“Mind you don’t splinch!” Cepheus called after Fournier as the beast handler from Four slung a muscled arm around Pinn from Five and Theta from Nine in the muggy dark night.
“We won’t let him!” The unspeakable retorted, and laughed with her old classmate as they trotted away over the cobbles.

“Right then,” Cepheus announced in a louder than normal voice, both owing to the drinks they’d had and also the fact he was addressing fellow blokes, “back to mine then?”

It had begun as surprisingly warm Friday end to September, provoking owls and memos to arrange impromptu drinks and food. That had turned to debate, pool, a few more drinks and as they realised they weren’t as young as they used to be, the gaggle of likeminded healers, ministry workers, associates and neighbours thinned. Now, on the Diagon Alley cobbles in the first hour of Saturday, the group who remained numbered four Ministry and one healer. Four thirty-somethings and a not even twenty year old. Each of them worthy of invitation to his flat.



Floribuster Florists was closed, but the sizeable glass windows were illuminated enough to pick out the colourful blooms inside. The flowers filled the air with a fresh, green scent. A finer nose might pick out the mild fruity aroma of primrose, and the heavenly notes from the clematis which climbed the wall of the building. Cepheus led the group through the archway beside the shop and skipped up the stone steps nestled against the shop wall. More branches and vines climbed the steps with them, winding around the iron bannister.

The blue front door gave way to the tiny hallway full of coats, cloaks and a well-stocked shoe rack. Cepheus encouraged them through to the right. All but maybe one had already stepped foot in the flat at some point, and knew that the kitchen could be found at the end, and the living room beyond. There were no neighbours to disturb, and the lamps puttered into life with visitors, throwing a warm glow about Ceph’s home with all his books and the upright piano.[1]

“There’s more to drink in the kitchen, or I’ll put the kettle on,” Cepheus fussed, always glad of guests. “Make yourselves at home.”

As his friends, they already had.

1.	Further description can be found in this old thread

Johann couldn’t hide his grin as his younger colleague, Pinn, managed to wrangle a walk home with everyone’s favourite beast handler (after Balfour). She was not hiding hers at all, and fair dos. He waved the three of them off, and inhaled a lungful of muggy, late summer night air. The day had been particularly warm in London and it had been good to make the most of it in the evening with friends.

While Gamp had led the group back to 312c, conversation turned to lighthearted ribbing of those who had left earlier in the evening, and that Fournier was a gentleman for seeing the girls home. He had rather expected Carstairs to join them.
“I’m sure he’ll have fun at Radford, unless they wake up Pickler,” Johann shrugged, and for the clarity to Arc, walking beside him, who hadn’t probably had the ‘fortune’ of meeting the witch, added: “she’s the Diversity Officer, takes her job very seriously.”
“Immerse yourself in the diverse - be sure to converse!” Cepheus quoted from his steps ahead, throwing his arms out dramatically. He was Penny Pickler’s manager, and knew them all.

“After you.” Johann patted Arc’s shoulder as they filed through the arch between the two buildings, and dropped back to sneak a kiss to darling Balfour who followed them. It was a long while since the ill-fated Christmas flat gathering with Flynn’s cursed chocolates, so he had been doing his best to balance his wish to spend time with Balfour with the wish to share his attention with friends. That and he understood it could be rather nauseating for the rest of them.

“Make yourselves at home,” Cepheus instructed once inside the flat above the florists. Leaving Balfour to investigate drinking whatever their host had in, Johann had headed straight to the living room bookcase, something he did every time he happened to find himself in Gamp’s flat. He was out to spot the new ones, blue eyes keenly studying the spines. He reached a long pale forearm up to pluck a new volume to inspect (I Bear a Charmed Life - A Brief Spell with Beasts - G.R.Izzly, Healer) and then dangled it in the direction of fellow bibliophile, Hollingbury, to inspect.

“Slim pickings today, Ceph!” He called, as if unimpressed with a wine selection as he abandoned the shelves to wander back towards the kitchen. “Though I can’t talk. Go to work my way through the library in Edinburgh.”

He never, ever, ever, ever mixed gillyweed and alcohol. Except... he did tonight.

It had begun as a Mysteries errand on level five. Running into Storm and a pair of his colleagues became an offhand invite to celebrate the end of the work week - not to mention the end of a long, arduous month. That was how he had found himself amongst a very different peer group than the usual suspects; no Nick or Almasy or even Abby. Only these grown witches and wizards, their lives much further on than his own: not least of them was Cepheus Gamp, resplendent in black and deep red.

Virgil had accepted drinks and shots without thinking twice. He'd lit a joint of gillyweed to come down from the excitement of it all and, by the time they wandered into that sweetly scented corner of Diagon, he felt like he was walking in a dream.

            “There’s more to drink in the kitchen, or I’ll put the kettle on. Make yourselves at home.”

And what a home it was! Virgil shrugged off his jacket and carefully kicked off his boots, bringing up the tail end of the group making their way down the passage. "Tea please!" he replied politely. Everyone else seemed to know their way around.

He slung his camera off where it had dangled on his neck, holding it to give his hands something to do. Alex's godfather, Balfour, disappeared into the kitchen with Cepheus. In his dreamlike trance, Virgil followed the other two into the living room but ignored the bookshelves in favour of.... well, the one thing he did know about Ceph's flat, besides its butthole licking cat.

The piano. He sat on its bench, facing away from the keys, examining the living room instead. It was so lovely and calm here. Virgil didn't know the fourth wizard of the group, not personally, but he'd recognised him from the sex talks at Hogwarts. STD man. They called him Arc. Seemed more reserved than the others.

He raised his camera to his eye, first focusing on the bookshelf spies and then switching over to Balfour in the kitchen - a bottle of something inadvisable in his hand. The lens momentarily zoomed in on Ceph busy brewing at the kitchen counter, dark head turning in response to Johann's call.

"Say Zeus!" Virgil called out, holding down the camera stud and setting off a brief series of flashes.
            "Zeus!" Spectre obeyed enthusiastically - the word gave one's face that silly pout people used for selfies.

The young wizard laughed, cheeks still red from the autumn cold outside. "I'm your official chronicler tonight!" he divulged to the room at large and nearly dislodged the cigarette behind his ear as he swept a lock of golden hair behind it.

It would be impolite to say that he hadn't had fun, though the last thing he'd expected on a quiet night was getting an invitation to a gaggle of Ministry officials. Still it had been a long work week, and as much as the words in his books replaced the whispers in his head he would be regretful if he didn't at least see Cepheus - or go out and talk to someone who wasn't orange-furred and needed pets and cheese on demand - once a week.

He knew nothing of their fellow companions, but he was good at putting on a mask as if he'd done it his whole life. Strangely seeing Cepheus, Johann and Balfour happy made him feel uplifted too, reason unknown, but he wasn't about to take it for granted. Instead he'd spent the evening watching everyone enjoying their no doubt well-deserved break, keeping quiet except to offer a one-line jest or two, or speaking when spoken to. None of them would need to know about the darkness in his head, and none of them could probably tell. Good enough.

But, it wasn't about him. It was about everyone, and he'd strolled down the Alley with the others, faint if weak smile playing on his lips, hands in pockets of a generic ochre coat draped over a navy blue turtleneck. He had a smoke earlier. He might need a smoke later. And they looked cheery, happy laughing faces. Yellow, bright, wavering lights floated around them - oh yes, Diagon was brightly lit, warm, chilly, quiet, noisy.

Cepheus's place brought him back down to earth, a welcome feeling accompanied with the earthy and herbal fragrance of Floribusters nearby. Arc for a moment raised his eyes in recall as strong scents tickled the memories of herbology, before mentally checking himself before he in his reverie absently tripped over the steps leading to the flat. As if it were a third home - and for all he knew, it might be - he'd hung his coat up and gone to curl in the corner of the sofa like a cat coming home. The young man with them called out the word that had been lingering on his mind, tugging like a child at its mother's dress - how typical! How usual. Tea it would be. He took the book Johann dangled in front of him absently and flipped through it, said nothing.

"Zeus!" Arc's quiet voice did not join this, just a wider smile in amusement. The photo would just have him curled up in said corner of the sofa; whether someone had wedged themselves up against him or not was up to them, there was plenty of space left. Just tucked himself there. Would be no surprise if a print of a backside was already there to be occupied.

OOC: I’ve sketched out how I visualise Ceph’s kitchen/living room here. Sorry for state of my doodling!


“Slim pickings today, Ceph!” Johann called, which could only mean that the linguist was inspecting the bookshelves the other side of the kitchen counter. Balfour had meanwhile followed Cepheus into the kitchen. He glanced up, just in time to see Arc curl himself onto the left end of the sofa, taking up corner position before anyone else could. It was in easy reach of Johann who handed down a book.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ceph clocked Virgil had taken up position on the piano stool, and was spying on them all through his camera, just as he cried:
“Say Zeus!”
“Zeus!” Balfour obliged, and Cepheus echoed a beat later, hands full of cat mugs he had selected for each of them.

“I’m your official chronicler tonight!”
“Hope you’ve still got steady hands then,” Cepheus teased, glancing at what Balfour had pulled from the cupboards below to drink. Then he pushed up on his hands and leaned forward to peer over the worktop and down at the book Arc was holding, stockinged feet wiggling in the air beside Spectre. He gave a prim little sigh at the title before rocking back onto his feet in the kitchen. It wasn’t the best, but he’d been intrigued.

“Sorry the Gamp lending library does not meet expectations,” Cepheus retorted to Johann, making a point of folding his arms officially, “you’ll have to invite us all up to Edinburgh to peruse, and Arc and I will have to up our Sunday morning browsing.” He raised both eyebrows and relaxed, turning away to the stove where the kettle was heating water and lifted down the largest teapot, which resembled a silver tabby - the handle a tail, and the spout an outstretched front leg. It had little ceramic ears at the front of the lid.

“Do you take sugar, Virgil?” Cepheus called, knowing everyone else’s preference already off by heart. As a host, his attention darted from place to place, trying to please everyone simultaneously, and the inebriation only emphasised his habitual hand gestures.

Cepheus looked over at the photographer with a bright smile, raising his voice, “Thought you were going to start playing when you sat over there. Feel free to take a look through the music, be only fair - what with those two and the books, Balfour and my booze…” the host gestured from the two dark heads before him to Balfour on his right and then across to the golden haired member of the party sat at his upright piano. There were stacks of manuscript on it, and on the floor beside it.

“You’re definitely staying the night if you’re drinking that, mate,” he added in a low tone to Balfour, bumping up against Balfour’s left hip, “Spectre constitution or not.”

            "Zeus!" grinned the Scotsman.

Balfour was having a good night - and in all honesty, after recent events with Witch Weekly, he needed a good night. A night to put certain weights and worries out of mind, to simply enjoy himself with his wondrous fiancé, to drink himself absolutely silly, to forget the bad, to remember the good. Stealing a bottle of Firewhiskey from Ceph's stash was a natural progression of things.

He bumped hips back at their host, snorting. "Is that an offer?" Bal teased in his own low tone before seeking out a glass tumbler so that they could make a pretence of being civilised beings instead of drinking straight from the bottle.

            "Splash of milk please." Virgil was politely answering Ceph when Balfour joined the others in the living area.

Not wanting to disturb Arc's cosy nook, he dropped himself into a seat on the other end of the couch and gave the blonde boy a cursory glance. Why not? Alex's cousin was very different to her but they were both pure Carstairs snark. His behaviour tonight was... unexpectedly cheerful. Darling, even. Trying to fit into the older crowd maybe.

"Don't you want to play a tune for us yourself?" Balfour glanced over his shoulder at Cepheus, who was preparing cat mugs of tea. "Or I suppose Peter Pan could have a go after all," he turned his smile back in the young wizard's direction before toasting the glass at him. "If you'd so deign yourself."

Virgil was already examining sheets of manuscript: his smile was soft and boyish but he didn't look up as he answered. "The official chronicler does not play on request," he asserted in gentle rebuke. "You'd only get sea shanties and musical numbers in this state anyway."

Balfour laughed, glancing at Johann as he sipped his whiskey. "Can't dance to those can we, my love?" Potentially rhetorical. "Stick to your Grecian exclamations, by all means."

Johann twisted round to regard young Carstairs on the piano stool as he brandished the camera. He had no idea if he was in the frame of the photo, but better to be looking than resolutely studying books and no more in the animation.

“Sorry the Gamp lending library does not meet expectations,” Cepheus replied, having leaned over to see what they were looking at in particular. Arcturus, as to be expected, had not voiced his opinion on the book at all, but was giving it a cursory examination. “You’ll have to invite us all up to Edinburgh to peruse, and Arc and I will have to up our Sunday morning browsing.”

“Will you?” Johann replied softly, reaching out to Arcturus to replace the dubious book on the shelves above them. “Are all the good books at yours then?” He asked the healer, vaguely aware of this Sunday morning routine during summer, but never asking anything. He’d not been invited into 277b Diagon for some weeks now, not that he had called to enter. Where once they had almost been inseparable while navigating an attempt at a relationship, Storm and Hollingbury now only saw each other on group social occasions like this, or the semi-regular visit to the third floor of the hospital.

“… be only fair - what with those two and the books, Balfour and my booze…” Ceph’s address to their newest and youngest drinking companion drew Johann’s attention up and away from his attempt at eye contact with Arc and to pay attention to what his fiancé had procured. Was Gamp flirting with Balfour? Was Balfour reciprocating? Not that Johann minded, just that they still had other company. He supposed it was exactly what Balfour needed after the wretched week, Johann too. The anniversary of his father’s death in the courtroom had coincided with Witch Weekly taking a swipe at Feliks, and Balfour had decided to use his wand to retaliate than words.

Johann let the banter of playing sea shanties on the piano pass him by, holding another book up for Arc with an indecisive pout over its beauty. Balfour took a seat the other end of the sofa, bottle in one hand, tumbler in the other.

“Can’t dance to those can we, my love?” Balfour asked, and Johann skipped back to shanties, glancing over to Balfour and smiling.
“No, well, we could give it a go.” He relinquished the book and leaned over to deliver a spontaneous kiss to his future husband. Rather than elect to sandwich himself between past and present, Johann backed across the room to inspect the second set of bookshelves the other side of Ceph’s fireplace. “We could put the wireless on, isn’t Motley on at this time of the night?”

As if in protest of the suggestion, Claude, Ceph’s black and white cat, wailed in greeting at them all from the kitchen doorway.

Balfour bumped back with a low tease, and Ceph’s cheeks coloured. He never wanted to ever assume, but the booze cupboard and bookshelf inspection had led to different outcomes last time. Virgil’s response allowed Cepheus to consider politer company and he added to Virgil’s mug.

“Do you want to play a tune for us yourself?” Balfour asked,
“Oh, I couldn’t,”
“… suppose Peter Pan could have a go after all…”
“… isn’t Motley on at this time of the night?”


“Hello darling puss,” Cepheus greeted his cat, using the tone he only used for his feline companion. It was akin to the voice one spoke to babies in. Their host left the mugs of tea to fuss his four-legged housemate, crouching down to stroke Claude’s fur and brush his face, vanishing behind the kitchen counter. “By all means, put it on, Johann,” a disembodied voice suggested, “if Virgil’s not playing.”

In the living room, the linguist pivoted on one foot to look at the blonde at the piano for confirmation, the wireless sat between them on the cabinet.
“I’ll get you something in a moment, sweetheart,” Ceph promised his cat, who let out another vocal protest at the delay, aware that Ceph was preparing something for their guests. Did the wizard not know that he was several hours late in providing Claude’s evening meal?!

Reappearing from behind the counter, Ceph sent the first mug sailing up and over Arc and Balfour’s head on the sofa before him, and hung it in midair for Arc to grasp. The mug most resembled Rustle, Arc’s kneazle, which was why Cepheus had selected it for him. The second sailed further, to Johann stood beside Ceph’s desk and bookshelves at the far side, a sleek black cat with a tail for the handle.

“Come, come meet Virgil, you’ll like him,” Cepheus placated his cat, carrying Virgil’s mug, a rounded white design with great big eyes, nose and whiskers that wiggled. Claude trailed behind him at a jog as Ceph approached Virgil at the upright piano, setting the mug down on a well-used tabby cat coaster on the top.

“Here we are Virgil, my bum-licking flatmate in the flesh at last,” Cepheus announced, much to the good humour of his other guests, hands dancing before him as he described, “I may have failed to mention Claude was a cat when I first described his habits[1] to poor Virgil, and he had quite the image in his head of who I was living with,” Cepheus explained, smiling brightly.

1.	22nd July, 2011 Second Star to the Right

“Are all the good books at yours then?” The question put forth stirred Arc out of whatever reverie the dancing flames of Ceph's fire had conjured up on its own for the room. He looked back at Johann with eyebrows raised in exaggerated exasperation. "Judging books by their covers, now? Is this for the long-term?" It was all in jest, of course.

Content to not be the centre of attention in the room, his gaze wandered between the roving bunch of friends plus one cat who had come to join them. He wasn't sure if Claude considered him a friend - well, Claude considered his lap a warming mat at least, but that shouldn't count - so if the cat wanted to avoid him, he would take no offence. He looked up at the mug above his head hovering patiently and smiled, Ceph knew him well. The tea warmed his hands as he clasped the mug, turning his attention back to the conversation going on around him.

"I may have failed to mention Claude was a cat when I first described his habits to poor Virgil, and he had quite the image in his head of who I was living with.". Arc's laugh was more a weak chuckle (he hadn't yet found anything that deserved at least a hearty mirth of sorts) followed up by, "Technically, you're not wrong."

            "Stick to your Grecian exclamations, by all means."

Virgil smiled to himself, looking through the sheets of music that he'd gathered on to his lap. There were interesting selections - a few popular ones and then more esoteric manuscripts, the sort you pick up at second hand stalls in the Diagon weekend market. He lingered on an oddity: Mozart's sonata Alla Turca I annotated as the composer believed Beethoven would have played the piece. It was a frivolous, playful effort.

His inebriated consciousness, through which conversation floated in and out, picked up odd bits. Something about books and their covers. Everyone here knew each other well but he could surmise they didn't all hang out in this group. Even so, he was still the odd one out.

The sudden arrival of a cat caused Virgil to snap away from the music, looking up in surprise. Claude. The Claude of ill repute! Claude the sybaritic Frenchman! Possibly the only feline to ever receive a personal invite to Stardust. Oh, God. Cepheus was baby talking his cat. Why did that make Virgil want to die a little?

Satisfied that he hadn't said this out loud, the blonde set aside the manuscripts to accept his tea with one hand and beckon the cat with his other. "Thank you!" he turned his attention to Claude, scratching behind ears. Cat mug. Cat cat. Cat everything! Someone pinch him.

            "...and he had quite the image in his head of who I was living with,” their host explained with expressive gestures.
"Technically, you're not wrong." Hollingbury added.

"You were awful!" Virgil accused Cepheus, shooting a mock pout at him as he folded his legs up on to the piano seat.  "I even invited you to bring him to the theatre!" he glanced at the other men over the rim of his mug. "Claude sounded like the perfect boyfriend, up to the butthole licking. I mean, not that kind of -" a more genuine flush reached his cheeks and Virgil hesitated, "- you know what I mean."

That last drink at the bar had been a bad idea. "Did somebody want the Wireless on?" he cleared his throat.

“Here we are Virgil, my bum-licking flatmate in the flesh at last,” Cepheus announced. Johann couldn’t hide the dirty smile behind the mug of tea.
“Technically, you’re not wrong.” Arc agreed.

“You were awful!” Virgil protested from the piano, “Claude sounded like the perfect boyfriend, up to the butthole licking. I mean, not that kind of - you know what I mean.”

Oh this was strangely delicious. Johann inclined his head a little to the left and reapplied his better levels of observation to young Carstairs. He wasn’t as sulky as Balfour’s goddaughter, thankfully. Virgil instead appeared to enjoy attention from the rest of the group, quoted literature, and there were definite effeminate mannerisms.

“Did somebody want the wireless on?”

Johann exchanged a knowing glance with his fiancé seated on the sofa, and then reached his arm out with his wand to attend to the set. It burbled into life.

“I don’t know, Virgil, butthole licking can be quite the talent in a perfect boyfriend,” he added to Virgil with a knowing smirk. “Why don’t you come and join us,” he patted the back of the armchair which faced the sofa, with a look that suggested Virgil shouldn’t refuse. The one he’d learned from Balfour.

Meanwhile, Cepheus had returned to the kitchen to attend to his flexible feline flatmate’s food. Johann procured Ceph’s desk chair to the armchair’s right, opposite Arcturus curled in the corner of the sofa.

“We won’t take offence if you fall asleep, Arc.” Johann remarked in a more sober, soft, caring tone, without any of the mischief he had addressed Virgil with. He doubted they would make it out of Ceph’s flat before morning now they were settling. Gamp was a good host and it wouldn’t be the first, nor the last time he’d invited them back to save an ill-advised apparition attempt after drinking.

“Is Claude your wingman, Ceph?” Johann asked, once everyone had gathered again.

The declaration had received the desired response from the others, and Cepheus left them to chuckle about it while he put some food down for Claude. The cat would be occupied for minutes to scoff down its supper before it was back to find someone to sit on. By the time Ceph rejoined them, he elected to sandwich himself between Balfour and Arcturus on the sofa. Not something he’d done before, but agreeable in any sense.

“You sleepy?” Cepheus asked of Arc, considering they were all tired after a long week at work. The wireless made for a bubble of background noise, not loud enough to be clearly heard between songs. It filled the pauses in conversation.

“Is Claude your wingman, Ceph?” Johann asked, perched above them all on the desk chair, cup of tea in one hand.

“Why because - oh.” He smiled, “For these two?” He gestured between Arc on his left and Virgil across from him, “Well, I suppose indirectly he was when I bumped into Arc the other month, because I was looking for him. But, not with Virgil, no.” Cepheus folded his legs, settling a little more against Arcturus in the process, and wiggling his toes in his spotty socks. He declined to elaborate on exactly how he’d met Virgil to save the poor young man more blushes.

Arcturus had been at the panel too, as another speaker, but Cepheus doubted he would remember Virgil. He doubted that many of the panel wanted to remember anything from that day.

Though Ceph's flat was now warm and the sofa cosy, the company was not familiar enough for Arc to be truly at home. It was easier with just Ceph and occasionally Claude, if he cared about his owner's visitors, around. People he was unfamiliar with gave him strange prickles down his spine in some odd fashion.

His cosying down must have come off as lethargy, though. “We won’t take offence if you fall asleep, Arc.” The healer raised a hand in open-palmed questioning, brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm not sleepy--" “You sleepy?” "No, I'm not." He went back to trying to figure out how Virgil seemed oddly familiar. He saw patients every day, yet this young man struck Arc as someone of note--

Oh, that talk. Arc buried himself a bit further down, though by this time Virgil would've recognised him since they'd been hanging out the whole night. It also occurred to him that he hadn't said much throughout, though what could he talk about that wasn't research on blood (morbid) or current news in the healing trade (also morbid)? His acquaintances had much more interesting lives...

He sensed more than perceived the way Johann's gaze settled on him. It wasn't the first time Virgil felt like he had said or done something to give away the obvious gap in age between himself and the others. Besides appearances anyway, considering his sense of dress was just as distinct.

            "...butthole licking can be quite the talent in a perfect boyfriend," the linguist teased.

Virgil bit his bottom lip, tucking a lock of hair behind his pink ears. There was something about the offer to sit at the armchair - not an offer but a lighthearted command, which gave him an odd thrill to obey. And it brought him closer to where Ceph was now nestled.

The young wizard slipped off the piano stool gracefully and glanced at their host, who was explaining how he and Hollingbury had met. Lucky STD man! He got to sit next to beautiful Ceph. "...because I was looking for him. But, not with Virgil, no."

For one horrifying moment Virgil thought he was going to explain exactly how they met and the awful AWFUL question he had asked about how to approach sleeping with vampires. Awful. He didn't, however, and Virgil was distracted by the uncertain emotions emanating from Arc's mind. It was at odds with his cosy set-up.

"I met Cepheus at the sex education panel," he heard himself say as he fell into the armchair, practically draping his legs over one arm whilst leaning against the other. "He sang a jingle about heated condoms for vampires. I think I've wiped everything else from memory." Virgil aimed for humour and prayed they wouldn't ask why he'd approached the Being Division head at the talk.

A familiar song came on the radio and he tilted his head back, so that he was getting a glimpse of an upside down Johann. Virgil hummed along to the tune, swinging his legs slightly.

"Your hair is so curly," he told Johann as if though he'd just realised it.

“Why because - oh... I bumped into Arc the other month, because I was looking for him. But, not with Virgil, no.”

Cepheus was looking very cozy on the sofa between Balfour and Arc. Fiancé, fucked, former, Johann thought to himself in amusement. He hadn’t held his breath about ever seeing Arc socialise with him and Balfour together again, but it appeared that wizarding circles, like wizarding families, were smaller and overlapped more readily. Gamp was an agreeable sort and the kind type who would have the patience to deal with Arc’s darker days, not that Johann assumed they were pairing off, only that Cepheus would imply they spent semi-regular time together. Johann had felt a a weird sort of ghost jealousy on realising. A grief of what never came to be. Which was stupid considering what had come to be was sat the other side of Cepheus, and very coming indeed.

While Gamp had not elaborated, Johann had got the impression it was to save Carstairs some blushes, but the young, inebriated blonde lolling in the armchair beside Johann’s left elbow was altogether forthcoming about the primary encounter.

“I met Cepheus at the sex education panel. He sang a jingle about heated condoms for vampires. I think I've wiped everything else from memory.”

There was a pregnant pause at this information, and Johann turned his gaze from Virgil to Balfour, unable to hold the laughter.
“You what?” Johann asked between chuckles, looking to Ceph to confirm this was true. The wizard in question had screwed his face up, mug of tea clasped in both hands.
“It’s true. I blame that Maiko woman.” The memory still stung a little, “Had a go at me and had us talking about fucking vampires - literally fucking. Though I got off lightly, Arc and co had slides.” The thumbed sideways at the healer, pulling a face.
“No diagrams necessary for you then?” Johann uttered, before gingerly sipping the tea and wiggling his eyebrows at Balfour suggestively.

Out of the corner of his eye he realised Virgil was flopped over the armchair and staring up at him, humming. He lowered the tea and looked down and round, studying the rosy cheeked cherub.
“Your hair is so curly.”
“And yours so blonde.” Johann replied without much hesitation, still chuckling. He reached out and ruffled the mop, before smoothing his long, pale fingers through it more gently like petting a cat. Someone was a bit far gone, weren’t they? “Enjoying yourself down there?”

He glanced across to the three on the sofa and shook his head. “Did he try and match Balfour for drinks or something?” His fiancé was still going, after all, while the rest of them were on tea. “Though I suppose I cannot complain after the week you’ve had, darling.” It hadn’t been wise to mention it amongst a crowd, but here they were amongst dear friends, and a teenager who’d probably drunk enough not to remember.

“Gosh, yes.” Cepheus agreed, reaching out to Balfour’s knee in kind gesture. “I think my sister’s going to use it for toilet paper[1] once she’s finished with another copy of Gen’s book.”

Johann looked to Arcturus, realising that he probably had no idea what they were on about. He didn’t read any magazines and barely read the paper.
“You don’t happen to know a Healer Misslethorpe, do you?” He asked.

1.	GMYBS Ref ftw