Atropos was having a marvellous time. She'd already frightened a gaggle of nymphs (to be fair, they were the ones who'd been staring and hissing to each other in hushed voices about "the Crone"; all Atropos had done was smile and raise her glass to them in what some might consider a knowing and ominous manner. If they chose to draw erroneous conclusions from that, well, that was their own silly fault). She had run into a few siblings, spent a few enjoyable minutes teasing old stick-in-the-mud Momus, and had even stolen a dance from a leprechaun (who had then stormed off muttering about bloody racists when she challenged him to a bit of a drinking game... how was she to know the old bugger was a teetotaller?). And the night was still young!
She wasn't bothered when Deimos latched onto her (although the costume had earned an amused chuckle), nor by his attempted fanfares. They added, she mused, a rather epic quality to each drink. Or they would have, if Deimos had been playing something with more authority than a wooden flute.
Quirking a grin, Atropos tilted her glass towards him in toast. "Cheers, big ears."