May 15th, 1891 - The Life of Zeus, Episode II

The newest Mrs. Prewett had quietly managed to wear him down within less than two weeks of her arrival in the country, and so Art was now staying in a room in a boardinghouse in muggle London. The muggles were grating and the strain it put on his already-wobbly finances wasn't great, but it was only until he found a place he liked that also would take his risky credit in Bartonburg — which he was sure he'd do within the fortnight. He didn't like the boardinghouse though, and he was aware of not liking it — and aware that he wanted to be anywhere else — and aware that he was not exactly entirely out of this, no matter what he was pretending to Desdemona.

So the invite to a party in Bristol had been most welcome, even if it was sort of a weird invite to get. Art didn't at all know what to expect, or — what to wear, so he went with an outfit he would have worn to a cocktail party if this was a cocktail party instead of — private theater? Mostly what Art found was that no one was going to care what he was wearing, and it took him just a few minutes to settle into being casual about this, as if he was usually at these things. It helped that he saw some of the people he'd run into at Ester's, as Art had come to think of them as allies in his time there.

And then there was the play itself. Art was more aroused during than he would have liked to admit, and would have tried to hide it if the same situation hadn't been abundantly obvious in several of the other attendees. Was this a thing rich people did now, sit around watching other people have sex? If he'd known about this thirteen years ago, he certainly would have attended.

Desdemona wouldn't have wanted him to attend this. Art wasn't even sure how he would have begun to explain this to her. He had a brief thought of leaving at intermission, out of loyalty to her — but he was just looking, right? He was just looking and this was keeping him out of other trouble, and there were drinks, and he was a little overwhelmed by everything but he was having fun. So he stayed through the second act, and the reception was starting, and he wasn't leaving early, that would have been rude.

He stayed away from the party potions mostly because he wasn't in the mood, but he'd had a few drinks, and was that waiter just wearing a vest now?

(Part of the appeal of this was that Art rarely found himself genuinely surprised by anything scandalous, and the play had not managed to scandalize him, but it had managed to surprise him.)

It had taken him longer to find himself face to face with the host than he would have thought earlier in the night, but Art had come here without any idea of what he was going into. He felt faintly awkward about the last few interactions they'd had — the conversation at Ester's was blurry — but he could pretend he didn't, because he liked it here and he sort of wanted to be charming. He'd decided somewhere through Act I that the easiest way to play his presence at this event was to act entirely at ease — and honestly, it wasn't like he was ill at ease with what was happening.

"Mr. Selwyn," Art said, with a nod and a crooked grin, "You throw a good party." He took a sip of his drink.

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There was a balance to these sorts of things, in deciding whether or not he ought to host them. On the one hand, Emrys was very well aware that he was a better host than many of his competitors in this sphere, and his desire for parties that were actually enjoyable spurred him into sending more invitation than an unmarried man on the fringe of society had any real rights to. On the other hand, hosting was effort, which meant that he couldn't fully enjoy the evening. The curse of being the best host in his particular social circle, he supposed — all of the best parties were ones he had to stay (relatively) sober throughout.

This didn't mean that he couldn't amuse himself in other ways, however. Obviously the play had been entertaining (as had the rehearsals staged at his house the weekend prior, which had... gotten a little off track by intermission, admittedly, but they'd made it through in the end). He was also enjoying being something of a corrupting influence with some of the more mild attendees, now that the reception had started. Of course no one who was here was exactly an innocent lamb, but some were decidedly more relaxed about this entire party set up than others. It was not as though Ester would need any prompting to enjoy herself, but some of the newer faces in the crowd could benefit from a slightly-too-strong drink, an encouragement towards one of the potions, a few not-at-all-subtle glances in the right direction or even a decidedly more subtle but unmistakable graze of his hand against a certain portion of their anatomy. Some people were looking for permission to have the sort of fun they didn't normally have, and Emrys was happy to nudge them in the right direction. Particularly with the men who were looking for the right hint towards a certain kind of impropriety — that look in their eyes when they realized that sort of thing was allowed here was priceless. A little wide-eyed, a little hungry. Emrys loved it.

He'd just come from one such interaction when he found himself in conversation with Arthur Pettigrew. Inviting him had been a risk, because Mr. Pettigrew did not have the outward appearance of the sort of person who would be interested in this, with his wife and child at home — or of the sort of person who might have been discreet about it if he was, with his gambling and his being featured in Witch Weekly. But their last conversation had been at Ester's flat, and Pettigrew had been half out of his mind with laudanum, so it wasn't so far fetched — and if he reacted poorly, one of the servants could just drug him and dump him somewhere in London, and it would be no major loss to Emrys. Pettigrew intrigued him, but at the end of the day losing the acquaintance would mean nothing. But so far it didn't seem to be headed that direction; he was smiling and complimenting Emrys on his hosting skills.

"I do," Emrys agreed with a smirk and half a shrug. Pretending humility was for wooing young women; no need for such banalities with Pettigrew, he thought. "One skill I've taken care to hone through the years. Not your usual crowd, I imagine," he said with an inquisitive eyebrow raise, fishing for some better indication of what Pettigrew had thought of the night so far than just a good party. "But a few familiar faces."

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Lou made this! <3

"Oh, certainly a new scene," Art said, with a wave of his glass towards the crowd, meant to encompass most of this. It was in many ways a more comfortable scene for him than Fitz's wedding reception earlier in the day had been — although flirting with Harriet Prewett was certainly familiar territory — but that didn't mean he was used to it. Art was comfortable with drugs and parties and sex; he could not recall having been at an event that combined the three.

"But it's always nice to run into Ester and friends," Art said. Ester had her flaws, but she wore them on her sleeve — and she'd put up with Art for that weird stretch of days when he was on the run in April, so he was more than willing to overlook them. Ester was fun. She was a fuckup, but people liked her. Art had been there before, about a decade ago, and sometimes he wanted that back.

None of that was what Emrys Selwyn had asked him for, though. Art smiled crookedly back at him. "And there's something nice about an unusual crowd." Namely — they weren't sick of his shit yet, and he liked the drinks.

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set by MJ <3

Emrys nodded and smiled at Pettigrew's answer, though the wheels were turning in his head. Always nice to run into Ester? That implied a longer acquaintance with her than Emrys had been aware of. Emrys himself saw Ester very regularly, along with the rest of her motley crew, and he thought if Pettigrew had been a staple before their paths might have crossed. Not that Emrys remembered everyone he saw in some degree of drugged consciousness in the company of Ester, but Pettigrew was noteworthy enough. He had a job, a family, he not-infrequently appeared on the pages of Witch Weekly. He had connections to some of the older and more powerful wizarding families in England, even if those connections had fallen into a state of disrepair. He wasn't a no one, and he wouldn't have just faded into the background at an opium den — not more than once or twice, at any rate. Emrys was sure he would have noticed. So what was he implying, there? Was he trying to give the impression he was more comfortable with that group, with the general lifestyle of debauchery, than he actually was? Or perhaps he had settled in for the long haul. This could have been a preemptive statement, if he intended this to become his lifestyle moving forward. Maybe his wife really had left him, then. Interesting.

"The best thing about an unusual crowd is the anonymity it affords," Emrys responded, with a glance towards a nearby conversation group that he determined was speaking too loudly — he lowered his eyebrows at them disapprovingly as though this would be sufficient to quiet them. "Or perhaps anonymity is the wrong word; it can't do that for everyone. But no one is infamous in a place like this."

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Lou made this! <3

"Now that," Art said, his tone veering wistful, "Really is something." He'd been infamous — and rarely, just famous — in every room he had been in since he was nineteen. Maybe that would have changed eventually, except that captaining the British National Team in 1883 had pulled him back up into notoriety, and now Art knew he would never really shed it.

This was the first party he'd been at since Easter where he wasn't half-worried that Meredith Watchword was taking notes on him; even if she had somehow been here, Art wasn't the most interesting thing going on. No — the most interesting thing was definitely the waitstaff losing their clothes, and Art's gaze tracked one of the waiters for half a beat before flicking back to Selwyn.

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set by MJ <3

Pettigrew's gaze was drifting, and though Emrys wasn't quick enough to see what it was that had caught his attention he thought he recognized the look. There was a reason that he was still here, he thought; he could have left after the performance without seeming rude, or if he'd really been shocked by the material he could have left as soon as he realized what was going on. No one would have held it against him, and if he seemed as though he hadn't enjoyed himself they'd slip him something on his way out that ensured he didn't remember it tomorrow morning. No, Mr. Pettigrew wanted to be here. Perhaps he wanted to get into a particular kind of trouble. He hadn't committed to it yet, though, which was why he was here talking to Emrys instead of following the path his gaze had just traced out.

"Relax, Mr. Pettigrew," Emrys suggested easily, taking a sip of his drink. "You're among friends here. Or better still, strangers."

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   Hermia Bonaccord

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"What makes you think I'm not relaxed?" Art asked, with a crooked grin. The airs he tried to put on aside, he wasn't relaxed — it was hard to be anything other than on-edge when he'd very recently watched people have sex on stage. And Art had been a lot of things in the past two months, but relaxed had essentially never been a descriptor he would have applied. Still, he had to pretend — and he couldn't help but poke to try and see what had tipped Selwyn off.

Selwyn, who appeared to be entirely relaxed — or at least at ease, with all his smirks and shrugs and vague allusions to Art's infamy. There was a part of Art that envied him.

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set by MJ <3

Emrys smirked. Pettigrew was obviously ill-at-ease here, no matter how much he might like not to be and no matter how much he was pretending not to be. The fact that he was here and not somewhere else in the room was as much of an indicator as anything else. People didn't come to these sorts of parties to stand around making small talk.

"Perhaps I'm wrong," he said with a shrug. His tone seemed to say alright, if you'd like to say so, I'll play along. "Perhaps I ought to take it as a sign of how fond of me you are that you've decided to spend your time talking to me, when there are so many — more diverting activities you could be engaged in," he said, leading. He didn't think he really would have needed to explain what he meant by more diverting activities — while some people in the reception were acting as they would at any other party, at least half of them were far less subtle in their flirtations. With the performance fresh on everyone's mind, too, there could be no doubt what sorts of trouble most people intended to get up to tonight. Maybe Pettigrew wasn't interested, but — he wanted to be interested, Emrys thought. He was still here, after all, when he could have already left.

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   Arthur Pettigrew

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Lou made this! <3

Diverting activities. Art swallowed, although he had not wanted to. It was obvious enough what many of the guests were getting up to here, and — Art was an attractive person, and he knew it, and he was sure he could take someone here to bed if he put even a little bit of work into it. And wouldn't it be nice, to have casual sex with someone he didn't care about at a party? It had been so long.

He loved his wife and he didn't want to cheat on her. Their marriage was very publicly in shambles. Both of these things were true, and yet Art was still here, trying not to look at people flirting with each other, and thinking about the play. He wished that making small talk with Emrys Selwyn could distract him more from this problem, except Selwyn was also attractive. Looking at him was better than looking at waitstaff with their missing clothes, but not by as much of a margin as Art needed it to be.

He took a sip of his drink. "Yes, well," Art said, wishing he had a wittier excuse, "You're talking to me too, aren't you?"

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set by MJ <3

Emrys flashed a grin as though he'd been caught at something.

"A host's burden," he said in a genial tone. He moved his free hand to the front pocket of his trousers, brushing his jacket back over his hip as he did. "It's my sacred duty to ensure everyone is comfortable tonight. So," he said with half a smirk, "do let me know if there's anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Mr. Pettigrew."

He was making fun, really, because he didn't think Pettigrew would be the sort to respond to that sort of offer — but if he picked up on it he might feel the need to go reaffirm his interest in women tonight, which would probably do him a world of good, Emrys thought. He had the look of someone who was a little too tightly wound up.

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Lou made this! <3

Art's expression wavered as he caught it, a momentary arch of his eyebrows. And oh no. If he was right — maybe he wasn't right, maybe it was just wishful thinking, the same thing that had kept him here — then this conversation wasn't as safe as he'd thought it was, which meant he really ought to leave. He ought to have left a while ago, several drinks or as soon as he figured out what was going on with the play, so if anything now was the time to remove himself from the party entirely.

He had bit his lower lip before he could think about it, and ran his tongue over it before he said, "That's very considerate of you, to think of your guests' comfort." That had not been what he had meant to say at all, or — at least he didn't think that was what he meant to say.

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set by MJ <3

It was just a subtle sign, the way Pettigrew licked his lower lip, but Emrys caught it. Oh. How fascinating. There were any number of things it might mean, of course, but Emrys found them all intriguing. Maybe Pettigrew was only now realizing it himself, or hadn't even fully realized it yet, and had been miserable about it for years. Maybe he'd known all along and he'd married his wife to try and get rid of the urge. Maybe — no, there were too many possibilities. He could sit here thinking about it all day, but in the end it didn't matter. No matter which it was, Emrys' next course of action was the same.

"Merely a host's duty," Emrys said smoothly, with a vaguely predatory smile. "Let me get you another drink."

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Lou made this! <3

Art had a vague sense that he ought to be smoother at extricating himself from this — it wasn't like he was new to flirting, for all that he was out of practice at it. Still, he found himself knocking back the remainder of his drink and following Selwyn, and he could — he could pretend he was just doing it because he was not thinking about it, but that wasn't entirely true.

Once the new drink was in his hand, Art raised it to Selwyn in a sort of silent toast — he didn't trust his mouth otherwise.

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   Emrys Selwyn

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set by MJ <3

That look in his eyes. Emrys recognized it, and he never got tired of seeing it. He chose the drink for them both with care: strong, but high enough quality that it wouldn't taste strong, at least not at the first sip. Pettigrew raised his glass in a toast but offered no words, so Emrys filled them in as he raised his own glass in answer. "To talented performers," he said smoothly, locking eyes with Pettigrew in a meaningful way. If he took the bait, this was foreplay — if not, they could both pretend Emrys had been referring to the actors from the play.

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   Arthur Pettigrew

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Come on, Art, he thought to himself, a little exasperated, You're better than this. (And if the voice in his head he used to say that sounded shockingly like Ben, who could blame him? Art hadn't managed to be his own conscience, lately.)

Was he better than this? That look in Selwyn's eyes as they met, there was no mistaking it — and Art was a lot of things but he was not unfaithful, he loved his wife, he was so fucking lonely but he loved his wife, he was looking for something with which he could replace the gambling but it could not be anything like this.

He met Selwyn's eyes, was not sure he could have managed to break his gaze away if he wanted to. (Something terrible: he did not want to.) "Talented performers," Art echoed; before he sipped, he nodded, just slightly. Maybe this weird loaded conversation did not mean anything.  Maybe nothing would happen.

(He knew it meant something.)

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   Reuben Crouch

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Pettigrew nodded before he drank, and Emrys felt something akin to a victory rush. That was as certain as if they'd just signed a contract — Emrys probably could have lead him off to one of the spare rooms right now with little ado. But where was the fun in that? He'd only just realized a moment ago that pursuing Pettigrew was even an option. He couldn't take someone to bed with so little anticipation built up beforehand — would he even have a chance to savor the victory if he closed the deal so soon?

No, there was no rush. He could give Pettigrew time to finish his drink, an opportunity to wander the room, a chance to catch Emrys looking at him a few times, a chance to be caught looking himself. With a knowing smile, Emrys leaned in slightly to tap the edge of his glass against Pettigrew's (an unnecessary closeness; he could have just extended an arm, rather than bringing them close enough to catch a whiff of each other's cologne).

"I won't monopolize your time, Mr. Pettigrew," he said with an air of generosity, as though saying goodbye were the most magnanimous thing he'd done all week. "I'll see you again later. To ensure you're having fun." Not an offer: a promise.

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Lou made this! <3