"It's not a lot, let me tell you." Sleep, that is.
Congratulations or no, what passes between Rhok and Pinya's kinswoman is an immediate attempt and refusal to upsell. Such lovely earrings need a- no. And What a spectacular pendant must require- no thank you. You see such a stunning band should- pass.
"I have three on the way already," Rhok explains as he collects three small parcels from the guild. "When there're more, I'll order more." A set of earrings, simple studs that shine like starfire when their box is opened for his inspection. A white-gold pendant, polished and worked so lovingly that the silver teardrop casts its own kind of moonlight. And an armlet, a clever thing adjustable in size and made again of white gold. None of the gifts are gendered or bejeweled, just plain white gold with that stunning luster to them.
"Our secret," he says, a finger to his lips as they leave with the balance paid and treasures safely tucked away on his person. "I know Felih could've made them just as well but I didn't want something from us, just me. I'm a prick, remember?"
He's already come to accept that he's not going to be there for his kits as much as his sire was for him, or any other Nunh, really. The next fight could kill him. The next world-jump could be his last. There might not be a tomorrow, and if there is he has as much chance of being caught in some world-stakes conflict as he does of being with his tribe to watch his children bring down their first hunt or teach his Tia how to fight.
"I just want them to know I care. I want them to have something to remind them." Because it's important. They's his kits. "Alright, enough bullshit. Dinner. What, and who's paying?"
no subject
Congratulations or no, what passes between Rhok and Pinya's kinswoman is an immediate attempt and refusal to upsell. Such lovely earrings need a- no. And What a spectacular pendant must require- no thank you. You see such a stunning band should- pass.
"I have three on the way already," Rhok explains as he collects three small parcels from the guild. "When there're more, I'll order more." A set of earrings, simple studs that shine like starfire when their box is opened for his inspection. A white-gold pendant, polished and worked so lovingly that the silver teardrop casts its own kind of moonlight. And an armlet, a clever thing adjustable in size and made again of white gold. None of the gifts are gendered or bejeweled, just plain white gold with that stunning luster to them.
"Our secret," he says, a finger to his lips as they leave with the balance paid and treasures safely tucked away on his person. "I know Felih could've made them just as well but I didn't want something from us, just me. I'm a prick, remember?"
He's already come to accept that he's not going to be there for his kits as much as his sire was for him, or any other Nunh, really. The next fight could kill him. The next world-jump could be his last. There might not be a tomorrow, and if there is he has as much chance of being caught in some world-stakes conflict as he does of being with his tribe to watch his children bring down their first hunt or teach his Tia how to fight.
"I just want them to know I care. I want them to have something to remind them." Because it's important. They's his kits. "Alright, enough bullshit. Dinner. What, and who's paying?"