Re: Near the treeline: Jack P & Newt P
It was too vague, what Jack said. Newt didn't grasp it, really, and he knew that. He knew it was impossible, perhaps, for him. But, that'd never stopped him from trying, and he did try. Even Jack's specific examples—at least one of which was about Dahlia in a glaring way—didn't make loads of sense to Newt. He watched Jack swallow down more champagne as he sipped from his own glass. He couldn't make a real argument either, against the notion that 'there was nothing in trade.' He was sure there was, but he'd no idea of what or how to even say what or if it'd even matter to someone with an addiction, which he knew wasn't something dictated, by any means, by something like logic. He'd asked why Jack didn't feel like not drinking and, he supposed, Jack'd answered, even if the answer did little to clarify, other than to say it was easier, it was more comfortable. This feigned at logic. "I am sorry about the business and about Dahlia." Newt glanced at his feet, not knowing what else to say about it.
He dared a look upward, chin to chest, at the question that followed. "Oh, er..." Could he possibly know? "I was rather alone a lot." Was this an answer? Newt hoped it was. He smiled slightly as he drank. "I think I might wander a little and see what's here. D'you like dancing? You should ask someone."