly.]

Give me yours.

What?

[The statement is shocking enough that his head snaps up, his eyes meeting his once again-- and instinctively he curls back, the mask slipping behind him as if he can protect it (why? but he has to, he has to keep it).]

What-- what are you going to do with it?

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