Superstition or not - MacFusty was talking about this girl, and it had thrown off his dice throw. Arthur shifted in his seat and picked up the dice. "A letter?" he said, because the letter part of it really was audacious. Still, it was almost nice to hear about MacFusty's relationship problems - it was easier to follow them from Point A to Point B than it was to follow Ben's, or even Arthur's.

Arthur rolled his dice; it seemed to hang on the edge of the table's carpeting - unsure of where it wanted to land. Finally, gravity pulled it down and its face was a six. A six!

Part of why Arthur played Quidditch was for the rush of winning, the rush of scoring. He couldn't imagine feeling like that in a desk job; he didn't understand how Desdemona had left coaching the Harpies after what happened this summer because he had never wanted to leave Quidditch less. He'd been criticized for public drinking, in the past, and by Melody Crouch - but that had never messed his life up in the way that gambling did. And it had never felt like a compulsion. The drugs he'd tried, too - those were for fun, not because he had to.

Quidditch, alcohol, the occasional high - none of it felt anything like this did.

Arthur's body felt like a live wire; confident, like he could do anything. He knew he shouldn't be here but why shouldn't he?

Oh, he thought, I didn't think it would be like this anymore.

He was an adult and he was a father and he was a husband; he was also a gambler. Arthur knew, with the rush, that he had been lying to himself earlier - just because he had given it up, for years, did not mean that this didn't matter to him still.

He should go home, shouldn't he? They had mostly finished MacFusty's story; he'd won a little over a galleon; he felt better now than he had in months, since before he had gone to see Desdemona at the hospital. If he stopped now, then he could stop any time - the need that piloted him here didn't really matter. People like Fitz and Ben could place bets and win or lose and move on and keep it from taking over and becoming a need; Art had never once been that person. He could be, this time.

(He wasn't sure he wanted to.)

Physically, the anticipatory tension leaked out of his system as soon as the dice landed and the dealer gathered the coin. Arthur's posture was easy and his grin was casual. This was fine, this was normal - he felt better than he had in months but it didn't have to be a whole thing. The dealer swept the sickles into his bag and handed the winnings over to Arthur in the form of a galleon and a sickle. Arthur didn't put the coins away, yet; his wallet sat on the railing

The dealer turned to them and spoke for the first time in several minutes: "Would you like to play another round? Start at two sickles each?"

Art tilted his head at MacFusty. "I'm in if you are," he said, like he felt casually about this, like everything in his body was not telling him to stay. "We can finish talking about that girl, and whatever. And you can win some money back." He grinned, mischievously, at MacFusty. Surely MacFusty didn't want to lose outright?

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The following 2 users Like Arthur Pettigrew's post:2 users Like Arthur Pettigrew's post
   Fallon Gillespie, Reuben Crouch

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A goddamn letter. It was the most heartbreaking part of it all—that she'd broken her promise to come back, to see him in-person no matter who she'd chosen. She'd been a coward, leaving him to waste away in his Hebrides home without any indication that there was even a small part in her heart that loved him. And maybe she didn't. She probably didn't. It was better if she didn't.

He hardly noticed that Art had rolled the six until he clanging of the coins stirred him from his thoughts. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Beginner's luck," he grumbled. He had a few more sickles left, eleven to be exact. He could start at two. "Fine, fine," he said, and placed the coins down, almost immediately withdrawing back into his thoughts about Fallon. He missed her smile, the way she chastised him for no reason, the way she held his hand when there was nothing better to say, and the feeling of her skin against his—the feeling that more than anything had left him feeling hollow and used.

The main was called. A five this time. It was Art's turn to roll.

"I haven't seen her since," he said. "I feel stupid for being so miserable when she must be so happy. It's infuriating sometimes."

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The following 1 user Likes Lachlan MacFusty's post:1 user Likes Lachlan MacFusty's post
   Melody Crouch

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— way too attractive set by mj <3 —

Art put in two sickles. Since he'd won some money off the last hand, he could, he reckoned, justify as many as ten sickles this time - then, even if he lost, he'd still be leaving with nearly as much money as he'd come in with, which was fine. A part of Arthur was surprised that it was still so easy for him to think like this, to do this math - he hadn't been budgeting for low-stakes gambling in years.

Art rolled, getting a seven - the dice was handed off to MacFusty. "Yeah, well," he said, "Maybe she did feel something, even if she picked this guy. Just because she says she's happy doesn't mean she is." People could lie about that sort of thing, couldn't they? People lied about that sort of thing all the time.

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set by MJ <3

Lach rolled a seven as well. This he just couldn't win today, could he—in anything.

"I don't think it's my place to judge someone else's happiness, don't you think? People have their reasons." Even if Fallon's reasons were illogical and probably just excuses she'd managed to convince herself were true. Every point in her letter he'd been able to refute, except the matter of her happiness. That was the only reason he hadn't written back.

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Arthur put another two sickles in. "Just because they have their reasons doesn't mean the reasons are good," he said, trying to be a little wise about it. He wasn't sure he was succeeding, though; he was mostly sober, hadn't even finished his first drink yet, and that meant that he could fake wisdom. Still, he thought he was right; Ben had his reasons for eloping with Melody Finch, last year, and obviously that had been a terrible idea.

He wasn't really thinking about Ben anymore; he wasn't even sure how much of this story he'd actually listened to. Mostly, he was thinking about hazards, and the money he could win this hand. The anticipation was settling back into his bones, and he wanted more of it- wanted the emotional release of winning, again.

"Do you want to see her again?" Art asked. The dealer rolled, casting a ten.

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Good or not, reasons were reasons, and he was in no position to refute them—or even in a situation where he could. Even if he had an opportunity to look her in the eye and tell her why she was wrong, how would it change anything? If there was one thing he knew, love couldn't be argued with logic. Fallon simply loved her other man more. That was that. Period.

"I don't know," he said, "I wouldn't know - well, what to even say. It would probably do more harm than good." He needed time to get over her, over everything that happened. Meeting her again would only reset the timer.

He rolled again. A two. He grumbled and began reaching for his coins again.

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Art rolled a seven and handed over another two sickles; with twelve in the pot, they were starting to encroach on the amount of money of the previous pot. Still, Art reminded himself - comfortably, he could put in another four sickles, and he would only lose a little bit more money than he'd come in with. Even if the gambling had caused the same rush as it had years ago, he still couldn't quite wrap his head around it - how had he ever lost money on this?

"Maybe you need to meet a new girl," Art suggested. "That always used to help me." Art fell in love easily, with women as well as men - Desdemona was the first one that really stuck, both with him through troubles and in his feelings.

The dealer rolled a five, and Art rolled a six, which was - again - sort of frustrating.

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Lachlan scoffed. A new girl. He hadn't even wanted to fall in love with Fallon, but it had happened—not that he was in any mood to discuss his intimacy problems with Pettigrew.

"Yeah, maybe," he mumbled, rolling his dice to reveal a five. This wasn't working. Maybe his mood was contributing to his losses—or maybe he just needed to stop gambling before all of his change was gone. "I'll take any recommendations if you have them," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

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Art laughed and handed over another two sickles. They were at fourteen sickles, now — just four away from the previous amount of coins. If he won again, this was a decent amount of money - he would come home with an entire extra galleon, which wasn’t a lot of money, but was nothing to scoff at, either.

Right, he was supposed to talk to Lachlan about girls. Art rolled, failing to hit the number the dealer set, and swore under his breath before he responded to MacFusty’s question.

”Well, I have no sisters to try to marry off,” he said, with a grin. Desdemona had sisters, but Art never knew what to make of them. ”So that avenue’s out. Have you ever thought about a Holyhead Harpy?”

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set by MJ <3

It dawned on Lach what a strange conversation this was to be having with Pettigrew. He'd once told Fallon he'd considered settling down one day, but the thought of actually doing it—and doing it with a woman other than her—seemed obscene at this point. His quidditch career was behind him, he didn't have a solid career path going forward, his home was an absolute mess, and women only seemed like a good idea in theory.

"Don't think women like Robins are my type," he challenged, managing a smile. No, he wouldn't do with a quidditch player. Shared interests were one thing, and not all quidditch-playing women were the same, but they were all similar enough in terms of their passions and unconventionality. He probably wouldn't do with any type of career woman seeing how jobs complicated everything. "Then again, didn't think she was my type either."

Lach rolled and failed to hit the number again. He was almost out sickles.

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Art handed over his coins - they had twenty sickles overall on the line now, which was more than he’d won in the previous hand. His body thrummed with the anticipation again and it was hard for him to think of something to say to Lachlan about women; he was too focused on the dealer setting the main, which was a six.

Arthur rolled an eight - fuck. He was starting to get a little nervous, too - but not bad nervous, good nervous, because something was on the line.

”Maybe you should give some debutantes a spin, then,” Art suggested; ‘spin’ was, he thought, the most polite way to suggest that Lachlan do inappropriate things with debutantes in order to work off some of his stress.

With the same amount of nervousness, he was looking at MacFusty’s hands rolling the dice, rather than at his face. 

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set by MJ <3

Debutantes were even worse than career women. No, he should probably abstain completely, at least until he was able to stabilize his emotions. Women were picky about who they gave their hearts to, and the last thing he wanted was a duplicate situation. He remained silent and rolled the dice, his eyes staring at the number but not really processing, until—

"Wait," he said, and looked up at the dealer, who was already gathering the coins to push in his direction. He managed a smile, the first genuine one in a while. Well, shit—maybe mindlessly rolling dice was the way to win.

"Tough luck, Pettigrew," he teased, pocketing the change. He could go again, but... well, it was probably best that he counted his winnings and went on his way. "We'll have to do this another time." Assuming he had any reason to be in Irvingly anytime soon. He doubted it.

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Shit.

Arthur was used to losing, in gambling - he'd lost everything, after all. Still, he felt that familiar heart-stopping sensation at the realization: he'd lost. He wasn't going to go home with more money, a sudden windfall - he was going to go home with less. (And - maybe this was worse - the game was over.)

It was just a sickle, though. Desdemona would never notice. It could have fallen out of his wallet. A sickle wasn't the sort of sum that broke people, it wasn't a property, it wasn't a debt. It was a sickle, just petty gambling money, and no one ever had to know about the guilt creeping in through his hands and his spine.

It was just a sickle. This whole thing - testing out his addiction like it was an old bruise - had proven it, he was still the same person, but if it was just a sickle he didn't have to come back here. It didn't have to become a habit. No one would ever know, and just because he knew, for himself, that he hadn't really changed - he would always be a gambler, but no one else had to know.

The feeling - even in the face of the loss, he was still remembering the feeling of winning. For a few minutes, he'd been in control, confident - all the things that he wanted to be. Anything was possible.

If it was just a sickle he could come back here, right?

"Sure," Art said, after a beat. "I'm sure I'll see you here again."

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The following 2 users Like Arthur Pettigrew's post:2 users Like Arthur Pettigrew's post
   Jupiter Smith, Reuben Crouch

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