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, |
"Well, she was hardly going to pull a Trelawney and go on about all the horrible ways I'm going to die, was she?" he asked, making a disgusted face. Divination had seemed hilarious, at the time, though Seamus had been a little creeped out by the idea of the Grim — it was too much like a Banshee for his liking. Looking back on it, making those prophecies to the classmates of Harry fucking Potter seemed like either cruelty or recklessness. Or just stupidity. Never put down to malice what can be explained by stupidity, after all. "Not today. I assume she's here to make some money, and advertise her business." Even though the signs outside had heavily advertised her as a 'true Seer' Seamus knew enough to know that even true Seers only made real prophecies every once in a while.
Seamus continued to try to watch the brush as it proceeded across his skin, rolling his eyes up to see where Dean was dabbing paint up against his hairline. It was actually getting tiring and after a while he gave up and closed his eyes. "''M not a girl," he said, as if that explained his lack of concern. His mouth quirked up at one corner. "Had worse things than paint in my hair, anyway."
He could hear Dean moving things about, but he didn't open his eyes. The sun was slanting past the top of the booth and falling across the top of his head, warming his skin. It was nice, and the light a vivid orange through his eyelids. His eyelashes fluttered a little against his cheeks but he kept otherwise still. "The flying horses are pretty cool, if you're into that kind of thing, and the Quidditch players are doing some flying demonstrations. Melinda's got her cake stall like usual - go by later and she'll force feed you something."