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Seamus Finnigan (openbottle) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"Better not try, then," Seamus advised. "Or you'll scare her away for good and then you'll go back to having to make your own coffee." He looked around the room, at the bare concrete walls and rough ceiling and floor. "It must be weird for her," he mused. He didn't know much about Bryony, but judging by her clothes and what Dean had mentioned about her manners he suspected she came from one of those uptight, upper class pureblood families. "This probably isn't the kind of space she's used to."

Seamus snorted. "I don't think you have a pretentious bone in your body," he said honestly. "Except maybe when you go on about paint colours." Dean mostly talked about his art in terms Seamus could understand, though maybe he talked more technically to people like Braith who could actually understand what he was saying.

Reaching for the sausage sandwich, Seamus shrugged slightly. "Good point," he admitted. "And I'm also hugely biased." Dean would be the best artist Seamus knew even if Seamus met and befriended Picasso or Monet. Dean was pretty much the best person Seamus knew. He was at least willing to admit the bias, which made it more reasonable in his mind. "I'll make a note," he added dryly. He'd already sorted Dean's birthday presents this year, but maybe for Christmas...

Seamus managed to simultaneously laugh and roll his eyes at the predictable joke. "If anything, you would think my wrist would be strengthened by plenty of healthy exercise," he complained. "I should be able to enchant glasses for days." He slumped against Dean's side, pouting. "It's been six months."