[ It seems that each has the others attention now. Shoes off, distractions purged. It's a private sort of moment that causes Harry to shift where he sits, drawing his legs back towards himself. He might not be wearing his coat, but he has several decades of defenses, and not all of them are conscious.
He waits. Until John stops questioning him like he gets off on interrogations, until his glass is full again and Harry can stick a finger in the mead and trace figure-eights through the drink absently. Waiting, contemplating. He takes a look at the supposed meaning in their actions: the cellphone, their shoes, the familiarity of sharing a bottle of rather good alcohol (he likes his drinks sweet, more often than not; primed with saccharine flavors that balance out reality and her bitterness). ] Why are you asking me a question that I already answered, John?
[ With that, he pulls the mead to himself again, cradles it as he takes his time with the second drink. ]
oh my god john marcone you really are a ridiculous creature
He waits. Until John stops questioning him like he gets off on interrogations, until his glass is full again and Harry can stick a finger in the mead and trace figure-eights through the drink absently. Waiting, contemplating. He takes a look at the supposed meaning in their actions: the cellphone, their shoes, the familiarity of sharing a bottle of rather good alcohol (he likes his drinks sweet, more often than not; primed with saccharine flavors that balance out reality and her bitterness). ] Why are you asking me a question that I already answered, John?
[ With that, he pulls the mead to himself again, cradles it as he takes his time with the second drink. ]