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Dean Thomas (artistdean) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"She's been mercifully professional, and you're right it should be good for me, at least all that doesn't mean I have to like her," he said lightly. He doubted he'd ever actually like Pansy Parkinson. Trusting her to do her job was an entirely different matter.

Dean snorted softly, the image of Susan the spy wasn't actually that ridiculous, or a bad guess as far as a muggle equivalent went, but it just didn't fit right. "Well, that's better than some sleazy dude, and it's not a bad impression to leave. Just misguided," he said.

"Like I said I know nothing about make up," he said, rolling his eyes hard. "Although I think the women in my family would appreciate it," he added. He'd heard the odd rant or two about how difficult it could be to find foundation for black skin.

"Mmm, I think a few tiny pockets of Europe were affected, but yeah, mostly us. And I think it's a bit hard to be underwhelmed by all my shit, however poorly I explain it." He was used to talking about his PTSD, therapy and Battlescars had seen to that, but telling someone unfamiliar with the situation was something he hadn't done in a while.

His stomach grumbled slightly and he shook his head. "Ah. Yes, my food plans got a bit interrupted," he said, rubbing at it. "Sesame chicken and stir fry will stretch to two if you've got rice or noodles," he suggested hopefully. Susan was a decent cook and he'd already done a lot of the prep work, if she fancied going and grabbing everything from his flat.