Charlie considers himself a pretty situationally aware sort of guy, but the intensity of John's attention throws a spotlight down on him that makes it hard to see anything else. John's new physical heartbeat is speeding up, and so is Charlie's because he has temporarily forgotten to breathe. He's pinned like a butterfly.
John's awe over tea is... unashamedly genuine. It reminds Charlie of the first cup of coffee he ever ordered in New York (it made him cry in a corner booth, from gratitude). John's ode to his beverage has more poetry, though (Charlie's mostly had snot). He can imagine the King stealing, coveting, displaying, inspiring, performing poetry, but not creating it. The King never sounded reverent about anything besides himself.
The pin hurts, but he's transfixed, and it doesn't occur to him to remove it. What a hell of an experience, to go from a being of ultimate power, to a pair of eyes and a nearly-silent voice, to something that needs to eat and sleep with the rest of the regular joes. Something maybe mortal, running with humans on their invisible timeline.
His throat reopens and he pulls in air, hoping it'll pass as a reaction to the cold (he's still shaking, still aching and swimming).
"It sounds real good," he says, warm, the syllables a little blurred. Not as smooth as the first conversation they had. Equally as focused. "That's... that sort of thing's important. Gonna appreciate it even more now, least when I manage to get some in me instead of all over me."
Re: arrival
John's awe over tea is... unashamedly genuine. It reminds Charlie of the first cup of coffee he ever ordered in New York (it made him cry in a corner booth, from gratitude). John's ode to his beverage has more poetry, though (Charlie's mostly had snot). He can imagine the King stealing, coveting, displaying, inspiring, performing poetry, but not creating it. The King never sounded reverent about anything besides himself.
The pin hurts, but he's transfixed, and it doesn't occur to him to remove it. What a hell of an experience, to go from a being of ultimate power, to a pair of eyes and a nearly-silent voice, to something that needs to eat and sleep with the rest of the regular joes. Something maybe mortal, running with humans on their invisible timeline.
His throat reopens and he pulls in air, hoping it'll pass as a reaction to the cold (he's still shaking, still aching and swimming).
"It sounds real good," he says, warm, the syllables a little blurred. Not as smooth as the first conversation they had. Equally as focused. "That's... that sort of thing's important. Gonna appreciate it even more now, least when I manage to get some in me instead of all over me."