[Face punching is so far in the past now it's more like: face punching, what face punching. As the saying goes, in all friendships, a little rain must fall, a few litres of blood must be shed, a nose might get broken, et cetera, et cetera. All is forgiven, doubly forgiven now that there's arm gloves and cart races.

Sirius' Apparition is immediate, not even a second after Remus': straight to hovercart storage, don't try and keep a wizard out, Support nanites, he's here, he's inspecting with a critical eye worthy of any elected inspectawizard on the inspection committee before a Quidditch World Cup final. By the time Remus and the container pop into existence, he's narrowed it down to two fine looking carts, without a single scuff mark or dent on them.]

You, experience? Enough to beat me at a race? Please, Lupin.

[The real answer is yes, probably, lest he make a fool of himself, but false bravado wins out. But--too eager to even properly play at bravado--Sirius jumps up to his feet, abandoning all carts.]

Anyway, the carts aren't going to be the thing. I can do driving. It's arms that'll take some getting used to--is that them? Hairy armgloves? Take them out, then, let us have a look. I can't believe you've actually done this--you're a genius, Support. Or manipulative. Or brilliant. All of the above. My favourite weirdo sex man. Let me see, come on-n--