open to all

[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

[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.

[falsify]

"Just open it," is the answer to that question. Given good-naturedly, of course. Eames doesn't care much one way or the other when Arthur opens it, but he's not giving anything away about the contents of the box. That's not how gifts work.

[specifiercity]

Arthur shakes his head slightly like he's trying to shake of some of the drunkenness, and then he sits back and opens the box with a sigh. He's still confused by the whole turn of events, so that only ramps up when he sees the watch. He takes it out of the box carefully and frowns at it, shaking his head with purpose this time.

"Eames, this is too much."

[falsify]

Judging by the look on Eames' face, 'too much' is clearly not a concept that he understands easily - not in the same way as Arthur, anyway - and he raises his eyebrows at Arthur in confusion. The sort of expression one wears when someone's just spouted total nonsense at them.

"It's a watch." Eames says after a moment, derisively stating the obvious seeing as Arthur seems to think something else of it. He's gotten much more expensive gifts for people he hated, this is basically nothing.

[specifiercity]

"It's a nice watch," Arthur insists, and the drunkenness is coming into play here. His motions are belligerent compared to how precise he usually is, though to a stranger he could still pass as sober. "It's not something you--" He pauses midsentence, trying to regroup and come at this from a different angle.

"Is this a fae thing? Getting expensive gifts for people you're barely friends with?"

A poorer angle, arguably. He doesn't mean it.

[falsify]

A much poorer angle. It's not that there's any sentimental meaning - a gift for someone who's been helpful, a luck charm for someone whose death would be inconvenient - but Eames looks annoyed nevertheless. He registers that Arthur's clearly not sober, but having a gift rebuffed is not something that sits easy with Eames.

(That's a fae thing, if Arthur's curious.)

His expression settles back into an easy nonchalance after that brief flicker though and he shrugs, gesturing broadly with the hand holding his glass, "if you don't want it, Arthur, I can always take it back."

[specifiercity]

"No, no," Arthur says, gesturing aggressively. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way, I'm--"

He cracks a smile and even huffs a laugh, which is probably not appropriate given what he's just said, but he can't help himself. "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm ridiculously drunk right now. I like it, I really do. It's just hard to imagine something like this being given without some ulterior motive." His tone is hardly suspicious. It's more like an admission, an explanation. It's true Arthur doesn't feel that they're close enough to warrant a gift this nice, but he's certainly not about to give it back and he would like to know of there are any motives behind it. He's just not being too subtle about it at the moment.

[falsify]

This is... Truly bizarre. He's seen Arthur after a number of drinks plenty of times, but certainly never this easy and relaxed kind of drunk. Eames doesn't know what to do with it; he's used to working around Arthur's self-restraint, the precision he uses to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself, so this openness throws Eames for a loop.

He has no idea how to respond immediately, (something he hides with a sip of his drink,) before he sighs and shakes his head. "The quartz is charmed," Eames confesses, though if that counts as an ulterior motive he has no idea, "just a small luck charm, nothing powerful."

[specifiercity]

Arthur vaguely wonders whether there is an ulterior motive in there somewhere, but he's too drunk to come to any conclusions just now. He looks down at the watch in his hand with a wry but fond smile.

"Maybe I'll wear it to go buy a lottery ticket tomorrow, then," he says, and that should be enough to indicate that he's not only going to keep it, but he's going to wear it as well.

[falsify]

"Good luck," Eames snorts, immediately placated by Arthur's acceptance of the gift. Thank goodness not everyone's this difficult and suspicious or he'd never give anyone anything. "There's stronger powers than me in play there."

[specifiercity]

"Ah yes," Arthur says, grinning as he settles back on the couch again. "Good old chance."

After musing on this for a second (he's dreaming about winning the lottery, excuse him), his mind decides to change the subject and he raises an eyebrow at Eames. "How did you know it was my birthday? How come everyone knows it's my birthday today?"

[falsify]

"Who else knew?" Eames asks, completely bypassing the first question with an amused smile. Arthur keeps everything so close to his chest, it must be alarming for anyone to know, let alone more than one person.

But. Now he's asked, Eames has a fairly good idea who else might know, and he holds up a hand to stop Arthur before he gets a chance to answer. "Nancy?"

[specifiercity]

"Mm," Arthur confirms, nodding and looking up at the ceiling. "Must've taken a look at my ID at some point. Or she just had a lucky guess. I was already drunk when she came to the pub."

So, so drunk. Arthur rubs his face and then reaches for his glass of scotch, taking a long sip, like he's trying to ward off any soberness that might be creeping up on him. Soberness is going to hurt, he suspects.

[falsify]

She probably managed to steal a look at his ID. One of Fagin's best, that Nancy, not that he'd ever say that to her face.

"You'd better watch out," there's a hint of a warning in his tone, but mostly he seems to be joking, "girls her age do love an older man." And Eames lingers just a little on the word 'older' with a smirk over the rim of his glass.

[specifiercity]

Arthur groans and rubs his face again, catching the emphasis on the word but electing to skip over that for now.

"Don't worry," he says, as if Eames would worry about this topic, "I have no interest in crossing that particular line. She's a teenager."

[falsify]

Eames laughs and leans back in his seat. He wouldn't admit it's a relief to hear, but it is. That's a complication he doesn't want to have to deal with.

"Okay," he puts a hand up, stopping the conversation before it starts, "consider me reassured."

[specifiercity]

"Sweet girl, though," Arthur says with a shrug before he takes another sip of his scotch. He doesn't particularly want to talk about Nancy, especially not in this context.

"Not that I'm a prude. I know you think I am," he says, gesturing at Eames vaguely. "Just, you have to have lines."

[falsify]

"You don't need to explain yourself to me, Arthur." He does think Arthur's a prude, that much is true, but he wouldn't call this particular thing prudish so much as sensible.

Either way, Eames is eager to get off the topic of Nancy and whether or not Arthur wants to sleep with her, and gestures like he's suddenly remembered something important. "Anyway-- I almost forgot. I got something else for you," he says as he reaches into a pocket, tossing a neatly wrapped box in Arthur's direction with little regard for how his reflexes might be compromised by how much he's had to drink.

(It's a box of Just For Men in black.)

"I think that's your colour."

[specifiercity]

Arthur's a bit startled, but he manages to catch the thing. He looks puzzled when Eames makes the comment about his colour, so he tears off a bit of the wrapping and then gives Eames a look as flat as as a look can get when it's being given by a man who's been drunk for hours.

"I'm not old!" he insists, but he lets out a laugh. "And I am not going grey."

[falsify]

"But this is a turning point for mortals, right? What are you--" He squints at Arthur for a moment, as though trying to guess, "fourty?"

Despite the amusement on his face, Eames manages to sound like he genuinely has no idea how old Arthur is or how to roughly judge a person's age. But in all fairness, it wouldn't be an unbelievable thing coming from a man who's looked the same age for centuries.

"And you of all people should know the value of preparation."