Re: [Hall Way: Patrick & Newt]
Small, almost-closed communities could have a tight-knit feeling that was lost in other instances. Whether it was secrecy, persecution, isolation—whatever'd brought people together, it could bind them. Repose, for example, was a village, but it lacked the sense of community that existed in the Hall Way. But, everyone who'd made it through to the Mermaid's Whiplash shared a secret, shared something, and perhaps that was all it took. Along with a lesser devotion to technology (though it certainly existed; plenty of those hanging about were on their mobiles). But, the sense of liveliness, of animation, it could be like a forest, couldn't it? Where even the leaves and the ground breathed.
But, really, 'adoring fans' might be a bit much. Newt would've been quite sure, had he been asked, that no one was about for his good looks. There were the curious, the interested, the onlookers. No one was swooning. And Newt could only feel marginally guilty about putting himself perhaps too close to Patrick when the man finally came near. He'd not do it, otherwise, if he wasn't feeling a bit over-cloistered. And he'd not do it, if they'd not been apparating, which required a bit of contact.—But, for the moment, he did what he felt needed doing. Not to mention, Patrick's rather entertained grin was deserved a bit of wiping away, didn't it? It was only fair.
Newt, who didn't think he was bossy at all, really, landed them down the street, and he let go of Patrick. He watched, his chin tucked downward, as Patrick casually spilled himself against the stone of an empty storefront. He was amused again, the git. Newt looked at the cut of charming grin, wondering when it might stop making him feel a bit like a schoolgirl with a crush, and he sighed. "'A celebrity.'" Ass. "The book's just come out, is all." Newt never paid much attention to his own achievements, as they weren't the point, really. But, he was glad to have the book done.
He looked over Patrick with remarkable speed and without any lingering. He didn't meet the other man's eye at the end, feeling too jittery, and instead, he huffed a little into his cowled collar. "I'll sign you a copy, if you'd like," he offered dryly, blinking freckled eyelids and smiling as his heart-rate slowed. He looked at the treeling in Patrick's arms. "Are we decorating?" Oh. Newt wondered where he'd lost his cinnamon tea. Bollocks.