hex turns it over in their hands, ponderously. “ no… ” it answers in a small voice, lips remaining parted well after the word is spoken, a little shocked. then its lips shut and its jaw tenses. currently, they’re fighting back a teeny tidal wave of emotion that stirs at the gift.
“ thank you. ” & it is uncharacteristically genuine. hex twiddles with some of the tiny tinsel. a look of almost innocent glee is present throughout their features. SCP-0X had never had a home before. just a prettied up prison cell with no room for festivities.
“ i — ahah, i’ll have to work on my resting face, clearly. ” & the decorum is back in its tone, the structure, the control. whatever the gift stirred within him was now settling to rest, or at least, to quieten. “ i know yuletide; pagan origins, tied to odin and the like, all that hubbub about st boniface… but i’ve never celebrated, no. no time like the present, i suppose; though, it seems a little sad to have a tree with no presents beneath it. ”
HE KNOWS THAT TONE OF VOICE PERHAPS A LITTLE TO WELL FOR HIS OWN LIKING ( IT depicted someone slowly beginning to unravel like a ball of frayed twine who had been batted one to many times by a pampered cats paw, yet continues to foolishly attempt to stay stubbornly intact despite the odds being entirely against it ―― though granted his own voice hadn’t quavered like theirs since he was a wide eyed little boy, forever seeking out his mothers none existent approval ― he would never be good enough for her. ) That little boy was never coming back, he was lost to him now ―― lost under all the pain and suffering that had transformed him into the person he was today ―― but there is SOMETHING about observing another individuals emotional turmoil that prods at the hybrids heart strings. He wants to wrap his arms around their waist, tell them things will feel less burdensome when the festivities really kicked in, but he also doesn’t know them well enough for them to APPRECIATE his words. It was more than likely they would find his words, obtrusive, uncalled for, so he keeps quiet .
“Y’are welcome. I have a few strange knick-knacks, keyrings my Dad gave me a few Yuletides ago, if ya would like some of those to put under your tiny tree. Green snakes with gold eyes, pentagram keyrings, Venus flytrap miniature paintin’ and a pocket size Count Dracula paperback book. I think he was tryin’ to be ironic with tha’ last gift, I mean why else would a illustrious vampire hunter give his favorite child a vampire focused novella.” Lazy half drawled out words some clipped in places by his prominent Australian accent are spoken quietly as he watches them fiddle with the tiny tinsel wrapped around the trees branches. “Ya mean how Saint Boniface was the first founder to use a Christmas tree to celebrate the birth of the child of the Christian God.” He glances across the street as a couple of people look over in their direction. He MOCKS them with a graceful bow and greets them with a cheerful hello before turning back around to face his new friend. “Apparently they were weirded out by the picture on my t-shirt. Anyone would think they have never seen a black red eyed wolf before, if them runnin’ in the opposite direction is anythin to go by. Humans sadly are far to quick to judge things they have difficulty understandin, and it almost makes me feel sorry for them. What is your opinion on humanity?”
