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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.

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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.

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.

"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?"

"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?"

"Of course not," Arthur says with a grin. "Though I can't imagine why a young, pretty girl like you would want to celebrate with such an old man," he says dramatically (for Arthur), gesturing vaguely at Nancy and then at himself.

Look, he's joining in on the joke.

Oh he's so cute when he jokes. She slings her arm around his waist good-naturedly. He's an easy person to be around, and she's never ever seen him this relaxed before. It's infectious, almost. Or maybe that's just because she's been drinking. "I could think of a few reasons- another round!" At this last bit she turned to the bartender, indicating two shots, one for her, and one for the birthday boy.

Arthur makes a face like this is such a burden, but after approximately half a second to brace himself he throws the shot back and winces as it burns, laughing when he pulls the glass away. He's not a kid anymore and doesn't do many shots, but it's fun once in a while.

"Alright!" Nancy cheers, before throwing her own shot back. She swallows and slams the empty shot glass back down on the counter. "You show us kids how it's done, old man!"

This is the only time when she'd play up her age.

"Oh, god," Arthur says at the prospect of being that old man who 'shows the kids how it's done.' He drags a hand down his face.

"I should go home," he says. Maybe collapsing into bed will help him figure out which way is up.

"No, no, stay! I just got here!" Her hand is on his arm. It's probably no use, but she can try. "And I'm not staying with all your new friends if you're leaving."

Maybe it was her turn to walk him home.

"Maybe you should get home too," he offers drunkenly. "It's late. It's very late."

"That's when I work, stupid," she chides him, and reaches for his hand. "Dance with me, for one song, then I'll walk you home. Birthday old man's gotta dance, unless your hips are going to give out."

"My hips are going to be fine," Arthur protests, but he lets her take his hand and he nods in acquiescence with a smile.

"Just one dance. Then I'm going home. Alone."

"Alone? I said I'll walk you." But she's pulling him towards the dance floor. Or what's going to serve of it for right now. Sometimes you just wanted to dance.

"It's a long walk," Arthur says as he's dragged. "Through Redbright territories. You should go on with your night instead."

"This was my last stop," she urged. "Promise. And I'm not afraid of Redbright." She may have been drunk, even more evident by the way she took both of Arthur's hand and started trying to make him actually dance with her.

"But fine if you'd rather walk home alone..." She didn't want him to. She liked his company.

He's not an awful dancer, but he's not a particularly good one either. In this state, he can move vaguely to the beat of the music, but that's about it.

"I just don't want you walking back alone," he says.

Well. That explains it. Nancy barely resists rolling her eyes. "I can take care of myself," she tells him, and to demonstrate, reaches over to touch his shoulder, giving off just the littlest bit of a warming sensation.

Never mind that recent events prove that no, she really can't take care of herself. Though, that had been a fae that caught her off-guard, not a normal human, in her defense.

Arthur is distracted by the heat from her hand, but he quickly recovers and shakes his head. "I'll be fine," he says, like he wants that to be the last word on the issue. It's partly that he doesn't trust himself not to invite her in when they get to his home, and he needs to just pass out alone in peace tonight.

Nancy huffs at him. "Because you're the birthday boy," she concedes. It's probably for the best; she didn't trust herself not to say no if he invited her in.

She shimmied her hips, smiling up at him, her nose wrinkling. "you're not usually one for dancing, are you?"

Arthur laughs. So she's noticed, then.

"Not usually, no. Never got the hang of it."

"Then do me a favor, alright?" She pulls him a bit closer, her eyes laughing. "Close your eyes. And feel the music. Just let it move you, don't force anything, okay? I guarantee, you'll be a better dancer in five seconds."

"All I can feel is the whiskey," he tells her, but he does attempt to relax a little bit. He really isn't a dancer, Nancy.

She sighs at him. "Close enough." No, he isn't a dancer, but she's resolved to make him one at some point. Eventually, the song comes to an end, though, and she steps back.

"Alright. I won't stand in your way if you really want to leave."

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