Seamus waited, not wanting to seem impatient for Gregory to answer but worried about not listening. He crossed his arms, and felt like he was waiting ages and ages for a simple answer. It flickered as concern across his face, and he wasn't sure he trusted the answer Goyle finally game him. He dropped his arms, and summoned a towel and put it over his shoulder in an impatient gesture and then stepped closer to Greg.
"Look, if you're having a bit of trouble with the orders, take them and write them down. I think I've got a dictoquill in the back, if you'd like to use on. I kept a scrap of paper and a pencil on me usually," and scrutinizing Greg's expression, Seamus shook his head, "Don't do the orders if it's going to be too much. You taking care of the tables and such is going to help loads," and Seamus brightened, "And you can bring stuff out to them, if I get the orders and then make it up."
"Okay?" Seamus asked, giving Gregory Goyle a small pat on the shoulder, in an encouraging gesture. He turned, and headed to the bar and then looked blank for a second. He'd actually been kind to the guy.
I can't help my nature, he thought to himself, trying not to get grumpy about it, Maybe he just needed someone to give him some better directions. I mean, who was steering the ship before? Vincent Crabbe? He was as big an ass as Goyle. Malfoy? Oh, he was a fucking prince!
Seamus was at the bar, mixing up a round a drinks, pouring out butterbeer and ale, and he let his eyes catch Greg, following his directions, doing an earnest job at doing what Seamus has asked.
If he wasn't seeing it, Seamus would never have believed it.