Who: Seamus Finnigan and YOU. What: What else? Seamus is having a drink. Or seven. When: Evening. Where: The Leaky. Rating: TBD.
Christ, he'd worked enough for a lifetime. Minimum wage, constant orders, people barking at him from one side of the room to the next -- he knew that he wouldn't mind it much if he hadn't been so annoyed with things that weren't work related, but Seamus had brought his personal problems in with him when he clocked in and he'd made sure that every damned person who had anything to say to him could feel how unpleasant he himself was feeling. Which...would explain the lack of tips on his part. And the scowls and very long lecture from his boss. Seamus didn't care much for it though. When his shift ended, he headed straight over to the Leaky and planted himself at the bar, ordering himself a few rounds and taking them all down as though they were nothing short of water.
Soon enough, he was tipsy. It was a pleasant feeling, but he felt that he needed more than a little light headedness to satisfy his need to be rid of his annoying frustration. So he ordered a full bottle of firewhiskey, telling Tom to just leave him with it, as he knew he'd be able to down a good portion before he staggered on home.
Tipping the bottle against his shotglass, Seamus poured himself another round. He didn't drink it right away though. Instead he peered down at it, and soon enough he was staring at the substance within with a vacant sort of look on his face.