Clogged Cans
The sky was dim, not quite dark but close to it at this hour. No one wandered the streets, not even the beggars with their signs and pleas. Brutality was too rampant to be testing the system after nine. But the dark haired, cloaked, shady figure that slunk through alleyways and navigated corner cameras couldn’t care less. His grey eyes darted over every surface, plotting his place for the night. There were few walls left untouched in this district, but Sirius was determined to fill the lot of them. The black duffel on his shoulder carried everything he needed to have his voice heard. The clinking of metal cans soothed the paranoia caused by silence and insomnia. Finally a stucco wall tucked neatly out of sight caught his eye. It was just screaming to be made a mural of his madness. The bag was promptly thrown to the shit covered ground and unzipped, shiny aluminum catching the moonlight. Sirius opted for a cool hued background but bright fiery accents to really punch the message in. Funny enough, the fists packed all the punch necessary. Bound by chains and left to rot, that's how he felt, how they all felt really, and he plastered it on this wall for everyone to hear.
The early morning light pierced through thin curtains in an instant, ruling the feeble sleep he got moot. Sirens blared outside and a crooked grin spread across the man’s face. Chipped black nails combed through his mess of pitch dark locks before fixing it up into a messy bun. Sirius never did care much for a neat look, beat up Doc Martins sat by the door to his dilapidated flat and he wore one of his ten or so band tees he owned with some shredded black jeans. Guess he didn’t bother to take them off after last night. He reached for a cigarette box before dragging himself to the kitchen. Nothing but alcohol sat in his fridge and he had no heart to go out and find a place to eat. So here he was smoking a cig (or five) with a nice wash of vodka to follow. The police would no doubt be knocking anytime now to discuss his new “art installation” across the street. He giggles to himself, those pigs didn’t know what they were in for. It’s his first piece since moving even further into poverty and seeing just how little people care when you can’t pay them back really fired his creativity up again. His place reeked of smoke and sewage, as most of this town did, but hell it was a roof over his head at night. He worked here and there and had a gofundme off his instagram page. So far he’d avoided the streets. How long that would last was unclear. But he knew that these cops better be damn cute if they were gonna arrest him.
Wasn’t his first time in a holding cell, won’t be his last. The cops had seen the tag on the bottom of the piece, called some other departments and figured it out pretty quick. Not record time, but an hour and a half after the sirens were off isn’t horrible. Two of them had come to see him, all this attention was really flattering. Officer Pettigrew was the shorter of the two and showed his ID first he was quiet with a polite air about him. It pissed Sirius off. Officer Potter was more snarky with Sirius, and had more bite to him.
“Oh, well arrest me then cutie.” Sirius had quipped before offering his wrists. Potter had just scoffed and asked him to turn around and blah blah blah. Sirius wasn’t new to this dance, he knew how to get into cuffs.
The metal was cold against his temple and was easing the pounding headache he had. The smell of the police stations had always bothered him. It was somewhere between the smell of vomit and cleaning chemicals and it got him woozy everytime he was booked. Considering this happened quite often you would think he was used to it by now. Neither Potter nor Pettigrew had come by since they threw him in here nearing two hours ago. Said the boss was gonna come by to talk to him. How very flattering, had he really hit that big of a nerve. Quiet chuckles escaped his lips as he fiddled with the piercings in them. The shadows shifted back and forth as he breathed and all he wished for was to go home and sleep. This wooden, lopsided bench provided comfort and barely any stability. God how long were they gonna keep the poor guy here all he did was some mild vandalism. He sighed and leaned back against a concrete wall.
Sirius must have drifted off because next thing he knew there was banging at his cell door and a cop yelling at him, “Oi, Black get off ur ass the boss is here.” Sirius rolled his eyes and stretched off the bench. That was uncomfortable as hell. He was lead by the wrists down the hall into a small office. One cop sat there, dusty blonde hair was mussed from his hat and his broad back was turned toward Sirius.
“Sit.”, said the gruff and older cop behind him. He went up to talk to blondie and was dismissed with a wave. The conversation didn’t seem of much substance, but Sirius was sure his name was uttered, though that may have just been his ego.
Sirius rested his head on his cuffed hands and smirked, “So blondie how’s it going? They move you here to keep tabs on me?” By they Sirius meant his family, he didn’t know how but it seemed they had got even this young cop on their payroll. The chair swiveled and deep pools of eyes met his, stress and exhaustion plaguing his young face. He looked terribly exhausted with dark purple bags circling his brown eyes. Dirty blonde hair framed his weathered and scarred face, it was always messy and hardly well kept. Every station seemed to be captained by this young man, every one Sirius had been to at least, which was almost all of them. It was a tad disconcerting that he followed Sirius around like a lost puppy, though he was far from such.
“It would be better if I didn’t have to go around reprimanding you every five seconds Black.” Ah how he had missed that biting snark he always delivered. Guess being followed by a family grunt has some benefits. One of which being the utter frustration Sirius seemed to affect on all of them.
Sirius just grinned at the pretty little servant, “And here I thought you missed me Lupin.”