So, the world was ending. Or something.
Maybe that was dramatic, he thought, knuckles rapping lightly on Wini’s wooden door. His arm fell back to his side and he waited (im)patiently for her to answer. His wand was still held in his other hand; he was hoping for a quick entry and a quick exit.
Apocalypse was definitely a far too dramatic description of what was happening (he decided, in the nine seconds it took for the door to open in front of him) but it certainly felt big. He was having difficulty processing it, even after a good night’s sleep. He blinked as the door opened in front of him, abstract metaphors slipping from his mind. Marin stepped inside, but not too far in because he didn’t want to linger. He was dressed in dark brown corduroy trousers and a neatly-fitting black knitted jumper today. Winifred was not dressed for the weather, he noticed.
“Um,†Marin said, not really in the mood for biscuits. He wasn’t in the mood for talking about the weather, either; he’d barely noticed the rain, and had thrown up a charm to keep himself dry as he’d left the house without even noticing he’d done it. “It’s slightly less dreary in Bovisand,†he told his friend distantly. It was still raining at his house, but it was more misty there, rather than properly wet. Marin took a biscuit.
He wasn’t in the mood for talking at all, in some ways. As in, a part of him wanted to go back to bed and lie there until his brain could accept the sudden, massive-feeling life change. But he knew from experience that talking about things could be helpful, so. "Come on, lets go to mine," he said, hovering by the door. "But not my house," he added quickly, waving his wand, silently performing a charm to keep the pair of them dry. "Lets go for a walk along the coast."