RP : How about dinner?

[anon_seamus]

Date: March 24th 2003
Character(s): Seamus Finnigan, Pansy Parkinson, Dean Thomas and Barr Dunstan.
Location: Pansy's flat and Leonardo's.
Status: Semi-private.
Summary: Seamus owes Pansy dinner.
Completion: Incomplete.

Comments

[anon_barr]

Barr watched Dean’s hands as they fidgeted on the table. She wanted to reach over and touch them, make him relax, but he had let go of her hand and with the mood as it was at the table, actions of endearments didn’t seem at all fitting.

It was Seamus’ outburst that tore her from her reverie, when it made her jump slightly from surprise. For a moment, she closed her eyes, wishing that he hadn’t said anything, that neither of them had, and just as she thought things couldn’t get worse, Pansy stood up and let out what she must have held in from the moment they came over, before she stalked off - with remarkable elegance - to the ladies’ room, effectively keeping either of the men - though she thought maybe ‘boys’ would be a better term right about now - from freely following.

“I’ll go talk to her,” she said softly, and got up from her chair, only just now seeing how people were staring at them. It was obvious that they were causing a scene, but right now, Barr couldn’t care less. What worried her was that there were three people feeling horribly uncomfortable around each other, and one of the obviously rather hurt by it.

A tall waiter with slick hair came moving past the tables, skillfully balancing a tray with two pints of pale beer, which Barr sincerely hoped was of the high alcohol percentage sort, as she stopped him and took both glasses from the tray. He was about to object, when she sent him a leveling look. “Don’t,” she warned him, before she put the drinks on the table in front of Dean and Seamus. “Settle this,” she told them, before she grabbed her purse and turned back to the waiter. “And you go start up a bill for Barr Dunstan. When their beers get low, you bring them new ones.” She was about to go after Pansy, when she thought better of it, turning back to the waiter to add; “And grissini.”

“Don’t want them passing out drunk before dinner even gets served,” she mumbled to herself, as she wound her way past the tables, in the same direction Pansy had gone.