Knockturn Alley, "Demon's Head". 11pm.

It was one of those evenings, too warm outside and too warm on the inside. The final, slumping days of summer weather had picked up their pace with waves of moist and cloying warmth. Knockturn was a conduit of nauseating heat-- even this late into the night, with its rare gusts of cooling wind.

Dietrich sat in The Demon's Head pub, his routine haunt on the alley. Closest one to the parlour, anyhow. The place was 'bout as busy as it ever got on a Sunday night... couple of rowdy wizards in the back, a few young ones downing shots just behind where he was sitting at the bar. He wore his flannel shirt mostly unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up and collar going whichever way it pleased.

"Another?" The barmaid nodded at the empty glass that Dietrich was hunched over and he smiled plainly at the redhead, gratefulness hardly obscured by the shaggy beard. Today deserved more than just one glass o'firewhiskey. Gods, it deserved a whole fucking litre. But he should probably wait for Lloyd to get there before he asked anyone to leave the bottle.

Back-to-back appointments. Three markings, two piercings and a body weave. He was used to this stuff, though that didn't make it anymore appetizing, trying to have your lunch after threading a ribbon through somebody's flesh. Lana had collapsed into bed and now all the artist wanted to do was drink away the exhaustion with the only witch he knew who could probably consume his weight in hard liquor.

With the summer brewing the British to stew, the staff of the museum for wizarding history spent most of their times in the deepest rooms of the archives, researching lame things with the lamest excuses, followed by staying at work late for no real reason. Or at least, that's what the head historian did when her son was not around to play in the sunshine with.

So when Fiona finally decided to leave her work place at 10.50 pm on a sunday night, the heat collapsed above her like a wave over recently build sandcastles. Despite her plan to head straight to her date with a man who - for a change - could keep up with her drinking habits without whining like a little girl, she headed home first.
But even after a cold shower and only putting on the maximum amount of material needed, the sweat kept flowing.
Fiona sighed. Heatwaves simply pissed her off.

When the bookhunter finally stepped into The Demon's Head somewhere around half past something, Dietrich was already sitting at the bar in front of what didn't seem like his first drink.
Dietrich and Fiona had first met short after Aidan's birth, when she had visited his shop to get her son's name inked on the inside of her ringfinger, and it had been drinking buddy love at the first sight. Since then, the two of them had probably consumed more liquor together than an Easter gathering of catholic priests after 40 days of lent.

"Howdy, hunchback. I see you already got cozy without me"
Placing her arm casually around his neck and reaching for his drink with the other hand, she grinned cheekily before taking a big gulp.

The second glass of firewhiskey was going down 'bout as slowly as the first, not having yet pushed Dietrich into his established drinking momentum. He was only getting started and was still a step from sobriety when his drinking partner finally appeared, lanky arm extending past him to swipe the drink. "Howdy, hunchback. I see you already got cozy without me," she greeted unceremoniously and the wizard snorted, turning his head to watch her down the liquor.

"Night's still early, Lloyd." Dietrich smiled back : "What're you taking tonight? Firewhiskey? Vodka?" He glanced away towards the other end of the pub and made a gesture, beckoning the barmaid to come on over. She hollered for him to wait a moment.

They were both regulars at the Demon's Head-- it was one of the friendlier places on the alley, taking its fair share of boozed up Knocturnites and all kinds of sorry creatures that came drifting in from the other parts of London's magical community. None of them political alliances over here, just people looking to drown themselves in one thing or another.

Dietrich liked it. As they waited for the waitress, he snatched back his glass from Lloyd and nodded to the bar seat next to him: "C'mon. I'll buy first rounds tonight, had a hell of a day."