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Tristan T. Travers (alliterative) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Tristan and Open
Although he'd spent about a week working up his nerve and convincing himself everything would be alright if he attended a party he'd been invited to, anxiety had slammed into Tristan that morning like he was standing in front of the Whomping Willow and had just been hit by a branch. He'd then spent most of the day trying to keep calm, trying to distract himself, and trying not to worry. His therapist had given him a few tips earlier that week when he'd mentioned worrying about being anxious at this party like the last one he'd attended, and he employed them almost as soon as he'd arrived and hung his cloak in the front hall.

Tristan had focused on the small bag of sweets he'd bought for Greg Goyle until it had been taken from him and swept off into another room. Then he'd focused on his social niceties as he greeted Mrs Goyle, complimenting her on her home and how nice the living room looked. Doing that had allowed him to focus on how the living room was decorated and laid out. It wasn't his personal style, but he found comfort in focusing on it none the less. He also found comfort in the thought that he could spend an hour at the party and then excuse himself with the explanation that he couldn't get out of work, sadly, and had to leave early because of it.

As he felt his focus slipping when he couldn't find anything else in the living room to focus on, Tristan made his way to the kitchen. Food, he thought, would be a great distraction. And maybe a drink, though nothing alcoholic. While part of him thought it might soothe his nerves, another was uncertain that it'd do any good in the long run. Water, however, would be fine. But first, food. Food had the possibility of helping to settle his stomach and focus his mind on anything but the fact that he was at a part with people he knew as well as people he didn't.

The little sandwiches looked good and found their way onto Tristan's plate, as did a few other items that looked like they might taste good. He debated on going back into the living room, but the kitchen made him feel a little calm. He decided, then, to stay in the kitchen for the moment, moving to one side and leaning his back against the wall where he would have a good view of all the ways into and out of the kitchen. He did not want to be sneaked up on as he picked up one of the sandwiches, not even for such an innocuous thing as grabbing a snack or a glass of wine.