Re: Near the treeline: Jack P & Newt P
"Osmosis, Jack. Root osmosis." Newt smiled, his gaze a flash of contact, there and gone, like a flame to skin. "It's how he drinks, you see." He knew the stutter of eye contact disturbed people, but he couldn't change that it felt rather too stressful half the time, almost overstimulating. The more he forced it, the more distracted he felt. So, he normally let his gaze shift where it liked, rove and wander, but he knew it wasn't 'normal,' and that many had difficulty believing he was listening to them. He didn't, however, think Jack was in this number.—But, where Newt was falter, Jack was steadiness. Rather like the sturdy oak at Newt's back. Only he'd likely not appreciate champagne on his feet.
Newt cast his mirage-shimmer gaze out and around them, catching sight of Patrick only just, as the younger man exchanged trays with someone else and muddled about with a young man. He looked back to Jack, deciding it was best not to comment on how Patrick looked or didn't look in khaki and greens. They toasted, and Newt took a longer-than-was-strictly-necessary sip of the champagne. "Is it... ah, dangerous for you to be drinking?" He'd no real idea, but he'd caught Jack's sideways skip of a glance. "We could have water. I wouldn't mind."