Hatstill.

The word was grumbled by more than a few students, whispered with varying expressions of exasperation, amusement, and curiosity as it spread throughout the Great Hall. Two minutes already, one-hundred twenty seconds, and no sign of a decision.

Deus wasn't embarrassed by it, though he was getting a bit squirmy because the stool wasn't all that comfortable, kicking his legs restlessy as the thing on his head took its sweet time, jumbling through his thoughts like a rubbish heap.He wasn’t happy about that, but it was certainly better than what he’d feared—no one at the Lazy Kelpie had thought to tell him what was to come, nor asked him to Owl with news or knowledge he’d arrived safely. Deus wasn’t bothered by that, either. In fact, what Deus Dunleavy Deres was at the moment, was hungry, and towards the start of the line. If the stupid thing was going to take this long on everyone he was never going to eat. Brown eyes flickered at the long rows of covered trays, stomach grumbling because the scanty sandwich Hadley'd made for him before he left had been a long, long time ago.

The stupid hat was still talking. Muttered mumblings it had taken Deus all of the FIRST forty-five seconds to realize weren’t particularly directed at him.

Nerve! Certainly! But not reckless, no, and not loyal. Not a fan of show-boating, are you? Hah! Not so loud, boy, I can hear that. Scorn your bravery, if you like, it's there. But not the place for you, no. What else have we got. Patience, hard work—but only for what you want. Not one to lift a finger for anyone else. Deus didn't deny it. Or at least not when they can catch you at it. The hat added wryly, and Deus's lips twitched to a frown, legs stopping mid-swing. He wasn’t sure he liked this hat. Hufflepuff would understand that kindness, The Hat mumbled, But I suspect you would not care for hers. Warmth in Hufflepuff, you know. You would make friends, they've an appreciation for— The Hat stopped and then continued, No, no you aren't very happy about that, are you? He didn't have anything against  Hufflepuff—he didn’t even know what Hufflepuff was—he had a problem with the stupid Hat thinking he needed friends. His jaw clenched into a hard line, and Deus responded mentally with a fairly explicit description he'd once heard from a werewolf with a bad reputation and too much dragongut. The Sorting Hat didn’t respond, but did amend, No. No after all. Your version of ‘fair play’  is not, hmm, not quite right for Hufflepuff.

Deus had something else to say about fair play.

 Clever! Definitely clever. You've a sharp mind here. boy.—Deus's expression suddenly filled with alarm, sensing what the hat was about to touch, and his hands flew up to yank it off, only to find it wouldn't budge. Know things you shouldn't, for your age, for all that most will question if wisdom's quite the right word. Wit! Odd application of it, but original, certainly. Creative. Ravenclaw traits. She appreciated the odd birds, pardon the description. A puzzle, and you love them, don't you? Hate to be solved yourself but I'll figure you out... Deus shifted in his seat, ambivalently glancing at the table of silver and blue where 'Canterbury, Li-somethingorother' had joined just a few names or so before him. The glance started up a rush of anticipatory whispers again, and Deus was just glad he was finally going to be done with this nons—

The hat started up again, and Deus closed his eyes with a groan, certain he wasn't going fail and they were going to ship him back to the Kelpie, and his shoulders, scrawny, slumped.

Ah-ha, There it is. Resourceful! Cunning! A thirst! What a thirst! Not to prove, no, but to do. How would you fare, I wonder, among the proud and elite?

A chuckle as the Hat got a whiff of the child's thoughts on that.

You would be on the outside, you know. The fringe. In Ravenclaw you would be among. In Slytherin you will be aside. How you like it though, is it? Lonely, you know.

The hat was grumbling, torn. Tricky, so tricky. You'll do things. Either will guide you to them, though you'll no doubt resist the assistance. But no...no, fights or embraces, they're not it, are they? It's the thirst. So, I suppose, the answer lies there, in how you desire to satisfy it.

It wasn't asking, it was searching. Blood or books.

Dens didn't answer. He didn't have to.

The Hat already knew.

“SLYTHERIN”