Peering into the mirror he’d transfigured out of a desk plant (please, child’s play), Jean-Claude very gingerly, gently, pressed the bridge of his nose. With skin flushed like a Beaubaxtons first year and the threat of freckles imminent, he could feel a swell of self-conscious terror deep within. He looked… Not that bad. Surely. Come on. Catching the eye of a passing figure, JC leaned across his desk. “Does it look terribly awful?” he asked urgently. The indication of sunburn was unnecessary; the scent of aloe vera lingered in the vicinity. “I mean, do I look absolutely horrible, or is it…?”
It was rare that anyone engaged in eye contact with Astrid, especially when they were strangers. She had a habit of not looking away till the other person had -- it was a useful habit to have when she'd become prefect in sixth form -- and it unnerved other people. Astrid feels it's partly what got her to her position in the Ministry. Criminals couldn't help but buckle under her gaze, and it didn't hurt that she was a Legilimens.
When someone catches her eye, then, Astrid is momentarily suprised. She approaches the man, clearly older than most of the people at this celebration. The sunburn is clear on his face; she raises an eyebrow when he asks his question. With her thumb and index finger, she guides his chin gently upward, then downward, attempting to get a better look at the stranger's face.
"Everyone at this party is likely to get properly sloshed within an hour, and no one will remember your sunburn," Astrid said. "It's obvious, but not terrible. Don't worry."
