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[specifiercity]

JANUARY 5TH: HILLINGDON

It's a new year, but it's the same old routine for Arthur. The holidays barely register as a thing for him anymore, and while everything gets a bit cozier and cheesier over the holidays, he's glad for the return to infrequent parties and fewer social expectations. He doesn't have that many friends and family to connect with over the holidays anyway, and it wasn't a good time for him to go home to Chicago for a visit.

So it's no surprise that he can be found in the halls of Hillingdon house in early January as if none of it had ever happened, looking for quick and easy bounties to pick up as he organizes a few supply orders. One day he can be found speaking in a hushed but urgent down into his phone at the end of a hallway.

"Two weeks ago you said you'd have the black ironwood. No, I'm not settling for desert, that's not the same thing. I'm almost out and now I'll have to go to someone else - yes, I'd rather pay a bit more than be dead, thanks. Jesus..."

The conversation continues like this for a minute or two longer until he hangs up with a curse, a look on his face like he misses the old days when one could literally slam the phone down to end a call.

JANUARY 8TH: THE BAR

So the man isn't really one for birthdays. He's never made it a big deal, and it barely even came up in the past few years while he was too busy traveling to realize it had come and gone. Today the plan was no different. He ran his errands this morning, had a business meeting over lunch, stopped in at Hillingdon to check in and see if there were any bounties worth picking up, and finished with a lovely dinner catching up with a couple associates. There were a couple glasses of wine ingested at this dinner, but nothing too over the top, and they don't even know it's his birthday when they part ways and he heads home alone.

On this walk, however, he thinks on it a little bit and feels that something is missing. He is turning 30 after all, and it would be a shame not to mark the occasion. There's a popular bar he's stopped into before on his way home, and tonight he spontaneously decides to have a few drinks. It's barely an hour later, after striking up a pleasant conversation with the bartender and introducing himself to the patrons next to him, that Arthur's grinning widely with flushed cheeks, animated and excited at every topic of conversation that comes his way.

He is, of course, uproariously drunk.

JANUARY 11TH: THE PURGE

Arthur's been watching Daybreak. He's been watching them move throughout Croydon, pushing out the dark magic like this is their divine mission. Arthur's not a huge fan of magic that hurts anyone, but he's also not a fan of Sylvia Redbright's apparent directive to bring peace to the London underground by controlling the whole system.

This, though, this has Norrell written all over it, so Arthur's been tracking one Daybreak witch all morning, watching him come and go and hoping that he'll lead him somewhere useful. It's an odd, perhaps creepy thing to do without any promise of a paycheque at the end, but Arthur's as covert as he can be and he's obnoxiously patient. Currently he's watching this witch speak with a defensive shop owner, from across the street in a small deli, passively hoping that it'll turn into a real fight since he's so unbelievably bored.

Comments

the PUB not BAR gosh

[stauncherhearted]

It was always funny, the way Nancy's life was so filled with coincidences. Today was one of them: she'd been out working, and had ducked into a pub to try to pick up another customer before the end of the night, and it just so happened to be the very pub where one Arthur No Lastname was celebrating his birthday. She had only the vaguest idea of his birthday, having once taken a look at his license when she'd gotten the opportunity to look at his wallet (she'd placed it back, without taking anything), but once she saw him in the crowd, drunk as all hell, well. It didn't matter what it was. He looked like he was having fun, and screw it, she could use some fun what with everything that's happening.

She ordered them each a rather large glass of whiskey, and in no time at all is making her way through the crowd to the birthday boy.

"Hullo, you!" She said, sashaying over to Arthur and garnering a few looks from other patrons. She held him the glass. "Bought you a drink." He had no choice but to drink it, because otherwise she'd have it for both of them, and she'd already had enough to drink tonight as it was. "What's got you in such high spirits?" She didn't bother to ask if she could join him and his new friends.

[specifiercity]

Arthur holds up his hands in recognition when she addresses him, a huge smile on his face. "Nancy!" he says, wrapping one arm around in her in half of a hug as he takes the whiskey. It'll take him a little longer to move on from the excitement of recognizing someone he knows to the realization that his relationship with Nancy still requires boundaries. Boundaries are hard when you're drunk, but Arthur's not the type to wake up with regrets, even when this much alcohol has been had.

"I'm just out celebrating," he explains with a grin, as if what he's celebrating isn't a complete mystery to anyone who isn't family.

[stauncherhearted]

She beams as he wraps an arm around her, and she wastes no time in planting a quick kiss on his cheek. She was the affectionate sort, even could be after an evening at work and greeting friends with cheek kisses (even if they left a mark, sorry) was par for the course with Nancy.

She has no idea there are boundaries in place at all, and really, really doesn't care.

"What're you celebrating? I want to know what I bought drinks for." Then it hits her. "Shit- your birthday! How old? Fifty, now?" She tosses her hair back over her shoulders as she jokes with him. "I'm kidding- but it is your birthday, isn't it? I'm remembering right, yeah?"

[specifiercity]

He grins affectionately down at her, laughing when she jokes about his age. "I'm thirty," he clarifies, as if he could ever be mistaken for fifty. He's not even going grey yet, but he supposes it's all the same to someone as young as her. He tilts his head at her, curious as he drops his arm from around her shoulders and leans against the bar.

"How did you know it was my birthday? I never told anyone here."

[stauncherhearted]

"Trade secret," Nancy tells him, tapping the side of her nose.

"Thirty, huh? Well you look good for your age." Excuse you, she is not that young. She feels far older than nineteen, at any rate, and tends to act it. And there's a huge difference between thirty and fifty as far as she is concerned. But she's been with them all.

[specifiercity]

Arthur's too drunk to wonder about trade secrets, but he's got his suspicions all the same. Not that it matters - if he's out something it's been long enough that he must not care about it too much.

Instead he just continues smiling. "I don't know where you think flattery's getting you tonight, but it's not going to work," he says, still with a sense of humour.

[stauncherhearted]

she hadn't stolen anything from him. maybe if their original encounter had gone another way. but she didn't steal from people she knew or cared about.

"nowhere! I'm not allowed to complement you?" She tossed her hair over one shoulder. "I can switch to insulting you, if you'd like. you are the birthday boy, after all." She gives him a good natured wink.

[specifiercity]

"That won't be necessary," Arthur says, shaking his head. He takes a sip of his drink - does he really need another sip - and tilts his head at her with a smile.

"What about you? Having a good night?"

[stauncherhearted]

"If you're sure," she said, returning the smile easily, though she tilted her head to the opposite side.

"It's only gotten better, now." She doesn't need to tell him she just stopped working, or anything of the sort. "You don't mind me joining your celebration, of course?"

happy birthday nerd

[falsify]

Call it a flaring of a latent territorial streak thanks to recent tensions, or maybe stretch it as far as friendship, the point is Eames has a gift for Arthur on this, the day of his birth.

It's the wee hours of the night, when most pubs are closed, when he politely knocks on Arthur's door instead of just letting himself in. (Call it a birthday present.) And he waits patiently.

Arthur doesn't strike him as the celebratory type, but he'll leave if there's no answer within a few minutes. No way is he waiting around for hours just to wish Arthur a happy birthday.

[specifiercity]

Arthur opens the door with the bewildered, suspicious look of a drunk man who didn't even know anyone had this address, let alone was expecting someone to knock at this type of night. He narrows his eyes at Eames and it seems to talk a full three seconds to achieve recognition, after which he transitions into something that could be immediate regret that this is happening while he's so inebriated. He doesn't generally let contacts see him in such a state, not after building an arm's length working relationship with them, but Arthur eventually comes to the realization that it's too late now and it would be even more rude to just close the door in Eames' face.

By this point the silence since opening the door has been sufficiently awkward. "I, uh..." - what, that's not how you answer the door - "Sorry, did you need something?"

Yeah, much better. Fortunately he's drunk enough that it comes out less rude and more confused.

[falsify]

Eames raises an eyebrow, clearly having not expected Arthur to be drunk, and he has to take a moment to process this state of affairs.

"Did I interrupt your celebration?" He asks once the moment's passed, a note of genuine curiosity colouring his otherwise flagrant disregard for whatever Arthur's up to. He won't stay for long, this is already weird enough. And as such, he doesn't care overmuch about Arthur's night. Arthur's ruined enough of Eames' evenings by now anyway.

[specifiercity]

"No, no," Arthur says, raising his eyebrows as if the idea of him doing any celebrating at this hour is ridiculous. He looks unsure as to where to go from there, but after a glance up and down the hall he sighs and gestures for Eames to follow, turning around and receding back into the apartment. "Come in."

Indeed, there has not been any celebrating done here. Just a half empty bottle of moderately expensive scotch open on the coffee table, next to a half empty glass of the same stuff and his laptop, open to a few news articles like this is how he does all his research.

"Want a drink?"

[falsify]

"Love one," Eames says as he takes a cursory look around. Is Arthur... Drunk and doing research? Surely the man's life can't be this sad. It's like every time he thinks Arthur can't get more bizarrely boring, he discovers some new depth.

Well, whatever. Eames hands him a small gift box with a casual, "happy birthday," in the same tone and manner he uses for general greetings. He half expects Arthur to just put the box aside, but if he does open it he'll find a watch - black leather and gold, very classy and understated. It should fit in neatly with Arthur's wardrobe.

[specifiercity]

"Oh," Arthur says, effectively stopped in his tracks before he can go get Eames a glass. He frowns down at the box, showing just how taken off guard he is by the idea of Eames giving him a gift, but he shakes himself out of that quickly, frowning up at Eames instead.

"I-- thanks, but you didn't have to."

[falsify]

"I know." Eames shrugs, none too fussed about Arthur's reaction - honestly, if he'd expected a gift he likely wouldn't have gotten one, Eames is habitually contrary that way. "It felt appropriate," he continues as he sits, gesturing to the bottle with an amused look. He'd quite like some of that scotch at some point.

[specifiercity]

Arthur takes a couple seconds to look at the box in his hand, but when Eames calls his attention back to the scotch he shakes his head and goes to get another glass. He fills the glass liberally and then carefully slides it toward Eames before he sits down with a sigh.

"What is it?" he says, holding up the gift. He's not sure if it's appropriate to open it now or wait until Eames leaves or what. This is not something he's done in a while.

HILLINGDON

[reticence]

It's no surprise that Faolan can be found in the halls of Hillingdon house in early January himself. For all that he did enjoy himself over the holidays, once they're over it's back to work, both at Hillingdon and with the Night Council. And work it is, especially with these new laws enacted. He's hoping to get as much as he can settled here today -- who knows how quickly this is going to pick up, in the end. Norrell's literal witch hunt.

He's just making his way back from the kitchen towards where he's set himself up with his most recent bout of paperwork when he happens upon Arthur. And Arthur's phone conversation. Which he can't help but overhear part of, as he turns into the hall and happens to be heading right toward him. He tries to act casual, tries to just keep going, but as the conversation ends with a curse, he pauses with one hand cradling his mug of coffee, the other clutching the door handle before him, before he makes a decision that he should probably say something.

"...you alright?" he asks, as casually as he can, glancing up at the other man warily.

[specifiercity]

Arthur looks up, a bit surprised that Faolan stopped to ask. He had come down this way hoping to avoid anyone hearing him cursing out his supplier after all, but when Faolan came by he wasn't going to spare the man on the other end of the line just for Faolan's sake.

"Oh, yeah, it's just... you wouldn't think it would be this hard to get your hands on some wooden bullets, you know?" he says, still clearly a bit ruffled from the whole thing but trying to shrug it off casually. Other peoples' incompetence really gets to him, you know?

[reticence]

Faolan nods. He understands this problem well enough. They're certainly not manufactured on the main market, after all, which means that on the underground market, any supplier might figure that he's allowed to get a little difficult about his business conduct. Who else are you going to go to, after all?

"They're certainly not the easiest to get your hands on, no," he responds. He hesitates further, before being compelled to ask, "Job coming up? Or were you negotiating basic supplies?" Inquiring minds, and all that.

[specifiercity]

"I'm just running a bit low, thought I'd restock before the next job turns out to be as big as the last job was," he says, pocketing his phone. He has someone else to call, someone who he usually resources for the silver and who charges a steep price for the wooden ones he likes, but he'll give the first supplier a couple days to come crawling back first.

"The only problem is I'm a bit picky about my equipment. Makes everything more expensive."

[reticence]

"Ah," Faolan says, shifting the coffee mug in his hands. "I suppose that taking up whittling them yourself is out, then," he muses aloud, his face blank and neutral save for the wry quirk of his eyebrow.

He shifts on his feet after a moment, realizing that was terrible and trying to make up for it with plain, simple talk. "I take it that your supplier was twisting your arm then?" he asks, nodding to the phone that he'd stowed away. It'd certainly sounded like quite the heated discussion at least to him.

[specifiercity]

"He says he miscalculated how much he'd need," Arthur says, in a way that implies he doesn't quite believe it. "So he's either bad at math, or his arm got twisted and he's too embarrassed to tell me."

He smirks back at Faolan. "I keep forgetting you can't count on anything in the black market."

[reticence]

Faolan quirks a wry smile back at the other man. "Generally not, no. When a person builds their business on deception and trickery, it's generally the case that such things will come around again, to even their most loyal of clients."

He pauses for a moment, before he speaks up again, quieter this time. "So. You were involved. With the business with Islington." He had to have been, it's the only thing that would have made sense, considering his comment about needing the amount of wooden bullets he did.

[specifiercity]

Arthur raises an eyebrow at him, wondering what he's getting at with that question. He takes a moment before he answers, glancing idly up the hall and shrugging with one shoulder.

"I don't like it when vampires get ideas about expanding. I wasn't really involved, I just wanted to make it a little harder for them."