9th August, 1894 — By the Augurey

Kieran had been late, and mostly quiet through the meeting – more preoccupied with his glass in hand than talking about the suffrage bill or anything else. Perhaps that was fair. And Jude hadn’t said anything to stop him; but trying not to think about it hadn’t stopped the misgivings from lodging themselves in the back of his mind. He had heard Kieran’s chair scrape up early, so he thought he might have left, but when Jude stepped outside the Augurey, there he was. Waiting, maybe – or just too drunk to fathom getting home.

Jude steeled himself. “Are you alright?” he asked (despite knowing in his gut the honest answer was no). And it was a whole week out from the full moon, so that couldn’t be the cause tonight for his looking so worse for wear; nd besides, he could smell the alcohol on him from here. He wished that were more of a surprise. (And even if it wasn’t – every time he had to witness it, it still felt a little worse somehow. Maybe even more now, because Kieran knew how he cared.)

So it was less the fact that he was clearly drunk that concerned Jude, and more the idea of how much steady drinking today it must have taken him to get there.

---

Kieran Abernathy

  

---

He'd wrapped up his stories early today, and in the absence of more work had gone to most of his usual haunts of London. Jinxed Jackrabbit, the Leaky Cauldron for Eileen, one of the boxing rings he sometimes watched fights in. There weren't any fights today, but some friends were they, and there was nothing to be done but drink and compare punches. Really, all of these places, there was nothing to be done but drink — by the time he walked into the Augurey Kieran smelled like whiskey and tangy, sour sweat. His sleeves were rumpled and his hair was too, and he sat in the back.

He'd sketched, quiet, through much of the meeting, as he worked his way through another pint (or maybe more.) Eventually the sketch was done, or Kieran was done with it — rough and angry and unsure, and he crumpled the piece of paper in his hand, downed the rest of the pint, and walked outside.

The world swam, here. He pressed his back against the brick wall of the Augurey and sighed, tilting his head back until his hair rumpled itself against the wall. Maybe a cigarette would steady him. He was not much for cigarettes, but sometimes they did that — a different feeling. He just needed to find one.

He'd made no efforts to find one until Jude came out of the bar. Kieran opened his eyes, and looked at Jude without moving his head or body. "I'm drunk," he said, matter-of-fact — as if it was not obvious to them both.

  

---

set by MJ!

“Yeah,” Jude said, as he studied him back. “I figured.” What he couldn’t decide was whether there had been a cause or a reason for it, some frustration in his day, something gone wrong that could be fixed – or the roots went deeper, and this was just any other night to him, just an ordinary bout of self-destruction. More often than not, Jude worried it was the latter; and if it was, he was out of his depths, and didn’t know how to address it, let alone how to help.

He chewed on his consternation for a moment. “Are you staying, or going?” he asked, a little flatly. Jude was tired, ready to call it a night; but he also wasn’t about to leave Kieran here, in this distant, almost dissociative state.

---

  

---

Jude was annoyed with him. This happened often, when he was drunk — but he didn't usually intend on ending up like this. It was just something that happened.

"Going," Kieran said, half-gruff. With a big heaving push, he shoved himself off of the wall so he was standing on his own accord. (Swaying, standing — they Ould merge together.) "Are you coming?"

  

---

set by MJ!

He had succeeded in getting off the wall. That was something.

Jude considered the question for another split-second. It would have been easier to answer if Kieran were closer to sober; he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Tonight – well, he wouldn’t stay. But he nodded anyway, fine, and gave a small sigh. “I’ll walk with you.” Privately, this was more to make sure Kieran actually got home in one piece and wasn’t diverted off to another few bars on worse and worse streets; else Jude would lie awake worrying about him, probably.

He pressed a hand, brief, to Kieran’s back, to make sure he was steady, but let his hand drop away as they started moving, gaze drifting absently along the closed shopfronts instead. He picked determinedly at a loose thread at the seam of his jacket sleeve. “So,” he said eventually, falsely light, “how much did you have today?”

---

  

---

Jude was walking with him, but not maintaining the physical closeness that they sometimes did when they were both sober, or merely both tipsy. Kieran watched Jude watch the storefronts. He didn't have to be sober to know that the other man was disappointed.

"I had enough," Kieran answered. The actual amounts didn't matter much, the hard liquor interspersed with pints of beer and maybe even some wine, because he was sure that Jude would be appalled if Kieran started hazarding guesses.

No — he'd had enough, enough to have him unsteady on his feet and in his skull, enough that he would have a headache tomorrow, enough to chase off the impulse to have more.

  

---

set by MJ!