The world, Deus thought (not without a considerable amount of fondness), was full of idiots.

This was the only conclusion he could come to after a twelve hour shift on his feet, following an even longer stretch of sleeplessness to meet a deadline for Delphinea Delacroix's newest novel, The Werewolf Who Loved Me, which was, Deus was proud to admit, the absolute worst of his works so far and was therefore liable to be a hit with his target demographic. There was something about Halloween and its myriad of parties and celebrations and remembrances that just made people silly. Or melancholy. Or overexcited. Or any number of things, none of which Deus could apply to himself at the moment.

He'd had to undo more than one ill-conceived transfiguration on articles of costuming that had either overenthusiastically attached themselves to their magical hosts, or otherwise caused challenges – they'd had to cut the last woman out of her corset, which she had enchanted to take the breathe away of anyone who looked on it, not accounting for her own need to breathe. There had been potion consumptions gone awry, and the usual bits of botched spellwork brought about by drunken revelry.

All in all, an entertaining—if exhausting—night, and it would only get more so as the real day itself approached. Still, as Deus skimmed a copy of the Prophet that someone had left behind, noting the long and winding lists of name, he had to admit that if nothing else, no one had died on his shift today. There was that, and it was no small thing. A few folks wouldn't ever quite be the same, sure, but they had their lives, and people were nothing if not adaptive.

He was evidence of that himself, wasn't he? It wasn't fair to say he'd cleaned up his act since his school days, but he'd quieted the signals considerably, gone from outlandish ridiculousness to the occasionally wry quip and borderline respectability. It was one thing to be an overzealous, mischievous student skirting expulsion. It was another entirely to be a legal wizard, teetering on the edge of criminal activities he wasn't entirely on board with, while holding down a full-time job that actually did some decent in the world as well as a second job that…well he couldn't really call his alter-ego Delphinea's body of work decent, but it was certainly stimulating. And he'd be out of both jobs if people weren't, as previously established, silly sometimes.

"I'll take whatever yeh've on tap, yeah? An' one fer whoever comes in next." He tapped the Prophet, with its list of the dead and gone. "Fer a toast."  To what would depend on who took him up, he supposed.

It had been a lazy Sunday for him, the kind where you gave yourself permission to languish in indulgent habits before the work week ahead. He had slept in until noon, breakfasting on croissants with rich coffee and mild gillyweed. The rest of the afternoon had been lost to a book - and then it was dinner with his parents, which was comforting but dull. Ever since meeting up with Cepheus last weekend, life had become rather anti-climactic.

Nothing particularly good or bad happened[1] and he was learning to live with the notion that things could go either way between them, some day.

And he was learning not to dwell on it. Virgil slipped into The Brick after wandering about wizarding London, looking for something to liven up an otherwise uneventful night. He hadn't expected to see Deus Deres of all people sitting at the bar! The infamous deviant, whose changing of ways had roused ripples in Slytherin's social fabric.

"Please don't tell me you're going to toast with beer, of all things..." Virgil drawled in mock horror as he joined his former housemate, lithely claiming the adjacent barstool. "I didn't know them personally but they're worth something at least a touch stronger than that," he smiled angelically at Deres.

Or what passed for angelic, between people who shared dormitories in the dungeons. "You're a rare face. Is St.Mungo's keeping you all busy with armies of homicidal clowns and sexy pirates?"

He had passed at least six of those tonight, disconcertingly. Oh, London. Never change.

1.	With permission from Kit!

Nate had finished some business he had in the east London neighborhood[1] and now he headed to Old Brick, a wizarding hole-in-the-wall and a much classier (and safe) place than the nooks and crannies of Diagon Alley. Further from the Wizarding city center, it was less likely he'd run into anyone who knew him.

But who should he spy from across the room, calling attention to himself. It was Deus Deres, a young comer who had a growing reputation in some of Nate's business circles. They hadn't met, but it was known the role Deres served to some of Nate's associates.

The thirty-something former Ravenclaw who was responsible for a rash of quiet burglaries in London, slid his glass off the bar and made his way to Deres and the lad he was with. He slid his arm over his shoulder, too friendly for two wizards who'd never been introduced.

"Good evening, old chap. Celebrating?"

It was only then that Nate noticed Deres' companion, and Nate paused. It was the Carstairs kid.[2] Interesting.

1.	Casing Pilpher & Stride's for the Nov 3 robbery
2.	Nate stole his golden violin. Oct 9