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“well now! i certainly can’t go distressing one of my favorite customers -- it’s terrible for business! what will i do if you end up fretting yourself into a bind?” ah, he’s teasing. “don’t worry; i’ve--”
“--oh, well, hmm... seems i’ve far more to worry about than simply tripping... i assure you, good sir, i’ll be out of your mountainous hair before you know it!” he won’t. he absolutely won’t. to be so close to heaven is his divine right.
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› ❝ @wrmhld “"It's a little damaged from when I got all knocked around by the stuff that slapped me here, but, um - you should try pinning your bangs off your face, y'know?" The hairclip she holds out is small, water-damaged, scuffed up: it's clearly been through it (and yet, she holds it out anyways - memento of another home and time not seeming to matter). The decoration is perhaps childish, or maybe feminine, but she doesn't care; a battered, paint-scraped star set into a flower now missing a few rhinestones. "I'm sure this'd look cool in your hair, too! It's a little beat up, though.“” ┇ unprompted.
isn’t this something?
he’s bent to match kana’s height, hands together as though receiving an offering; the clips handled with glass-like care between them. he blinks once, twice, the modicum of surprise that’s written itself into his expression a stroke genuine, if only for a fleeting moment. gifts don’t necessarily come easy nor often, despite his profession -- so he ponders the contents bestowed upon him, moving it to one hand so that a finger may trace it. gently, frustratingly so, as though it might shatter had he pressed with a fraction of pressure. hm.
parting with a memento from back home, was she? a kind gesture, no doubt, but a sign of given trust. useful means, when in the wrong hands. but his hands are always right.
so he smiles, effortlessly so and practiced, the soft and cold kind that can match the silver of his tongue. his laugh is short and gentle, falling from his teeth.
“let me share with you a saying, my young friend,” how true is the warmth that he laces into his words? a finger wags in her direction, as though it’ll wave away all her anxieties. “’a rare find will remain so against the tides of time; priceless artifacts will forever be priceless.’ a good merchant knows the value of the items he’s given,” the clip is twirled between his fingers once, held between his forefinger and thumb as he presents it with a wink. “and because you’ve given this to me, it’s worth more than any ruin’s treasure trove! no damage will change that. thank you, truly.” his voice has turned fond. “i’ll take good care of it. so, then...”
no harm in humoring her, he supposes. his eyes flit upward, despite seeing himself like this nigh-impossible; the hat is removed from his head, fingers carding through his bangs. the light against his hidden eye is harsh, but he manages with a squint as he hums thoughtfully to himself, the clips secured a moment later.
“well,” he grins now, laughter shaking his shoulders. “how do i look?”
