Seamus Finnigan (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} openbottle) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} finnigans_rpg, |
"I didn't want to mess it up!" Seamus objected, his eyebrows lifting in surprise and exaggerated eyebrows. "Well, not really. I knew you wouldn't let me. I hadn't thought about the kids, though." Dean could hardly spend all day slapping their hands away from his face - he'd get in trouble with the parents, if nothing else. He turned his head a little to watch the kids and their parents walking past the booth. It was a good idea to lure the younger generation in with face painting and horse rides and sweets - it made it harder for the Saturday to turn into the same sombre event as Sunday. The Ministry had always tried to create a divide - celebration and commemoration, two sides of the same coin. This year was the first year they really seemed to have managed it.
Seamus turned back to Dean as he started to load up his brush and tried very very hard to stay still. He mostly managed it, except that his eyes continued to move side to side as he glanced around the booth, examining Dean's paints and the open book of reference pictures, and Dean's hands which looked weirdly proportioned so close to his face. "I don't want to take it off before work," he said, when Dean had moved on from painting around his mouth. The paint felt a little weird on his skin and Seamus folded his hands in his lap to keep from rubbing at it.
When Dean said he could move, Seamus just blinked a couple of times and nodded that he was okay to continue. "They've got a fortune teller this year," he said, not sure how much of the festivities Dean had managed to get out and see. "A real seer, apparently."