Holding my world together with a boot string
Living the dream
Benzos and gasoline

30th January, 1895 — Robert Rowle’s Residence, Bath

He had spent the afternoon heading up a research committee meeting which had been duller than ditchwater, and far too many hours spent sitting still pretending to listen to people – which meant Philip had, accordingly, an overflow of energy. And nothing good to put it to.

But an outlet presented itself as he crossed the Atrium: his brother, heading home (presumably) through the Floo. Philip cut in front of a magical maintenance man in the Floo queues to take the next fireplace and follow Robert home. He spun out of the Floo and into the room just after Robin – so Philip clapped him abruptly on the shoulders from behind with both hands and a little more force than necessary. (Just in a lighthearted attempt to give him a heart attack.)

“Robin,” he said, in a faux-bright tone, as if visiting his brother was ever something he chose to do for fun, and as if it was not markedly too late for Robin to protest. “Mind if I drop by?”

Robin would be thanking him here, really – Philip was supposed to visit their father tomorrow, so a check-in seemed prudent, to be sure they still had all their stories straight.

---