Marcus Flint (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} marcedflint) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} finnigans_rpg, |
Some of the guests had seemed to linger forever, until Marcus was practically ready to scream from frustration. He was perfectly capable of playing the role of host, since it was one he'd been born and raised to inherit, but today of all days, it was the last thing he really felt like doing. Once the last witch had finally left, he had taken a moment to ensure he was alone and then nearly collapsed on one of the couches still lining the sides of the room. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep breaths, feeling some of the tension he'd been carrying leak out of his shoulders. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he reached into his robes to pull out the flask he'd had on his person all day, popping the top off to take a long sip.
The burn of the whiskey going down was welcome after the stress of the day, and he reveled in the quiet. Looking down at the floor as he was, he didn't register the fact that there was another person there until a small sound alerted him. Looking up quickly, Marcus was hit with a feeling of dread that he was going to have to continue with the stoic mask of unfeeling politeness. He sighed lightly when he realized it was only his cousin, and Greg wasn't the type to care if he was drinking. Without a word, Marcus held out the flask in offering, glad to at least have the familial solidarity to fall back on.