It was not lost on Valerian how odd it was to pull a glass right out of a drawer, but he was wise enough not to comment on it. He barely spared it a glance, eyes lingering just long enough to make sure there weren't any strange marks on the glass, before he poured himself a good amount of brandy. He'd picked the drink because he'd had some of it before, specifically after the Hogwarts coming out ball. He'd gone with some friends to the pub, where it had been the first thing offered and the only thing that stayed in his glass for the rest of the evening.
He sniffed it, just to make sure it didn't smell bad (which, really, didn't it all smell bad?) and then took a sip, watching Arthur as he did so. He tried not to grimace, but the taste was a bit much after a few weeks of not having any liquor. He'd always preferred wine. He turned towards the bed, feeling oddly nervous about the thought of sitting on someone else's bed, but he would anyways, not wanting to offend Arthur by rejecting the offer. "Deal," he said, turning his head to cock a smile before taking a seat. The sheets were not as clean as he was used to, but it was definitely cleaner than the couch he'd been seated on downstairs.
"Tell me about your life now," he said, a genuine curiosity to his tone rather than the forced politeness this time. He'd been wanting to ask for a while, but what better time than while sitting on Arthur's bed? "I mean - I know how it's been," he added abruptly. He didn't want Arthur to think he was talking about the gambling or the scandals or the gambling. "I meant... this." He made a vague motion with his hand meant to encompass the entire opium den, meant to encompass the lifestyle he'd been living. "It seems so... adventurous," he admitted, smiling sheepishly and giving a little shrug. It would have been inaccurate to say he was a sheltered child; being Mariana Macnair's son meant be was exposed to a lot of, while not inappropriate, definitely strange and unsettling things over his life, but none of them had included the lifestyle of a quidditch-playing rake.
He sniffed it, just to make sure it didn't smell bad (which, really, didn't it all smell bad?) and then took a sip, watching Arthur as he did so. He tried not to grimace, but the taste was a bit much after a few weeks of not having any liquor. He'd always preferred wine. He turned towards the bed, feeling oddly nervous about the thought of sitting on someone else's bed, but he would anyways, not wanting to offend Arthur by rejecting the offer. "Deal," he said, turning his head to cock a smile before taking a seat. The sheets were not as clean as he was used to, but it was definitely cleaner than the couch he'd been seated on downstairs.
"Tell me about your life now," he said, a genuine curiosity to his tone rather than the forced politeness this time. He'd been wanting to ask for a while, but what better time than while sitting on Arthur's bed? "I mean - I know how it's been," he added abruptly. He didn't want Arthur to think he was talking about the gambling or the scandals or the gambling. "I meant... this." He made a vague motion with his hand meant to encompass the entire opium den, meant to encompass the lifestyle he'd been living. "It seems so... adventurous," he admitted, smiling sheepishly and giving a little shrug. It would have been inaccurate to say he was a sheltered child; being Mariana Macnair's son meant be was exposed to a lot of, while not inappropriate, definitely strange and unsettling things over his life, but none of them had included the lifestyle of a quidditch-playing rake.
