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Dean Thomas (artistdean) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"True," he muttered, shifting one foot from side to side and feeling slightly uncomfortable. Things were better already, he could tell they were, but they weren't quite right yet. He had the sense that maybe if they could push through this things would become more right. Closer to that they were used to. Closer to normal. Whatever that was.

Not uncomfortable in his own space was what it was. At least partially. He was feeling off-kilter since Seamus had arrived. Maybe because he hadn't expected him, but mostly because of how they were. How they'd been. Been. Definitely trying to move past it. He chewed at his lip, and winced slightly, he'd been doing it a little too often and it was feeling sore. "Yeah, yeah, I'm not doing anything important here. And, er, I don't think either of our mothers would be impressed with my lunch right now," he said, because honestly now they were something like reconciling his inability to eat properly due to nerves seemed to have been replaced by ravenous hunger. "We could go eat, although maybe I might need to spell my clothes a bit," he said. He was dressed in some of his work clothes, perpetually paint spattered where he never bothered to spell them clean because it was so pointless.