Yavin heard the front door carelessly slam shut[1] just as Edgar poured him coffee. The french press produced a wonderfully fragrant, mellow brew. Angela joined him at the small kitchen table and lit a cigarette, a hardness in her brow. Outside, the record player was still going.

"No treat for me?" he asked the witch suggestively while Edgar stepped out to send the dishes dancing to the sink.
            "You can be patient," her mouth widened into a half-smile. "Good things come to those who wait."

The older man watched her take up his cup to steal a sip. Dishes clattered away by themselves, water running, and Edgar came up behind them to slip his arms over his shoulders. "What a night," he sighed. Yavin tilted his head back so that the two wizards could exchange a quick kiss.

"Mm. I was, ah, wondering when Virgil was going to tell you," he replied and rescued his coffee from Angela. "Funny boy. Worrying over, hm, over nothing."

           "You're forgetting Laidie's reaction," Edgar pointed out, taking the chair on Yav's other side.

"She'll be fine," he gestured as if the person in question might dissipate into the ether; never to be addressed again. Talking about Adelaide bored him. "I thought you, hah, you were rather catty to Nemo though."

This, Yavin directed at Angela.  She rolled her grey-green eyes and tapped some cigarette ash into his cup saucer. "There's no sin in being a tacky creature but it was terribly presumptuous of her to go after Adelaide like that."

"Oof," Yav sat back with an amused huff, using his foot to nudge her shapely calves under the table. "Be nice, now. She's, um, she's only a kid."

Virgil's mother had a tongue even sharper than her son's but he rather liked Nemo, and didn't want either of his hosts to be prejudiced against the slight faux pas. She lifted one ladylike shoulder, conceding the point begrudgingly.

1.	Picking up directly from Baby, You Can Drive Me

Edgar was still coming to terms with Virgil's little announcement. He knew Cepheus Gamp - yes, a nice fellow, but one who operated in a different social stratosphere. Not the kind of man to join a pub crawl with Virgil's peers, or whatever it was the youths did with one another these days. The head of Beings had his own life going on no doubt.

Maybe that was good. Healthy? Oh, he didn't know. Apparently raising three children didn't magically gift you with the answers to all their problems.

            "There's no sin in being a tacky creature..." his wife was speaking and he snapped out of his stupor.
      "She's, um, she's only a kid."

"Nemo?" Edgar poured himself coffee, frowning. "Just a touch rough around the edges, love, she meant well. We can't all be brought up by the Carstairs book of etiquette."

Angela laughed at this quip. He loved her laugh, it was girlish and human. Even Yavin's censure softened. The two men doted on her whenever these evenings rolled around, thrilled by how easily playfulness replaced the fae-like elegance. "Look at you both, ganging up on little old me..." she shook her head, a pout in that dangerous mouth.

Yavin glanced at Edgar. "I think she's, ah, she's trying to play victim," he murmured in a mock whisper.

"Yes, well, can we blame her?" he replied, being sure not to glance at Angela. "She makes it look so good."

His wife's face coloured slightly and she snorted, stubbing out her cigarette in the coffee cup. "I'm having my shower. You two can clean up, once you're done being silly," she walked off with a deliberate sway in her hips. They watched her go.

The dinner had made the day feel interminably long. Angela's footsteps treaded above them. Edgar leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. Yavin squeezed his shoulder, running his hand up into the stiff brown hair soothingly.

           "Come on. Throw your, ah. Throw your worries down."