Re: Evans & Peel: Jack/Patrick/Newt
Jack didn't think, rather, that he was much of a stablizing force, one that drew roots and earthed them. The business was a fixation to replace the much loved-to-be-loathed newspaper that was still singed and tattered and he knew what he did with loose ends now, well enough. The apartment opposite the newspaper's office was testament to that. It was a lot of money put down in one place, self-evidently. But it was a gamble to toss money on a business in a town that had a multitude, and he'd always preferred a high-stakes bet to a meaningless one.
But it didn't much matter what nursery food was or wasn't, Newt made for the bar and Jack wasn't sober but he wasn't an utter fool. He had the forest party to go on, the way Newt had hung back out of the way and the discomfort that was palpable and when Jack glanced at Patrick he saw his own concern written there too.
"I don't know if he's always been uncomfortable," which felt like a weighted admittance, Patrick with his family bond to his sister twined tight like surety. He'd only known Newt a few years, he had no idea whether crowds had always done it or a particular instance. Jack didn't bother to hide the muddle of worry and guilt, "But I don't think he's ever much gone in for them, from what I can infer."
The drink was forgotten, the party atmosphere blowsy and saturated now Jack allowed it to permeate. "He doesn't, the ah, eye-contact, I'm not sure this many," but he hadn't believed it would be quite so roaring in here, and it was. Jack looked at youthful Patrick and if wisdom was what was being sought, he didn't have much of it. "You'd probably better. I would myself."