[She doesn't know what she was expecting to find when the paper came off, honestly. She'd felt the beads, of course, or at least the presence of something rounded over and smooth, but somehow the thought that it might have been jewelry never clicked in her head as she'd briefly considered what it possibly could have been. A bracelet would've been too mundane of a gift, perhaps, or too predictable, or too...
...significant.
But it's a bracelet, and it comes into sight as the paper lifts away, and for a moment she just looks at it, the warm polished colors a lovely contrast to the white of the paper. Beads, a clasp, and a claw. A bracelet. A gift for her.
(It's a, um...oh, right, a netsuke! Of Bear. It's for me?)
She runs her fingertips gingerly over the beads, stopping for a longer perusal of the claw, and as she's tracing its sleek lines, the word leaps to her mind — Coyote.
No, not coyote, not in Johto...but that's what he wants her to see when she looks at it. Raven and Coyote, the trickster figures. They'd talked about them before. He'd asked her if Raven's story was her own.
Maybe now Coyote's is hers, too.
She looks up and over at him, breathes in, swallows; for once her thoughts are showing on her unguarded face as clearly as if they've been written on a chalkboard, and she discovers a second later that she's holding the gift in her hands like she thinks it's made of glass.]
no subject
...significant.
But it's a bracelet, and it comes into sight as the paper lifts away, and for a moment she just looks at it, the warm polished colors a lovely contrast to the white of the paper. Beads, a clasp, and a claw. A bracelet. A gift for her.
(It's a, um...oh, right, a netsuke! Of Bear. It's for me?)
She runs her fingertips gingerly over the beads, stopping for a longer perusal of the claw, and as she's tracing its sleek lines, the word leaps to her mind — Coyote.
No, not coyote, not in Johto...but that's what he wants her to see when she looks at it. Raven and Coyote, the trickster figures. They'd talked about them before. He'd asked her if Raven's story was her own.
Maybe now Coyote's is hers, too.
She looks up and over at him, breathes in, swallows; for once her thoughts are showing on her unguarded face as clearly as if they've been written on a chalkboard, and she discovers a second later that she's holding the gift in her hands like she thinks it's made of glass.]