April 1st, 1891 - Ester's Rooms

Art was not sure how long he could actually get away with crashing with Ester, but the thought of finding somewhere else to go, or of going home, was still too overwhelming. At the least, he would have to flush the laudanum from his system before he went home — and he was not nearly ready to stop this familiar spin-out yet. The cycle of half-assed Quidditch practices that tipped into unfamiliar London flats and various opiates was soothing, it took the bite out of anything people were saying to him, and the nerves out of his system. He had a letter from Bella Scrimgeour that was kinder than he deserved, and he had not replied to it yet. To reply he was going to have to go to the post office to get an owl, and also — find paper somewhere in here, so maybe that was a future problem, something he could deal with when he was not letting himself be foggy.

He was in an armchair and wearing someone else's clothes again, although he wasn't sure where they'd come from, this was one of those things that just sort of happened in this situation. There was a cigarette in Art's fingers but it was mostly burning out, and he startled a little when the door opened, turning towards the door in his chair.

"Oh," Art said, all slow-blink and languid limbs, "Hello, Mr. Selwyn."

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