The look Jon gives him is thoroughly unimpressed, exasperated that he would— that he would waste time on thinking that. Deerington doesn't work that way. His life rarely seems to, as of late.

"One can hope." His tone is not terribly encouraging. But he does manage, on a sigh: "Some months are better than others. Romance festivals, people turning into fairies, nonsense instead of horror. I am still trying to discern the patterns."