Fish Fingers and Whiskey

Economics of Ethical Drug Dealing

Lurking in a corridor again. After at least three mouthfuls of whiskey. He was picking up all flavours of unsavoury habits as of late.

Tom spotted him almost immediately, "Come on." He grabbed him by the arm, expression grim, leaving his friends in a confused cluster.

Artemis was swept along with the older boy, passing a number of empty rooms with a stumble, "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet."

Ah yes, following your drug dealer 'somewhere quiet', that was a classic hallmark of good decision making. He chuckled, a little delirious.

Wasn't he supposed to be doing something? Oh, yes, trying to act as if he wasn't high as a kite. He hadn't meant to drink so much. Or take so much.

The latch of the fire escape groaned back into place after they emerged into the pale midday light. Groups of rowdy teens lounged about the green, taking no mind of the signs that read, 'Do Not Walk On The Grass'.

"What are you-" Artemis began to ask, silenced by being tugged away, into a quieter and wilder part of the grounds, a deserted moss covered area behind the school, overgrown and forgotten.

"What dose are you on?" was the exasperated question Tom opened with.

"What?"

"Your pupils are three times bigger than they should be. And you're acting like a stoner, you just let me drag you along for like five minutes without saying anything. You're seriously out of it dude."

Artemis shrugged, a little laugh escaping him, "You're too serious."

"Jesus, how much did you take?" Tom asked, still holding Artemis's lower arm in a firm grip.

He squinted, "Maybe five? Not sure." He swayed slightly.

"Five? This morning? What were you thinking? Shit, shit, shit."

Another shrug, this time childlike and forlorn, "Don't want to go back. He's always there. I prefer to float."

It was quiet. Had Artemis said something he shouldn't have again? Maybe he had taken too much.

Concern was written all over Tom's face, "Him?"

Artemis hummed as if in agreement.

Tom had that look on his face again, contemplating, like he was piecing together a horrible picture, "Is... Anything happening... Y'know..." he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, "at home?"

Artemis tilted his head. Odd question. "No."

"Who is he then?"

Artemis frowned, "Who-? Oh, James? I had RS today, he's always there." Before Tom could say anything, "I needed a..." what was the word? "Stimulant."

"No. No, absolutely not. You can't take uppers and downers together. Especially at a dose this high. It's not safe."

"Why do you care?"

Tom floundered for a second, as if he'd been caught in a lie, "Because I can't have all my clients dropping dead. It's bad for business. You could get me caught."

That did make sense, his befuddled brain decided, "Someone's going to notice, I need something to help get through the day. I can't stop taking the xanax, it's the only thing that makes it stop. I just need it to stop. I couldn't do it on my own." It came out in a stream of consciousness. He needed him to understand there wasn't another option. "If you don't give them to me I'll get it from somewhere else." But of course that could take days in his current state. And he didn't have days.