Who: Dean Thomas (le Poodle) and Seamus Finnigan (suave, Irish-born Casanova)
What: Socks, quilts, calendars - many, many things of supreme importance
When: Sunday, February 3, 2005 - evening
Where: Dean's flat, London
Rating: PG-13 for Seamus' cursing
Status: Closed, incomplete.
Seamus really only checked the calendar by accident. He'd collapsed on his couch, one arm flung over his head, and knocked it off the back. The pastel pages, covered with kittens, rainbows, and butterflies had fallen open, so after he'd Accioed it back to where it needed to be, he flipped to February and checked the date - then cursed. Finley gave him an indignant look as he practically vaulted up, then glanced at his pocket watch. He had about an hour before Dean was supposed to be at his sister's recital thing, so that should be enough time - but it was Dean.
That could mean any number of inconvenient things - like paint or chalk or ink spilled down the front of his best shirt or that he hadn't bathed in days and while Seamus fancied himself a rather good shot, he didn't think his friend would appreciate having cleaning charms aimed at his head while he was in the middle of drawing the perfect line or some shite. Of course, the last time he'd done that, Dean's hair had poofed up the way he'd worn it a couple of years ago and that had sort of been priceless. Might do that, anyway, he thought, pulling his wand from his pocket and Apparating into his friend's flat.
"Oi! Dean - you twat, where are you?" There were few ways of expressing true affection and caring and Seamus believed the best one of all was insult - insult and bickering.
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