Re: Quicklog, Patrick's cabin: Patrick G/Newt P
[Newt was neither confident nor insecure about how he looked. He didn't think much about it, really, and it had little bearing on his daily life. (None of the animals, for example, seemed to care.) But, nor did he have anyone telling him he was especially one thing or another. Patrick, he was sure, had a rather different experience. This was where he'd normally wax poetic on details, but Newt meant to keep himself in check. He was, in fact, being rather stringent with himself. He'd managed it at Destiny's, at the very least, so he'd some confidence he'd pull it off now.—It was, he thought, rather more difficult a mire, wasn't it? All of this and both of them sober. It was another thing he'd try not to think about.] You must've fractured something, [he eventually said.] We'll see to it.
[Thank Merlin that Patrick offered the stone as distraction. Newt stood from offering attention to Rufus, who received a scratch behind the ear, and he gingerly plucked the stone from between Patrick's fingers. It wasn't glowing, but it was beautiful. He could feel the magic coming off of it, the same verdant crispness to it that Patrick'd had when they'd—no. Newt steered himself away and back. He turned the stone over in one scarred and freckled palm, letting it tumble on warm skin with interest.] It's beautiful, [he said earnestly, lifting his gaze from the brilliant blue to look at Patrick, with no comparison made between the color of the man's eyes and the stone.—Gently, he held it back out to the man.] Seeking stones, you said?
[It was infinitely easier to talk about stones and where to eat. Newt, who lost himself in thought, came back to himself, just in time to catch the lift of Patrick's brows. He shook his head, rather than offer any answer, and he took the out he was given. He'd no idea what Patrick meant by his home, as he'd figured this was it, but where he might've asked, he now was glad for a moment to himself.—Without a word, he went to the case, asking for Rufus' pardon as he set it near the dog's paws, and opened it. Stepping over the lip of brown, beaten leather, he found the rung of the ladder and descended.
About five minutes later, if no one'd sat on the case or closed it (please, don't do that), he returned, a surge and breach of ginger head from the confines, and a leather bag across his chest and at his hip. Pickett was perched on his shoulder.] All right. [He stepped back into the close space of the cabin.] Where to?