#p:supply and demand

[augustcallow-blog]

supply & demand | elliot & august

@elliot-fincher

The night was beginning to sink and August was stepping out for the first time that day. He’d been going out less and less, confining himself to his room and burning through his supply faster than usual. At Hogwarts, there were distractions - class and people and activity that kept August at least somewhat consistent; there was also Pomfrey at hand with whatever he needed (within reason). But here, in the heart of London, August had nothing as a barrier between himself and his mind - there was only the pills and the booze, and he was running short on both. He’d sent an owl to his usual supplier - Elliot Fincher. August didn’t know where the boy got his supply, nor did August particularly care; if Elliot’s unsavory familial ties came in handy, so much the better. August, much like the rest of his family, were good at throwing money at problems, hoping to fix them - and he threw money at Elliot in a similar fashion, requiring only for Elliot to give him what he wanted in return.

He shrugged on his long pea coat that was made of soft, dark wool, as well as pulled a beanie down over his highly visible blonde hair. The ends and fringe peeked out beneath it, but he felt less recognisable to anyone who might be lurking in Knockturn Alley to spot a Callow there. August didn’t want to shame his family, least of all his father who was already so busy - the Callow’s could do without a scandal now, of all times. Which was why discretion was paramount and why August had been glad for the location and time of Elliot’s proposed trade - it would be dark enough that August would look more like a common, coarse half-blood (shudder) than the pureblood wizard he was. His coin purse was heavy in his pocket as he walked from the Sleeping Dragon to the Leaky Cauldron, gaining access to the dwindling hubbub of Diagon Alley. August’s eyes darted around, making sure no one recognised him, before he slipped into Knockturn. Immediately, the darkness of dusk swallowed him, and he kept his head down, walking quickly. If anyone stole his money-- well, he’d have plenty more in Gringotts, true, but he would have to wait for the supply Elliot had waiting for him. And August couldn’t wait.

August’s hands twitched in his pockets as he walked, feeling the come down of the last high. He needed to find Elliot; he needed something strong. Sleep wasn’t really to be found sometimes, or it came in long, twelve-hour stints - there was no inbetween for someone like August, and he was sure he looked like a weak target to the people watching him pass from shop doorways and dark alleys. The streetlamps hadn’t yet been lit, and August took the cover of shadow to slip down a side alley and emerging into the next lane where more shops were located, though they boasted less appetizing goods in their windows. Not wanting to stand still and wait for Elliot like a sitting duck, August paced, ducking in and out of the shadows, tugging his beanie down compulsively, waiting and waiting and waiting.