Deacon's existence is one where work and play habitually cross into each other's territories. Despite the fact he is relatively young and irresponsible and arrogant, he also hardly ever goes places without a degree of purpose, without a measure of control over how he spends his precious evenings. One such thing is entering the usual haunts of Mafaton in visitations that are as official as they are random.

There probably isn't much in the way of business, though, that has Deacon inviting himself to where Ivan has freshly finished a game, a pale hand out to take the back of a seat that a sore loser has left empty just next to him. Deacon turns it around and straddles comfortably, a half-finished cigarette already smoking away between his fingers.

He tugs an ashtray closer. "Casually cheating people out of their hard earned dimes, chief?"