[ Oh, the grin on John's face is obscene in its glee. If the lights overhead were not flickering slightly, John would push that button. He's point out that when Harry Dresden needs a favor from someone who won't stab him in the back, he swallows his pride and he calls John. That with ties to every major player in the supernatural game, Harry knocks on John's door. And when John gets an order from Dresden, he delivers, because John's been dealing with adversaries both mortal and not, and no one keeps their word and makes good on a debt like Harry Dresden.

It'd be easy to do that, just say, When our backs are to the wall, who do we call? But he hasn't drunk enough for that.

And the fire in Dresden's eyes is a little too close to the surface. John likes his office, thank you. ]

I don't blame my new position for Archleone's brand of madness, any more than we can blame the Archive for Ivy's ordeal.

[ Harry's inability to not take anything John does as a challenge should not be so endearing. John shakes his head, taking his drink more slowly and chuckles. ] Dear God, it's not strip poker, Dresden, calm down.


((OOC: and I can edit a bit now that I am conscious and aware, yay. god my comments are obnoxiously long. ))