Re: Quicklog, Patrick's cabin: Patrick G/Newt P
Arborlon is beautiful, but I like the open. I have a place there, like I said. It is where I have Mary's huntsman housed. [He did have a tree there, but it was not like this. The bough at Arborlon was thick and dense, and there were people everywhere. Patrick liked his wide open space.] But I do not feel unwanted there. I have friends there. [No one that he was close enough to that he minded leaving them much, and there was no kin for him here. His mom's people were long gone, and there had been no sign of his mom in the two years he had been here. She was thought dead. But the sad thought did not linger long, dude, and Patrick laughed at Newt's evident appreciation of the slur to his ears.] Dude, where is your compassion? Patrick, you could say, I am most sorry you were insulted in such a manner. [But Patrick was teasing, and another wink punctuated the joking.
He was interested in the wood, the tale of the wand; he was interested in anything to do with the forest.] Is the lime wood you speak of the kind that bears the fruit? [Patrick did not question tree wood having enough sentience to pick a wizard; dude whispered at trees all the time, and they whispered back.] How do wands cleave? And you are implying that the trees know about people in a way that goes deeper than a general understanding? [Curiously:] What if a person changes their disposition or demeanor after they have acquired their wand?
[But, yes, his hand, and he chuckled when Newt dryly responded to the question about pain.] Man, where is my Florence Nightingale? [But he stretched his hand when asked, only gritting his teeth at the sharp pain that came from attempting to flatten it entirely. And, immediately, he regretted mentioning Sue as he had done. He was already looking at Newt when the dude looked up at him and posed the 'what is it?' question. Attention focused. Staring, man, the dude was staring. But he looked down at his hand after a moment. Patrick, listened about Daniel, and he shook his mop of blond hair as he painfully opened his hand.] Sorry, my man. It was wrong for me to embark on this topic. Anything I say would be out of some misguided desire to receive sympathy and be better liked, and that is not right. Your choices are your own, and my fight with Sue is mine to handle. [He gave Newt the most crooked and endearing of grins.] I have never felt as petty as I have the past few days. Tell me what you are thinking you will do?