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Dean Thomas (artistdean) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"Always!" Dean joked. "No, but really, not nightmares, I just wasn't sleeping, you know how I get sometimes, and I wasn't up for more baking. I started fooling around with my sketchbook, sticking down some ideas and suddenly something fitted together. I basically dropped everything and came here. Pyjamas and bare feet, the whole thing," he explained. It was admittedly one of the more extreme reactions he'd had to a flash of inspiration, but not all that out of character. "I've already made one potion, and I've got another after that I can start when I'm done with food."

Dean managed to stick his tongue out at Seamus between chewing and swallowing one bite and taking the next. He shook his head, smiling even as he chewed. He swallowed and paused for a few moments. "I won't forget you, you'll be a lovely byline in my autobiography," he teased and then shook his head. "Eejit," he said fondly, complete with appropriately Irish accent he'd picked up from Seamus.

"I have no clue. I'm not really Turner Prize material, you know, being a wizard and all, and a bit too traditional," he said. He honestly wasn't sure that he was material for prizes, muggle or wizarding, even if he had a suspicion that the thing he was currently trying to do was something of a rarity. If he was lucky it might help grow his reputation with people who weren't already aware of his work. He wasn't mentioning that he could come up with a speech about how brilliant Seamus was now. Nope. Not touching that one.

He pulled a face at the respelling of glasses, even as he reached over for the sausage sandwich half that belonged to him. "Well, it's an important job, but so repetitive," he said.