[ Remus answers that grin with more fake frustration, mouthing back I do love to ease into things with a mocking head wobble. Also a poorly-hidden smile. He doesn't really mind. Sirius has earned all that cockiness. But Remus isn't going to roll over and make it easy for him, so— ]
One, [ he cuts in, a little too quickly, and slams his hovercart forward. If there were tires they would screech. It's a decision Remus quickly regrets—because he's a Gryffindor, yes, of course, but if he is the one to wreck a hovercart then he will never hear the end of it. He will become Weirdo Sex Hovercart Crasher Man, and it will be unbearable.
But he can't take it back now. He can only say, ] Aahhh, [ with relative calm, an after-the-fact recognition of his own alarm and indignation, as if something or someone else had done this to him against his will. And he eases up off the space equivalent of gas, too, but only a little, looking sideways to check how badly Sirius is probably already beating him. ]
[--Sirius yells, first. But because he is, obviously, also a Gryffindor, and not a whiner, he recovers from his indignation and jams his armgloved hands against the controls. His hovercart leaps forward, inasmuch as a hovercart can actually leap. It's more of a lurch, really. Not so lurchy that he even comes close to slamming into anything, unlike some people.
So, when Remus looks around, it's to find that Sirius hasn't actually ovetaken him or beaten him yet, but is hovercarting along more or less beside him, at a hovercart's sedate pace. And yet the grin that Sirius gives him implies a breakneck speed, like they're zooming along much faster than they actually are.]
D'you know what happens to cheaters, Moony? They lose! Just like you're going to!
[And sure enough, his hovercart pulls into the lead, by a nose. A very small nose.]
[ Eighteen miles per hour is really nothing, not even for Remus, who has survived broomsticks and motorbikes and can, actually, run almost twice as fast as the hovercart, when he's on all fours. But broomsticks don't have buttons, and he didn't have to drive motorbike. It's different. But he's trying very hard to sound more collected in the aftermath of his aahhh. ]
It's a handicap, to make up for your bloody effortless—everything.
[ Case in point: the nose-length lead. Remus rolls his eyes as obviously as he possibly can, then leans forward over the controls, like maybe that will make his cart more aerodynamic. ]
Ooh, yes, bloody effortless-- it's such a pity that you love me so much--
[And love, obviously, overcomes even the outcome of hovercart races. Remus' cart does not improve aerodynamically, but the shift of his weight does sort of lean his cart forward a little, with a creak. Sirius darts a glance down, toward where their hovercarts are now quite neck and neck, still at that sedate pace.]
I'll show you a handicap--
[The offer is both cheerful and a little crazed. Show, give--it's clearly the latter that he means, and as they draw closer to the end of the corridor, he leans his weight to the right of his hovercart, which pushes it against Remus' cart. This is a little like Ben-Hur, if the chariots in Ben-Hur had been drawn by teams of sleepy mooncalves.]
[ That's purely instinctive outrage, since nothing outrageous actually happens: his cart has nothing to grip at the floor with except air, and it slides accommodatingly sideways when bumped. Someday they should put bumpers on them and have at it. But given the present absence of padding— ]
Don't scratch them. [ It's a lame follow-up. He knows it. His voice isn't even raised. And here's the end of the corridor, or at least near enough for Remus to begin slowing down—unnecessarily, probably fatally, since swinging the carts around at the wall like a swimmer doing a flip-turn is perfectly feasible for someone less concerned about making Murphy Pendleton look disappointed in him. ]
[Sirius--who could care less about the disappointed face of Murphy Pendleton--who could, generally, care less about the disappointed face of anyone, with very few and rare exceptions--has no hangups about swinging carts around--which he happily proves by swinging his cart around at the end of the corridor, completing the turn at a less-than-breakneck-but-still-inadvisable speed. Devilish and daring even at a pace barely above a brisk jog.]
I'll scratch you--
[Which doesn't exactly make sense and is, in fact, a little juvenile of a response--but so what, the cart's not been scratched and Sirius is already heading back in the other direction, his risk paying off splendidly in that he is now in the lead.]
[ Since they're being juvenile to begin with, Remus lifts a hand from the controls long enough to gesture as rudely as he can at Sirius while their paths cross, before he starts the process of turning his cart around at a more responsible speed and chasing after him.
Cheating—real cheating, the kind that goes unnoticed and makes a difference in the outcome—is for Slytherins, but being a pain is the arse is a more global trait, and the way back is a long ways to be staring at the back of Sirius' hair, so. Remus gets his wand out, once he's turned around, and says, quietly, ]
Aguamenti.
[ He aims the charm at said back of head, a quick and not particularly forceful jet of water. Wizarding squirt gun. This is all very mature and appropriate for 22-year-old war veterans, what are you talking about. ]
[As he's hit with the water, Sirius jerks forward, with a very unGryffindor yelp. His hand slaps at the back of his head, indignant--]
What the hell, Lupin--
[--And of course, because he's slapped at the back of his head with his hand, and his hand is covered in armglove, it's sort of a less-than-graceful move, made clumsy by skin that sort of isn't his.
Hands off the controls of the cart means, by the way, that the cart veers to one side, with a suddenness that is uncanny for the speed that it's been going all this time. A sedate pace does not apply to veering, apparently, or really more of a nosedive gone sideways, directing Sirius straight toward a wall, and straight off-course.]
Shit--
[He's laughing, but he tries to grasp the controls again, toggle the cart back onto track--a little too late--]
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One, [ he cuts in, a little too quickly, and slams his hovercart forward. If there were tires they would screech. It's a decision Remus quickly regrets—because he's a Gryffindor, yes, of course, but if he is the one to wreck a hovercart then he will never hear the end of it. He will become Weirdo Sex Hovercart Crasher Man, and it will be unbearable.
But he can't take it back now. He can only say, ] Aahhh, [ with relative calm, an after-the-fact recognition of his own alarm and indignation, as if something or someone else had done this to him against his will. And he eases up off the space equivalent of gas, too, but only a little, looking sideways to check how badly Sirius is probably already beating him. ]
no subject
[--Sirius yells, first. But because he is, obviously, also a Gryffindor, and not a whiner, he recovers from his indignation and jams his armgloved hands against the controls. His hovercart leaps forward, inasmuch as a hovercart can actually leap. It's more of a lurch, really. Not so lurchy that he even comes close to slamming into anything, unlike some people.
So, when Remus looks around, it's to find that Sirius hasn't actually ovetaken him or beaten him yet, but is hovercarting along more or less beside him, at a hovercart's sedate pace. And yet the grin that Sirius gives him implies a breakneck speed, like they're zooming along much faster than they actually are.]
D'you know what happens to cheaters, Moony? They lose! Just like you're going to!
[And sure enough, his hovercart pulls into the lead, by a nose. A very small nose.]
no subject
[ Eighteen miles per hour is really nothing, not even for Remus, who has survived broomsticks and motorbikes and can, actually, run almost twice as fast as the hovercart, when he's on all fours. But broomsticks don't have buttons, and he didn't have to drive motorbike. It's different. But he's trying very hard to sound more collected in the aftermath of his aahhh. ]
It's a handicap, to make up for your bloody effortless—everything.
[ Case in point: the nose-length lead. Remus rolls his eyes as obviously as he possibly can, then leans forward over the controls, like maybe that will make his cart more aerodynamic. ]
no subject
[And love, obviously, overcomes even the outcome of hovercart races. Remus' cart does not improve aerodynamically, but the shift of his weight does sort of lean his cart forward a little, with a creak. Sirius darts a glance down, toward where their hovercarts are now quite neck and neck, still at that sedate pace.]
I'll show you a handicap--
[The offer is both cheerful and a little crazed. Show, give--it's clearly the latter that he means, and as they draw closer to the end of the corridor, he leans his weight to the right of his hovercart, which pushes it against Remus' cart. This is a little like Ben-Hur, if the chariots in Ben-Hur had been drawn by teams of sleepy mooncalves.]
no subject
[ That's purely instinctive outrage, since nothing outrageous actually happens: his cart has nothing to grip at the floor with except air, and it slides accommodatingly sideways when bumped. Someday they should put bumpers on them and have at it. But given the present absence of padding— ]
Don't scratch them. [ It's a lame follow-up. He knows it. His voice isn't even raised. And here's the end of the corridor, or at least near enough for Remus to begin slowing down—unnecessarily, probably fatally, since swinging the carts around at the wall like a swimmer doing a flip-turn is perfectly feasible for someone less concerned about making Murphy Pendleton look disappointed in him. ]
no subject
I'll scratch you--
[Which doesn't exactly make sense and is, in fact, a little juvenile of a response--but so what, the cart's not been scratched and Sirius is already heading back in the other direction, his risk paying off splendidly in that he is now in the lead.]
Eat cart, Lupin!
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Cheating—real cheating, the kind that goes unnoticed and makes a difference in the outcome—is for Slytherins, but being a pain is the arse is a more global trait, and the way back is a long ways to be staring at the back of Sirius' hair, so. Remus gets his wand out, once he's turned around, and says, quietly, ]
Aguamenti.
[ He aims the charm at said back of head, a quick and not particularly forceful jet of water. Wizarding squirt gun. This is all very mature and appropriate for 22-year-old war veterans, what are you talking about. ]
no subject
What the hell, Lupin--
[--And of course, because he's slapped at the back of his head with his hand, and his hand is covered in armglove, it's sort of a less-than-graceful move, made clumsy by skin that sort of isn't his.
Hands off the controls of the cart means, by the way, that the cart veers to one side, with a suddenness that is uncanny for the speed that it's been going all this time. A sedate pace does not apply to veering, apparently, or really more of a nosedive gone sideways, directing Sirius straight toward a wall, and straight off-course.]
Shit--
[He's laughing, but he tries to grasp the controls again, toggle the cart back onto track--a little too late--]
Shit, look what you've-- aaah--