Re: Near the treeline: Jack P & Newt P
He had thought it unsettling, a long while ago, the way Newt's gaze never settled, but skipped about like light. Jack rarely saw his own father in the reflection above the bathroom sink, to look for all the similarities felt like masochism. But Newt smiled, and Jack's own mouth curled in answering amusement. "Libations are a little bacchanal, aren't they? Or do you know something I don't about where the festivities are going?"
Jack in contrast was rather steady, and he thought without the habitual blue coat and bow-tie Newt looked more like he fitted within the crowd which made him stand out, somehow. Perhaps it was because the blue was customary, and Newt didn't appear to own a pair of jeans, Jack had taken for granted Newt's comfort was a rather formal sort. "I am comfortable," Jack looked at the champagne glass for half-a second before taking a sip of his own.
"Christ, no. I can't think of anything worse than a uniform at one of these affairs. Patrick's in his, I suppose. He's young enough to overcome the perils of khaki," Jack said as he obligingly let the glass chink against the other. "To nature. To having a good time, to comfort, if that."