Re: Quicklog, Patrick's cabin: Patrick G/Newt P
[It was beautiful. It was, at that. And quiet—not silent, but quiet, away from the thoughtless noise pollution of humanity and back to the gentle, sonorous cacophony of nature. Newt'd been down in the Amazonian rainforest and it was loud. At night, it was a symphony of screeches, fluttering, caws and calls. But, this—a much more northern forest, by the looks of it—looked as if it'd tend more toward the quieter riot of forest life. Newt could understand why transitioning from here to even somewhere as small as Repose could be quite jarring.—Oh, but, right. The house. Newt followed behind Patrick with his Keaton gait and his neck craned upward still, as he glanced about as he listened.—He looked to Patrick's back, broad, and then to that handle of... what was it?] Are you discriminated against? [Newt himself, of course, was but a lowly human. Patrick's description of them, here in this world, were far from flattering.
A smile flitted hummingbird fast to Newt's lips when Patrick chuckled ahead of him. He nodded, lost in thought, and quiet, really, until Patrick nodded toward Pickett in a slight cascade of blond. It covered his ears, and Newt made himself look away.] Ah, Pickett? [The creature gave another trill, the way one did when one's name was mentioned, but one's attention was wholly elsewhere.] He's a bowtruckle. They harvest and protect wandwood. [He flashed Patrick a smile.] He wants to see the trees. But, we're going to eat, Pickett, and you must exercise some patience.
[Newt followed his friend up, into the tree. Pickett strapped himself to the shoulder of Newt's suspenders and hung on for the ride. Long-fingered, Newt ran his hand along the trunk of the tree as they ascended, stopping only once they reached the landing and Patrick nodded toward Arborlon, he'd called it.] Look, Pickett. [The bowtruckle chirped and Newt gazed out at the capital beyond, lying in the distance like a great, undisturbed dragon.—He lingered a moment, then followed Patrick inside.
It was, at least, larger than the cabin, which felt somewhat constricting when Newt needed to look elsewhere. He gazed about now with his usual flame of curiosity burning brightly. He wanted to look about the space, but, of course, it was a private home and he wasn't uncouth. He sat at the table across from Patrick. Pickett slid down the length of Newt's arm to the tabletop in a tumble and Newt righted him thoughtlessly. He gave Patrick's left-handed attempt a look of pity and pointedness, then withdrew his wand from near his pocket. With a flick, his food lifted from the bag and settled before him. Then, he stood. He pulled the bag from over his shoulder.] Let's look at your hand first.