Theodore Nott (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} nottfinished) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} finnigans_rpg, |
Work at the Magical Menagerie had been difficult, coming in to find that a new litter of the intelligent, sleek black rats had died during the night. Theo had been more quiet than usual for the rest of the day and no one really pressed him on it. He definitely self-flagellated over the situation; the rats were his responsibility and he should have set up a monitoring spell, or taking them home, or something, anything that would have stopped the tiny lives just flickering out. He left work tired and angry and morose and he hadn't wanted to go anywhere but home, but it was Monday and he'd promised his therapist that he'd go and be social at least four times this week. He didn't particularly want to go on Saturday, not when he'd be going on Sunday, and he had no desire to go in on Friday either after a long work week.
That left Monday through Thursday because Battlescars apparently didn't count; a wave of weariness washed over him. He'd argued with his therapist that no one went out and did things four nights of the week, but the therapist was unmoved by his argument and told him he was making up for lost time. He was just planning on getting one quick drink in and leaving, fulfilling the requirements set by his therapist to stay for at least 30 minutes and be around people without actually having to talk to anyone - it wasn't cheating, just kind of massaging his therapist's intentions a little bit. He trudged to Finnigan's on foot, the familiarity of the place at least easing some of his irritating but nevertheless present anxieties. He'd cleaned up with a spell after work and, dressed in a soft dark robe, some kind of Wizarding jeans and a sinfully soft black hooded tshirt, entered into the Common Room and - head down - made his way to the bar, taking a free seat and waiting to be served.