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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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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.

"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."

"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.

"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."

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.

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."

Faolan nods in response to the other man's answer. What had he been getting at with a question like that? Well, for a start, he'd like to know if Arthur was another one of the hunters that Norrell seemed to be hiring out. Not that it was their fault, money was money, but he didn't particularly like it. He didn't particularly like Norrell, for that matter.

To make it all about the vampires was a much simpler solution for everyone involved. "Not a fan?" he asks, idly.

Arthur shrugs one shoulder, frowning. "I don't harbour a blanket hatred for them, not like some people," he says evenly. "I just think they need to be kept in check. I've seen it a few times; when they organize like this they start talking and get this idea that they have a right to blood any way they want it."

He sighs and leans against the wall, thinking back to some of the things he'd seen in the military, some of the intel he'd be privy to. He knew those were often extreme cases, but it was horrific nonetheless. "They need it like we need water to survive, except we don't have to kill or maim anyone to get water."

Faolan tilts his head in something of a shrug, raising the coffee to take a sip of it before speaking up in response. "We don't need to, no. So we find different reasons to kill each other instead. The difference is that we off each other for the glory of it, or for whatever cause we think we're fighting for. Generally. And most of the time, a vampire? Will do it for the thrill. We are food for them, an addiction of sorts." He shrugs again. "It's a rather uncomfortable situation to be in, when you really sit down and think about it. You can understand why it is that not many people like them very much."

Faolan included. Although he has his own private reasons for that. He tries not to let them cloud his judgment, but he won't lie, he's not fond of them himself as a whole.

Arthur nods along. It's not a subject of high emotional investment for him - he's lost a couple friends to vampires, but that was in the line of duty and they weren't close friends. His personal history with them hasn't been particularly traumatizing or dramatic, but that doesn't mean he hasn't seen some horrific things.

"There are systems you can put in place, so they get their blood and they don't have to hunt for it, but even then they have to be kept in check. They're stronger than us, and like you said some of them just like the thrill of it. They're also immortal, and that does things to your head," Arthur says, gesturing vaguely to indicate some grand loss of morality that vampires undergo. He doesn't know what it's like to be immortal, but by the way some of them talk...

Faolan quirks something of a smile, although there's nothing happy about the expression. Oh, yes, he knows exactly what Arthur means by that. "If they can be killed with a wooden bullet through the heart, then they are not truly immortal," he points out. "But you're right. It leaves them..."

He searches for the right way to phrase it. "The grand majority of them believe they are above the rest of us. Although such an opinion seems to hold across all of the longer-lived supernaturals," he points out. Not that he has all that much experience with the fae, but he has enough to know how they like to toy with a person.

Arthur's never been quick to defend the fae and any of their actions, but he does feel that the fae aren't a top priority if the supernatural community in London is to balance itself out.

"The difference is that fae don't need to take anything from humans just to keep living," he says. "And the Night Council's not trying to push vampires out. They're just letting them get stronger, expand territory; they don't even try to keep them under control other than to subject them to the same laws as everyone else. It's easy to keep the community a secret when you're just killing and hiding the evidence."

Faolan tilts his head at the other man's words. It's true, the Night Council hasn't been trying to push vampires out. Not yet, anyway. And it's mostly due to the fact, he's sure, that there is a vampire on the Night Council, or the fact that Norrell is on the Night Council and that the man is damn persistent on his quest to rid the city of its fae blight or however he would phrase it.

"Their attentions have been decidedly elsewhere, to be sure," Faolan agrees. He taps his fingers on his coffee mug. "You think that there's reason to be concerned about the vampires, then," he says, in a manner to suggest that he's all ears, if there's more that Arthur cares to share with him.

Arthur tilts his head and shrugs again, noncommittal. "Right now? No more than usual. I just think the way they're headed, the Night Council is allowing them a dangerous amount of freedom and influence. They don't want to rock the boat, and I understand that, but the little changes and allowances add up over time."

He pauses a moment to glance at Faolan, try to maybe gauge his feelings on the matter. He doesn't think he's saying anything particularly controversial, but he doesn't want to inadvertently wander into touchy territory either. His tone remains neutral as he continues. "Like I said, I don't hate them all or anything. I've worked with vampires and made deals with them, but I just think they have to know that they're subject to consequences just like the rest of us. Unfortunately, because they're immortal, there's only one kind of punishment that really scares them."

If only he knew, Arthur really needn't be as neutral about vampires as he is. Faolan himself has to remain somewhat neutral on the matter -- he's the Clan Leader, after all, and he needs to remain for the largest part impartial as he makes his decisions. But that doesn't mean that he has any sort of kind words to say at all on the subject of vampires. On the contrary, given his past with the creatures, he has absolutely no problem with Arthur's suggestions at all.

He quirks something of a wry smile at the other man that doesn't quite meet his eyes. "It makes you selfish, when your own existence lasts for that long. When your hunger drives you the way that it does for them. It's why they're so dangerous. And why, yes, threatening their existence seems to really be the only way to get through to them. And that's only if you're an actual threat."

Arthur considers that smile thoughtfully, wondering how much Faolan isn't telling about his feelings on the matter. "I agree," Arthur says, "and I'm doing my part, but Islington isn't a small nest."

He pauses, but not quite long enough for Faolan to interject. His tone remains casual, but there's definitely some weight in it somewhere - some recognition that this proposition is a big one. "Imagine every hunter in this clan working together to hold them accountable. We could become that threat."

Faolan tilts his head, considering this. Understanding that for all the casual tone, this is definitely more than just a casually fleeting thought. There is weight to the proposition. Something that should definitely not be taken lightly.

"We could," he agrees. "Provided we stood together. Provided we were to make intelligent decisions as a whole, and weren't to try operating as individuals who all happen to share a common goal. It's a definite possibility." He gives the other man a long, searching look, trying to assess whether it is something that Arthur is serious about himself.

Arthur isn't in the habit of giving anything away. He shrugs, putting an end to his feelings on the topic as far as Faolan's concerned.

"I guess that's up to you now," he says, with a hint of a smirk.

Faolan can't help but quirk something of a smile in response to the other man's tactics. It's probably something he might have used himself, if he had had the luxury. Unfortunately for him, he doesn't. He is in charge, after all.

"I guess it is," he says, with the quirking of a smile.

He's got a lot of things to think about, it would seem. He raises his coffee to take a sip, before nodding to the door behind him. "Duty calls," he says. "No rest for the weary and all that. Though I wish you luck with your supplier." He raises an eyebrow. "Let me know if you need a referral elsewhere. I wouldn't know the difference in quality, but I've got a guy you might be able to turn to, if you need it."

Arthur nods, giving Faolan a polite smile of thanks. "I've got a couple more calls to make about it, but I'll let you know," he says. After a moment's thought, he adds, "and you let me know if there's anything I can do to help you. There are a lot of people here, a lot of personalities. It might be a lot of work to get them on the same page."

It's ominous, perhaps, but if Faolan's headed in the direction Arthur hopes, he wants to make it as easy as possible for him without showing too much of his own hand.

Faolan bobs his head and raises his coffee in something of a salute at that. "Thanks," he responds. "Knowing this lot, I'll need all the help I can get, I'm sure."

"I'll be seeing you around then, Arthur," Faolan says in parting, before he turns and disappears into his office at last.

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