In agreement, Viktor clicks his glass against Five's. He grins quietly at him, then drinks. The beverage is warm and sweet and strong. Is it possible one of these insane co-eds spiked an already-spiked drink supply? Or is that a weird trope that doesn't actually exist? Viktor wouldn't know. He didn't exactly spend his university years pitching burning goats into hot tubs.

"Remember when you got picked up and whisked off by a gargoyle?" Viktor sure does, and sure, it's all good humor now. Two years ago, Viktor has been here less than a month and he'd been fucking terrified. The threats of old were much more comic book villian and much less mid-century gothic horror.

Now that Darrow bullshit has been the norm for a couple of years, Viktor can confidently say that he'll take 1 million ice bees over one fucking week back in Reginald Hargreeves' orbit anytime.