Samuel stood in the Crowdy Memorial Library and stared at the files on the shelf in front of him. He was looking for a certain name, but his focus drifted and he barely retained the many surnames starting with the letter S. It had been another dreary day in London.
He woke in the Griffith's townhouse feeling abject nothing. His sister Agatha made him breakfast, with much care and attention. She knew that something was wrong with him but did not ask. One did not ask such direct questions in his family. So she likely worried quietly and made his tea how she knew he liked it. His mother was still asleep. She slept a lot lately, and long. Perhaps she was slipping into melancholy, caused by the sudden decline of her husband. Or she caught up on rest after a lifetime of torment. Samuel prayed it was the latter. He, too, was unable to ask her directly.
Samuel spent much time now in London, returning to the school only for the three days a week he taught classes on. All other responsibilities like tutoring hours he put on hold and cited having to take care of a family matter to his colleagues as the reason. The rumour that his father was dying had spread across the faculty by now, and he did not deny it. When asked, he only confirmed that Mr. Griffith senior was indeed in ill health, and he did not elaborate. His father, in the meantime, languished in his bed, remiss of his free will but otherwise in solid physical condition, as far as one could expect from a man in his 70s who had cared for nothing else in his life besides earthly pleasures and cheap thrills.
Speaking of cheap thrills — it had been four days since his ill-advised foray into the East End. His reason for going there was already very bad, and the madness that unfolded after finding Don Juan Dempsey, scandal-haunted brother of the Minister of Magic, passed out in an opium den — well, it was incomprehensible even to Samuel himself what exactly he was doing with the man. He had been sure to be done with it after regaining a semblance of mental clarity the next day. However, it did not take long until Dempsey found him in the city and begged for more. It had not taken long until Samuel relented. He did not understand why, and he felt powerless to go back on it. Today he would see him again, to supply more. He already dreaded it. He was cold with contempt for Dempsey and appalled by the both of them. At least Sam had not taken any more. He would not and could not allow himself to slip down that path. Handling the substance, watching someone else on it; all of that activated ingrained old pathways. Lit them up and increased the risk for him to falter under his convictions.
All of these considerations tangled together in his mind into a dark coil and made it no easier to retain any memory of the court cases he looked at. When a voice addressed him from the side, he was utterly unprepared.
He turned, and looked at Themis; she had caught him mentally unguarded and seeing her pulled something taut in his stomach, like someone pulled a seam in him apart by a thread. It took his voice away.
"Professor Lyra," he finally said, and the guarding walls went up and shut away everything that could be gleaned from his eyes. He feared that they did so too late.
"You caught me unprepared," he added flatly. It was difficult to look at her. Seeing her at meals in the great hall was painful enough and he avoided it where possible. He wanted to extend his hands towards her and open back up the current of light and bliss that he knew now to be a reality. And at the same time he wanted to be far away from her. He was not ready for this.
He woke in the Griffith's townhouse feeling abject nothing. His sister Agatha made him breakfast, with much care and attention. She knew that something was wrong with him but did not ask. One did not ask such direct questions in his family. So she likely worried quietly and made his tea how she knew he liked it. His mother was still asleep. She slept a lot lately, and long. Perhaps she was slipping into melancholy, caused by the sudden decline of her husband. Or she caught up on rest after a lifetime of torment. Samuel prayed it was the latter. He, too, was unable to ask her directly.
Samuel spent much time now in London, returning to the school only for the three days a week he taught classes on. All other responsibilities like tutoring hours he put on hold and cited having to take care of a family matter to his colleagues as the reason. The rumour that his father was dying had spread across the faculty by now, and he did not deny it. When asked, he only confirmed that Mr. Griffith senior was indeed in ill health, and he did not elaborate. His father, in the meantime, languished in his bed, remiss of his free will but otherwise in solid physical condition, as far as one could expect from a man in his 70s who had cared for nothing else in his life besides earthly pleasures and cheap thrills.
Speaking of cheap thrills — it had been four days since his ill-advised foray into the East End. His reason for going there was already very bad, and the madness that unfolded after finding Don Juan Dempsey, scandal-haunted brother of the Minister of Magic, passed out in an opium den — well, it was incomprehensible even to Samuel himself what exactly he was doing with the man. He had been sure to be done with it after regaining a semblance of mental clarity the next day. However, it did not take long until Dempsey found him in the city and begged for more. It had not taken long until Samuel relented. He did not understand why, and he felt powerless to go back on it. Today he would see him again, to supply more. He already dreaded it. He was cold with contempt for Dempsey and appalled by the both of them. At least Sam had not taken any more. He would not and could not allow himself to slip down that path. Handling the substance, watching someone else on it; all of that activated ingrained old pathways. Lit them up and increased the risk for him to falter under his convictions.
All of these considerations tangled together in his mind into a dark coil and made it no easier to retain any memory of the court cases he looked at. When a voice addressed him from the side, he was utterly unprepared.
He turned, and looked at Themis; she had caught him mentally unguarded and seeing her pulled something taut in his stomach, like someone pulled a seam in him apart by a thread. It took his voice away.
"Professor Lyra," he finally said, and the guarding walls went up and shut away everything that could be gleaned from his eyes. He feared that they did so too late.
"You caught me unprepared," he added flatly. It was difficult to look at her. Seeing her at meals in the great hall was painful enough and he avoided it where possible. He wanted to extend his hands towards her and open back up the current of light and bliss that he knew now to be a reality. And at the same time he wanted to be far away from her. He was not ready for this.
Don Juan Dempsey for mention
