Re: Quicklog, Patrick's cabin: Patrick G/Newt P
[As he emerged, Newt looked to the collection of stones, three, in Patrick's palm, gathered together like dew drops. He saw them first, then his gaze wandered in a crab's sidestep gone amber, to the bag that hung across Patrick's chest, to the handle of something peeking out. The ginger man'd always been far too curious for his own good. He looked for a long moment, trying to figure out what it was he was looking at, his eye following Patrick as he fed the dog.—Pickett trilled a greeting, only somewhat shy, at hearing his name, and Newt smiled at him.
After closing the case, and no attention paid to the slight twinge of pain at his thigh, Newt looked to Patrick for direction. By then, the man was stepping close, hand under the point of one elbow. Before his heart could take to racing and his mind to reeling, all, of course, with confusion, they'd—landed? A forest, vast and emerald and wild and deep, and Newt was rather too lost in his awe to remember to be flustered by his proximity to Patrick. He smiled as he looked up at towering trees, growing unimpinged and gigantic, and Pickett—oh, yes, Pickett was quite pleased, pointing here and there.] How marvelous. [Newt went to take a step away from Patrick, entirely ready to look about, when he was reminded of Patrick by a wave of the hand.
He'd let Pickett come down to his knuckles, to the backs of his hands, and the bowtruckle ran back and forth with the fluidity of water, of an insect on a branch, and Newt moved his hands to constantly offer scaffolding. The creature was busy staring, chirruping at himself, as they came upon the house in the tree.] Is this where you live? [More awe. And Newt, when he looked at Patrick, was unbridled—he offered a wide, warm grin and a hold of eye contact. He was reminded of something, by the rich, earthy scents of soil and nature grown vast.] That little creature we found—[It was how they'd met, actually.]—have you seen him again? Or any like him?