Re: Face Painting (Dean & Seamus)
Seamus shrugged. "It's not really the same," he objected. He'd thought the fortune telling would be a bit of fun, and it had, but he didn't trust it at all. "It's not in your business interests to lie to people." Which was exactly what the Seer was probably doing. Statistically, she would see people today that were about to lose loved ones, or suffer illnesses, or go through financial troubles. Seamus would bet a hefty sum that even if she saw any of that, she wouldn't say so. It didn't really bother him - but the implication that Dean was doing anything similar did, and just wasn't true.
When Dean smirked, Seamus smirked right back. "Yes, well, I haven't exactly done much to keep it a secret." It wasn't that Seamus was an exhibitionist, but over nearly a decade and a half of friendship Dean had walked in on him more than enough times to confirm one way or the other. His smile only widened as Dean smeared purple paint through his hair. It didn't clash horribly with his face, but it didn't exactly add to the look either. He tried - too late - to swat Dean's hand away. "Careful. If you're going to paint your hair it should at least be the right colour."
Seamus usually loved watching Dean work, not that he ever said so aloud, but he normally focused on Dean's hands. With them so close to his face, he couldn't really do that without going cross-eyed, so he was left to watch the look of absolute concentration on Dean's face. His smile softened a little, but didn't disappear. He felt a stupid warm glow of pride and happiness that he was giving Dean something not-unpleasant to focus on in the midst of the celebrations, and that it seemed to be working. "When do you get a break, anyway?" he asked. "I'll stick around and we can go check out the flying together."