Archer was perplexed. 

He didn’t feel terrible, which he suspected he might, and there were just some things that went unexplained as he slinked out of Charlene Malone’s flat at five fifteen in the morning.  The previous night was… Archer didn’t even know. It had started off as a night for the guys (plus Charlene) to get together and cheer Eddie up.  The effort seemed to be well received, even if they had to take Bailey along because he heard them planning it and looked sad when they suggested he shouldn’t come.

They weren’t inviting certain people – those that would judge them harshly, mostly.  Tamis was left at home.  Archer was off to his own devices, and the guys, plus Frizzy, were going to show moral support.

That support had started with a few beers with poker, then turned into some arak with poker, and then Archer didn’t even know.  He was having a hard time remembering much of anything beyond midnight, and having woken up on Frizzy’s floor next to Adon and Jonas – plus with the ground smelling far too strongly of alcohol – there were people everywhere, though he could not see all of them, and decided he was better off to not even look. 

There was a glimpse of Adon’s face, which Archer caught, trying to hold back a laugh, and he stumbled awkwardly over Jonas’ arm, heading toward the floo.  He was not still drunk. Of course not. 

He slinked out without much of a fuss, glad he wasn’t feeling quite as badly as he thought he might – proud of himself.  Well, he was proud of himself until he went to bathe.  The haze had still been covering up the things he didn’t realize when he went through the floo – and he avoided both Tamis and Squeak.  He just grabbed clothes, slinked into the bathroom, and went about cleaning himself up. 

Of course, as soon as he started washing his face – he felt something strange.  Looking down at his hand, he realized he had a ring on that was not his!  And it was – it looked like – a wedding band?!  Archer inwardly panicked, stepping away from the sink – trying to search his memory for what happened, unable to do so.  Archer couldn’t do anything about it though.  He couldn’t tell Tamis, she’d kill him – she would actually kill him, and he couldn’t imagine that he married Frizzy – not even on a dare. 

What was going on?  Archer made sure, from that moment on, to hide his ring finger at all costs, keeping it in his pocket after he got dressed and going directly to work.  He’d drink the office coffee before anything at Tamis’ just to avoid being seen with the ring… Thankfully, by the time he got out of the bathroom no one was around.  He must have taken longer than he thought…  It was suspicious in its own right, but he didn’t complain, knowing he needed more than Squeak’s piddly excuse for breakfast to get him going.  Instead, he went straight for the floo.

He glanced around anxiously as he entered the Ministry through the floo, still wobbling a bit as he walked.  Archer grabbed a muffin on the welcome desk, even if it was from yesterday, it’d be better than nothing –there was coffee downstairs.  He felt his head spin a bit as he went on the elevator – clearly just a small reaction – he was fine – totally fine. 

He entered the office making a byline straight toward the coffee, standing slightly but swaying a bit as he tried to stand still.  Perfectly fine, just a bit… affected.  “Thank Merlin for coffee,” he breathed, taking a long draw out of the cup, sighing softly with a smile he didn’t anticipate getting so big so quickly.  He still had it, that magic power of drinking people in their 20s possessed.  He was totally okay - just as long as he kept that hand hidden and kept the coffee flowing. 

It had taken until well after six in the morning to usher all of her overnight visitors out of her house.  Then she'd had to drag Eddie out of the fish pond -- she didn't even know how he'd gotten in the fish pond -- and haphazardly attempt to dry the man off. 

Charlene took great pride in her tiny abode.  It was normally neat and tidy, even if her recent co-inhabiter had challenged that reality a bit, and even knowing the alcohol tolerance of the other Aurors, she had been perfectly willing to open her front door to her coworkers in the name of cheering Eddie up. 

However, as she had stood in her living room that morning and surveyed the damage, what had seemed like a good idea at the time now seemed decidedly less.  Conjured flowers, giant eyeballs, and puffy, colored foam decorated the walls; most of the sofa pillows were hovering near the ceiling; and someone had left an enormous shoe where the coffee table normally sat, which was now firmly stuck by its legs to a wall.  The smell coming out of her guest bathroom was so rank that she hadn't even wanted to go in there; she'd simply left the door locked and gone to get ready for work.

It was unsurprising that the office was considerably quieter than usual that morning.  Charlene was at the coffee pot refilling her mug with hot water -- the tea-like substance she'd brewed up tasted foul, but it helped mitigate the lingering headache from the night before -- when Archer Radley stumbled in, giddily talking to himself and looking like a million galleons. 

"Radley," she said coolly, giving him a even-faced look.  The last time she remembered seeing the man was when she'd gone to bed at nearly half past three, at which point he was becoming entangled in an increasingly awkward pile on the floor.  Apparently he had made it out before the other two.  "Are you missing a shoe?"

“I want to die.” Came a dry throated mumble from behind the pair at the coffee pot. Edward Pratt was cautiously approaching, his bloodshot and overly sensitive eyes covered by a pair of large aviator sunglasses that sat lopsided upon his pale and green tinted face. He could remember the last time he felt rough. That was when he’d woken up in the office with a tremendous pain in his back and skin sporadically dotted with dark purple bruises.

This morning he had woken up on a sofa, Charlene’s sofa, wet. The first feeling he remembered registering that morning was of wet pants. Obviously that had been a cause for concern as a painful consciousness seemed to rear its ugly head on the horribly hung over auror. But when he’d started to realise the heavy material covering his legs was also damp, as was the jumper he wore, the man frowned and began to fully awaken, his nose starting to register a disturbing and stomach churning smell.

Fortunately the smell hadn’t been him. It was coming from the bathroom, a fact Ed had registered upon his dizzy stumble to the toilet. The usual bathroom was locked and the stench being produced from the small room warranted a lack of further inspection. Instead he’d ungracefully climbed the stairs and ventured into the other bathroom to get ready.

But now the dry and sickly auror was feeling like death reincarnated and killed again. His head was thumping and giving him the feeling of a troll stamping on his brain and any crack of light coming from the sides of the dark glasses caused for a vampiric recoiling reflex.

Upon nearing the couple Pratt began to roll up his shirt sleeves to the elbow. But as he did it, the auror looked down and blinked. Even the dark glasses could see that clearly. Marked in black on his hairy forearm, as bold as a hippogriff in a dress were the words ‘Charlene Pratt’.

Archer swayed a little as he stood in front of the coffee post, nodding Malone as she approached.  Her flat must have been destroyed.  She did not look all that pleased.  She looked fairly well though, maybe he wasn’t the only one who had gotten out of the evening unscathed.  It was a good lucky thing too, he had a lot of work to do.  Lifting his coffee cup to his mouth, Archer was stunned when he didn’t feel  the edge of the mug hit his lip, instead, it tipped down and some of the coffee dribbled on the front of his shirt.

Blinking, he looked down at the spots on his shirt, curious about why that had happened, and he shrugged, trying again.  It was a bit shaky, but he did it this time, and the coffee tasted good on his tongue.  However, as soon as it hit his stomach, Archer felt a jolt.  That wasn’t right.  Squinting his eyes, he shrugged, maybe it was just too hot right now… and looked  at Charlene.

"Are you missing a shoe?"

“….No….” he said slowly, unsure of what to make of that, and shoved his left hand deeper in his pocket, just in case.  Women had sixth sense about those things… he didn’t want to give anything away.

Archer was about to open his mouth to ask why she would ask when it looked like a zombie appeared out of nowhere.  One, Eddie looked like he had gotten dressed in the dark, and two, he looked like he might upchuck all over the office.  Archer stepped aside, in case he wanted at the coffee and chuckled a little – the coffee spilled again on his shoe this time. What was with him today? 

Archer took another sip of coffee, feeling that same burble in his stomach when he did, wrinkling his nose.  Hm… that was strange.  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep breath.  The burble went away momentarily… sort of… and Archer looked up,  and back at Eddie.

“Looks like you already did, Mate.”

Everything was terrible.

As he moved towards the staff room, towards the coffee that he dearly hoped Chris Colburn had not brewed, he found that he was not alone in this opinion.

"I want to die," Pratt said.

"Looks like you already did, Mate," Archer said, with a bleary sort of smugness that made Adon want to groan. If that didn't take too much effort. Sure. Why shouldn't they talk about dying in front of Pratt?

"Shit," Adon managed eloquently in a husky voice as he crossed the threshold. He put a hand to his throat, grimacing. He felt like it was bleeding. The movement made him congnizant of the pain in his back--which had been prompted by the elbow that had been driving into him all night long, as he'd slept.

Rolling his eyes--that ached; could you ache that far back in your face?--he moved lethargically to the counter to get some coffee for himself. Rather than risk words, again, or movement of his head--which would surely cause the throbbing to start again--Adon shuffled in beside Malone, managing a lacklustre thumbs-up with a grave face. He hoped she appreciated all he'd done last night.

Even if he had been the first to depart in the morning, he'd also been the one keeping things together. If he hadn't won back Jonas' wedding ring from Roh--if he hadn't slipped it covertly onto his finger before Adon'd extricated himself from the heap of humanity and entangled limbs first thing in the morning. . .

If he hadn't helped Pratt outdoors to sober up and splash some water on his face. . .

And if he hadn't allowed Bailey some privacy from all those chortling Aurors, acting like co-eds as the poor man tried to empty his stomach in dignity. . .

Who knew what might have happened.

What Adon did know about what happened was that this morning, when he'd woken up in the Heap of Humanity--with Jonas, Archer, and maybe a few others--once he'd staggered through the floo and stumbled somnambulistically into the bathroom--there had been something written on his forehead which he had not been able to read due to 1. a sudden loss of literacy on his part, 2. a sudden loss of literacy on the prankster's part, or 3. something wrong with the mirror. But the words were more than skin-deep. Adon'd spent nearly 15 seconds--a good 5 seconds longer than he was accustomed to and a good 10 seconds longer than he'd wanted--trying to wash his face this morning. It had been cold. And unpleasant. And Adon punished his face, the water in the sink, the world--everything--by refusing to shave and instead putting on a beanie he normally only wore in the deep of winter for his commute to and from work.

But not even that completely concealed the slight, dark V which peeked out from beneath the edge of his cap, settled right between his eyebrows.

The eyebrows rose as he regarded Archer more fully. There was comeback material there. A wry comment on his lips, just waiting--but it would need to pass through his raw, bleeding throat first. No way.

Judging by the way that Radley was drenching the front of his shirt in hot coffee, she was not the only one still feeling the effects of the night before.  The big Auror stood unsteadily, his posture slightly wavering, as Charlene's own partner joined the group.

"Well, someone left a shoe," Charlene said insistently, staying out of range of Radley's quivering coffee cup as she tried to get a look at his feet.  They were definitely on the larger size, but since the show currently standing in as her coffee table had been magically enlarged, there was no way to tell how big it had originally been. 

They were very quickly joined by two other members of their party, making a desperate morning pilgrimage to the coffee pot.  She'd already seen Pratt's suffering, but Eleor looked no better -- apparently his announced inherent immunity to the effects of arak didn't extend to the morning after.

"I shouldn't have to say this," she put in, giving Adon and Eddie both a look that would have been much more disapproving if she hadn't felt so tired, "but I hope you're all planning on coming back tonight to help with the clean up.  Pratt and I aren't dealing with all that foam on our own."

Despite the state of her home, once cooperation was secured, she would have been content to leave it at that.  They had all needed to blow off some steam, and assuming that everything was put back into place the next day and the smell in her bathroom was ameliorated, Charlene could live with one messy day.  But that was before she caught sight of the writing that had been callously left to decorate her partner's forearm.

She was still tired enough that it took her a moment to fully process the words, her eyes moving slowly over the darkly-inked letters.  Suddenly, it clicked.  Charlene let out an audible gasp, her eyes widening, and made a brutal grab for his arm. 

"Who wrote that?!" Charlene demanded, trying to yank the writing around so that she could better examine it.  Black ink, the words still legible -- the fact that she could read it at all meant that it wasn't Pratt himself, though she spared her partner no mercy as she twisted his arm around. 

"That's not funny!" she insisted, her face growing hot as she rounded on both Radley and Eleor with a look of fury, yanking Ed along with her.  "How is that supposed to be funny?  Which one of you wrote it?!"

It was a minor miracle that Jonas had made it into the office at all that morning.  The side-along apparition from Malone's house to his own home had definitely not been the most pleasant experience of his life, and getting from the Ministry street entrance after Anna had dropped him off to Level Two had been almost more than he could manage under his own power. 

The red-headed Auror had collapsed at his desk, promptly buried his head in his arms, and hadn't moved since.  Considering that he had only been back at the Ministry for a few short months, it probably said something profound that this was not the first time he had shown up in the office hungover.  What precisely that meant, though, Jonas couldn't process -- it was all he could do not to start whimpering every time someone walked by, each footfall sending an agonizing jolt of vibration through his already aching head.

It hurt.  Everything hurt.  His temples hadn't stopped pounding since he'd woken up on the floor that morning, his vision swam every time he squinted in the direction of a light, and his mouth was so dry that it felt like every drop of moisture had been banished from his body.  He'd scavenged the water bottles out of the kids' lunch boxes that morning -- both sat by his elbow, Artie's bright red car grinning down Gwenna's menacing space robot -- but the thought of sitting up enough to take a drink made him want to give up and die. 

Everything at this point made him want to die, which was decidedly unfair.  He was midway through his thirties -- he wasn't even on the near side of forty yet, the way that Radley was, and it really hadn't been that long since the last time he'd gone out drinking.  Except, with his head pounding the way it was, Jonas couldn't remember the last time he'd gone out drinking like this.  Not with Anna or Arthur.  Had it really been since he'd left?  Or even longer than that, with Tait?

The raised voices coming from somewhere behind him penetrated the painful haze like a buzzsaw jabbing into his temple.  Jonas let out a muted whimper, attempting to drown out the noise by burying his face more securely against his arms, but it didn't help.  Judging by the volume, whoever was talking was clearly intent on performing Crucio on his brain.

"Oi," he managed hoarsely over his shoulder, squinting against the bright lights of the office as he picked up his head just enough to shoot a pitiful look in the direction of the coffee group.  Why did he have to get stuck with the desk by the break area?  Why couldn't he have ended up in a quiet corner?  Like by Raynor's office?  Or on the opposite side of the room from Bailey?  "Quiet, you lot.  Please?"

Sam wasn't amused. He had come in to find that it looked like everyone else had got themselves drunk, and hadn't had the decency to invite him. Then, whne he got to his desk[1], he found Auror Trevalyn sitting at it. He started yelluing at the Auror, only to have said Auror ask him to be quiet. So, naturally, he lost his temper. in a voice thhta broke the laws of physics by being below absolute zero, he snarled "Auror Trevalyn, look around you. You are at MY DESK. Get your stupid ass out of my seat annd go find your own desk." Then, he crossed his arms over his chest, his wand suddenly snapping into his hand.

1.	yes, Jonas is at Sam's desk, not his own

Those words scrawled onto Ed’s skin like a badly drawn tattoo imprinted themselves on the forefront of his mind as he started at them, both perplexed and shocked. For the few moments he took in the markings, the sickly feeling plaguing the bottom of his stomach lay there forgotten and ignored. Radley’s comment and Eleor’s arrival went completely unnoticed as the words danced in front of his eyes, taunting him with their suspicious eerie mystery.

"I shouldn't have to say this," Frizzy’s loud voice cut in, slicing into a section of the blonde auror’s brain he never knew he had. Eyes squinted as the wizard winced and looked up at his work partner. From what the dark glasses covering Ed’s very sore, very tired eyes revealed, she was trying to assert some authority. Pratt would have smiled and laughed at her if even the thought of doing that didn’t hurt his head so much. And there was the small matter of their names merged in ink on his bare forearm.

Before Eddie could have any sort of reaction a warm hand clamped down on his wrist and gave a powerful pull, yanking his arm towards them and knocking the extremely hung-over sufferer off balance.

“Argh!” The poor victim let out as the torturer made every effort to dislocate his arm from his torso. She twisted it in a manner one’s arm should never go and started practically screaming at the other two at the coffee pot. The piercing voice was like a form of ornate torture as it attempted to smother his brain in its horribly evil noisy power. “Geddof me, ooman!” Ed made an attempt to tug his limb back from the screeching merwoman but her grip was stronger than a suicidal squid.

“That looks like your handwritin’ Frizz.” He grumbled, using his spare hand to balance against a small table. He was too hung-over right now to pull away any harder.

Daphne had sat at her desk in relative silence, keen to ignore the gaze and attentions of her colleagues. There was a slight tinge of week-old alcohol in the air, and she knew that the 'crazy lads' of the office had probably spent all night boozing themselves into oblivion with a complete disregard for their responsibilities the next day. So unprofessional. So immature. They were Aurors, a bastion of hope and justice for the wizarding community, and just look at the sorry individuals that it was comprised of. Glancing up slyly, Daphne took in the blotchy, exhausted face of Edward Pratt and shook her head silently.

Opening a case file on her brutally organised desk, Daphne's index finger underlined a few words, doing her best to block out the sounds. Charlene looked decidedly more healthy, although there was a certain streak of anger. Daphne didn't understand how or why she put up with those morons - after all, Malone was one of the few tolerable figures in the Auror office. There were remarks about missing shoes, and accusations of 'who wrote', all of which Daphne attempted to sail above in a display of ice-cold composure.

However, the mental barricade Depardieu had constructed were beginning to crumble - eventually bulldozed by Pratt's squawk. This was just getting ridiculous. Snapping her head up, Daphne ran a hand through her hair. The distress and annoyance on her face was more than visible. "Please!" she exclaimed, her chest moving up and down in an effort to retain some sort of emotional rigidity. "Some of us actually want to do work today, so would you kindly discuss your loutish antics elsewhere?"

As soon as Daphne said it, she knew that it was a mistake. Just another reason for the office to hate her, and another point of alienation. They called her a square, she called them idiots.

Adon grasped his coffee cup with a solid grip. He held it tightly until he felt the heat from it burning into his hand.  Tighter. The pain in his hand started to pierce through the haze until he grumbbled something unintelligible, discarded the coffee cup on the counter, and turned from the room.

Legs was sitting upright in her seat, bristling with all the ferocity of a peevish pomeranian. Adon cast her a reproachful look before he leaned in and decided to risk the pain he'd be feeling as his vocal chords grated together, as his voice vibrated through its phonating and resonating systems just behind the sinuses. As he was forced to breaking deeply. This was probably worth it, if only to get the yelling to stop.  He muttered in a low voice, "Pratt gets a free card, you know." For obvious reasons. The voice, gravelly and raw, had a hard edge to it. "Interrogation room is empty. And quiet. He's staying here, where we want him."

Adon glanced slowly over the desk, eyes lingering on a bottle of water placed at a perfect perpendicular to her straight line of quills. He reached out for it and unscrewed the cap. "Thanks. Pay you back."

It was fortunate, really. He needed water--but had not really thought of that, when he'd been in the break room. If she hadn't had that water, he'd have needed to turn, reverse his momentum, move forwards, and move all the way through the doorframe without hitting it. He wasn't certain he could have managed.

Trudging towards his desk, he caught sight of Harcroft's back, wand at the ready. Really, this place was madness. Adon had heard talk of anger management courses, but he'd had no idea how prevalent it was.

Then again, this was the man who had tried to quote him bogus criteria in the middle of an arrest. Which quickly became a hostage situation. That was right. He wasn't talking to Harcroft.

Actually, and Harcroft wasn't talking to him. "Auror Trevalyn, look around you. You are at MY DESK. Get your stupid ass out of my seat annd go find your own desk."

Adon took a swig from the water bottle, directly behind Harcroft as he thought. His inner Jonas had been supressing brilliant--albeit bridge-burning--comebacks for months. That ended today. And he'd be damned if he let his sore throat get in the way just as soon as his inhibitions had capitulated. "Well we can't all have smart asses like you, Harcroft," he retorted. He glanced into the cubicle. Red hair. Poor Trevelyan. All tuckered out. "Go find your own partner and quit stealing mine."

"Elor, Laura and me can't come in at exactly the same time, even if we are husband and wife. She uses the shower after me, so she will obviously be in later than me. Now, would you kindly take your partner away fron my desk? Trust me, I'd rather be dealing with my wife, not Trevalyn." Sam said, his voice tight, him clearly pissed off. this was the last thing he needed. Where was Head Auror Raynor when you needed her? he'd seen Radley, so that wasn't what was keeping her. thhne he muttered under his breath "Kids these days[1]... dont know when to stop drinking so they aren't stopped from being able to do their jobs the next day"

1.	yes, I went there

"How is that my handwriting?" Charlene hissed back at Eddie.  Suddenly, nothing else mattered -- not the raised voices, not Radley, who was looking increasingly unsteady as he swayed with his coffee.  She yanked her partner's arm around, completely ignoring his attempts to get away as she squinted at the letters.

Neatly printed.  A slant to each 'E.'  They'd even managed to loop the 'P' around, which was cleverly done because she didn't usually write uppercase 'P's...but considering that she was now doing the paperwork for two people, she certainly had plenty of handwriting samples laying around the office.  Charlene gritted her teeth, eyes narrowing as she glared at the daring language.  Drunk or not, Auror camaraderie or not, whoever thought they were being clever by writing that was going to pay.

"It's not my writing," she insisted, giving Pratt a look that dared him to contradict her.  "I don't make my Rs like that!  And look!" she added forcefully, jabbing a finger at the offending portion of his arm.  "The two Ts are touching; I would have written each one separately."

Language couldn't penetrate through the painful haze that had engulfed his morning, but the Senior Auror's roaring volume felt like someone was driving a screwdriver into his brain.  Jonas jerked up sharply, nearly letting out a cry as the pounding headache struck like a brutal wave of nausea.

"Can't you be quiet?" he gritted out weakly, hunching over as he covered his ears with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut.  Harcroft was shouting, and a raspy, foreign-sounded voice interrupted him -- Adon, it registered, but for once Jonas just wished that his partner would go away.  Whatever had made him think that coming into the office at all this morning now seemed painfully, torturously awry.  Why the hell were they talking?  Would it kill the bloody office to work in silence for once?

Jonas pressed his fingers against his eyes as if he could will the pounding sensation of the migraine away.  Blearily, he rubbed both hands over his face, trying to fight back the sense of nausea enough so that he could turn around and tell everyone to just stop talking, when it suddenly occurred to him that his ring finger was uncomfortably bare.

He had... -- when had he...? -- A sudden panic overtook him.  Frantically, Jonas checked all ten fingers, and then began patting down his pockets with increasing distress.  When was the last time he'd had it?!  He distinctly remembered parts of last night -- waking up this morning -- making it home, mumbling something incomprehensible to Anna, dragging himself into the office --

Completely ignoring the two men standing behind him, and without it really registering that he wasn't searching his own desk, the red-headed Auror began tearing through it with a frenzy, pushing aside office supplies, yanking open drawers, and sending piles of parchment flying as he frantically searched for something that wasn't there.

Sam put his wand back in it's holster, and lunged for Jonas. No, he wasn't gooing to punch his fellow Auror, as tempting as it was wiht the mess Jonas was making of his desk. he grabbed Jonas's arm, and snarled at the younger Auror "Did you not listen? this is MY desk, not yours. Yours is 10 cubicles down from here." then fell silent, still holding Jonas's arm firmly. well, Sam ceretianly wouldn't be offering Jonas anything for his hangover now[1]. He might, however, offer one of his fellow Aurors the hangover cure he kept in a secret pocket of his robes. He, after all, had had monster hangovers before.

1.	yes, it'd cruel to let Jonas suffer, but would you offer a hangover cure to a co-worker who had just made an absolute mess of your workplace?