It might not be a good night to be a hooker, but it's a pretty decent night to be any other kind of lawbreaker. Jez, like a good chunk of his fellow lowlife criminals, is thankful for the rain; it keeps the vice squad hounds off his scent and washes away the traces of any less-than-legal spell casting - chalked lines, plant matter, powders and potions - he might need to use over the course of the night. The rain is useful.

With the collar of his beaten and battered leather jacket turned up against the rain he paces through the puddles, heedless of the rainwater as it splashes up his calves. His eyes, bright and easily accustomed the darkness with the aid of certain helpful little spells, catch sight of Archie in a doorway and he slows to an idle halt.

"You look fuckin' miserable." He observes, voice raised against the hiss of rain on the pavement. Jez's lips quirk in a knowing smirk. "Slow night?"