If the Knight's plan is to keep John off his game, he's been succeeding for some time now. Harry makes no noise as he circles John, and keeping track of him requires John to actually move and follow him with his eyes. All the carefully cultivated illusion of omniscience that John's always abused is gone. He should be more upset about that and about this man in particular seeing him in such a state, but his heart is racing in a way that's really quite exhilarating. He really just wants to see what Harry does next.
"Chocolate," John says, because Harry's light, mischievous mood is infectious, and the alternatives are too serious to be considered. He's in a room of stone and ice in a city of ice; there is no better time for hot chocolate.
Gooseflesh pops up over his arms when the jacket is lost. It was wet, but heavy and at least lukewarm. Without it, the cold is finally starting to become a distraction. John makes a move to cross his arms for warmth, but aborts it halfway, which might look more silly. "Not to seem ungrateful, but you're the only one in the room impervious to cold. Do you have a robe or something?"
John's first step is a surprised stumble, and when Dresden keeps leading him, the momentum carries him along before he can protest. He wonders if he's meant to warm by the fire when he sees the pile of linens and pillows and miscellanea in the hollow a few feet away from the softly popping flames. Ah. That explains the bed-turned-storage space. John swallows, feeling it bob against the leash of his tie, pondering the pit of bedding and how easy it'd be to fall in. And, of course, how difficult it'd be to climb out again after.
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"Chocolate," John says, because Harry's light, mischievous mood is infectious, and the alternatives are too serious to be considered. He's in a room of stone and ice in a city of ice; there is no better time for hot chocolate.
Gooseflesh pops up over his arms when the jacket is lost. It was wet, but heavy and at least lukewarm. Without it, the cold is finally starting to become a distraction. John makes a move to cross his arms for warmth, but aborts it halfway, which might look more silly. "Not to seem ungrateful, but you're the only one in the room impervious to cold. Do you have a robe or something?"
John's first step is a surprised stumble, and when Dresden keeps leading him, the momentum carries him along before he can protest. He wonders if he's meant to warm by the fire when he sees the pile of linens and pillows and miscellanea in the hollow a few feet away from the softly popping flames. Ah. That explains the bed-turned-storage space. John swallows, feeling it bob against the leash of his tie, pondering the pit of bedding and how easy it'd be to fall in. And, of course, how difficult it'd be to climb out again after.