Re: Quicklog: Jack & Newt at the B&B
[There was a complexity about Newt's character which he was unfortunately quite aware of, and that was the contradiction between the resilience he showed in the field and the fragility he could feel that reminded him of his mother. It was neither a good thing nor a bad thing, precisely, but it was curious and it could feel perilous at times. Newt wasn't meek and unconfident, but neither did he smash china for the fun of it, and he was a little too intrepid at times to be considered steady. For these reasons, among others, he did not enjoy analyzing his own character. He kept such to a minimum, now as always.—There was the tensile truth of reciprocation evident in his smile. It was a flash in the pan, the weight of Jack's hand over his, but it had been there and he had felt it.
Fifteen thousand was a number that felt large, but likely, in the scheme of things, was not. But Newt's own perspective, he knew, was skewed. Jack didn't seem to register the figure as anything other than fact, so he took it as far from a guillotine-drop. That was good. Some tension in him eased. He was almost pleased, but not quite.
It was true that the bed and breakfast seemed as temporary as a hotel, but Newt had noticed how lived-in the room was—and, along with the addition of Bukowski, it spoke of roots of a sort he had never seen Jack embrace. The house, obviously, spoke even louder. Newt lifted his eyebrows again and looked for somewhere to set his nearly-emptied teacup. It joined Dickens on the table.] You like it here. [It was more a statement than a question.]