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Tristan T. Travers (alliterative) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Tristan was far more nervous about interacting with someone he knew than someone he didn't, which meant he'd spent a good portion of his Monday thinking about dinner and drinks with Adrian. He wasn't even sure how much of either he'd have, though he knew he'd do his best to have some. His stomach still hurt when he ate, and he'd had such little experience with alcohol that he still wasn't entirely sure where he stood with it in any form. Of course, he had no plans of getting pissed that night, and at least there'd be food. But as he thought about that on his way to Adrian's, he couldn't help but also think about how very behind he was in relation to where his peers were with their lives, or at least in relation to what was generally expected as where someone of his age should be.

He bit his lip as he walked through Monument Alley (ugh, all these puns always did annoy him just a tad), smoothing out his black robes in an attempt to distract himself and calm himself. It didn't take him long to find the place, though part of him wished it had just to give himself a bit more time. Then again, with extra time, he might have ended up talking himself into being a nervous wreck. Instead, he took a few extra seconds to again smooth out his robes of non-existent wrinkles, breathing in slowly and then out slowly a few times. He let go of his lip and knocked, idly wondering if he should have brought something with him as he waited for Adrian to answer the door.