〈 at the close of another day on e-23b, gwen presses a colorful booklet into itachi’s hands. 〉
Happy belated birthday! This is yours, 〈 she explains unnecessarily.
standing outside the door, gwen slips her hands into the pockets of her overalls. sunflowers climb the pant legs. little embroidered spiders sit in a row at the sleeves of her white tee. the only piece of jewelry she wears—the only one she has regularly worn—is a glint of purple worn on her right ring finger since craemore.
any physical evidence of the horrific injuries she took at the water purification site had faded within hours—only her hair, shaved to an undercut above her left ear to get rid of the burnt ends, suggests anything happened at all.
rocking lightly on the balls of her feet, she regards itachi with a smile. 〉
I wasn’t sure what you would like best so…I give you the gift of options!
〈 the front cover of said options reads “itachi’s coupon book.” intricate braiding in the spine done with red and white thread holds the booklet together.
the voucher options vary from playing board games to nail painting and hair braiding to “be alone together”—parallel play now fall out boy themed. a few are dedicated to making wei wuxian be quiet or removing him from itachi’s presence. all told, there are about thirty-odd vouchers in the booklet, each page decorated with markers. 〉
he stares at this little booklet with very clear confusion written in his expression, turning it over in his hands as if he expects to find... something more useful (a knife??) taped underneath it.
local man, 22, has never received a gift that was not intended to provide direct and immediate use to his duties as a shinobi. ）
What is this meant to convey?
（ he thumbs through it, and although the point of each individual coupon is clear, it does nothing to mitigate his confusion. what is the point, gwen. what is it. ）
〈 itachi was the one who stole christmas, wasn’t he. 〉
Uh, that I like you? That you’re my friend? That it’s your birthday so you get presents, but right now the planet is in a bit of a crisis—and also I have no money—so I had to get creative?
〈 she makes a little moue. 〉
I can pull out my phone and let Taylor Swift help you feel twenty-two if you prefer.
（ he stops on one of the coupons about painting nails, and then rather bemusedly — ）
Thank you.
（ he still doesn't... quite understand the why of it all, but he understands the spirit in which it was meant, the care that was put into it. he traces the only slightly imperfect line of a scribble in the coupon's image with a finger, head tilted like a bird. hm. ）
No questions asked. You rip one out, trade it in, get whatever is printed on it.
I am great at mani-pedis, by the way. Not right now.
〈 she glances down at her nails. a few are chipped. the nail on her left index finger, which she lost along with the tip of that finger in the explosion, is the only entirely lacking in nail polish. small price of having it regrown from scratch.
instinctively, she reaches up to her ear to brush her hair back only to graze her buzzcut. 〉
I need my supplies. You can keep the usual black or maybe get wild with an extremely dark, nearly black red.〈 when you're thinking outside but still pressed right up against the box. 〉
（ somebody missed the absolutely hideous primary-coloured manicure that eleven gave him some months ago now, that he wore dutifully around the ximilia for a handful of days. ）
You do not generally ask me questions regardless.
（ he supposes he isn't the sort of man easily leant to such a thing. people listen to him, or don't, but few question him. ）
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Happy belated birthday! This is yours, 〈 she explains unnecessarily.
standing outside the door, gwen slips her hands into the pockets of her overalls. sunflowers climb the pant legs. little embroidered spiders sit in a row at the sleeves of her white tee. the only piece of jewelry she wears—the only one she has regularly worn—is a glint of purple worn on her right ring finger since craemore.
any physical evidence of the horrific injuries she took at the water purification site had faded within hours—only her hair, shaved to an undercut above her left ear to get rid of the burnt ends, suggests anything happened at all.
rocking lightly on the balls of her feet, she regards itachi with a smile. 〉
I wasn’t sure what you would like best so…I give you the gift of options!
〈 the front cover of said options reads “itachi’s coupon book.” intricate braiding in the spine done with red and white thread holds the booklet together.
the voucher options vary from playing board games to nail painting and hair braiding to “be alone together”—parallel play now fall out boy themed. a few are dedicated to making wei wuxian be quiet or removing him from itachi’s presence. all told, there are about thirty-odd vouchers in the booklet, each page decorated with markers. 〉
no subject
he stares at this little booklet with very clear confusion written in his expression, turning it over in his hands as if he expects to find... something more useful (a knife??) taped underneath it.
local man, 22, has never received a gift that was not intended to provide direct and immediate use to his duties as a shinobi. ）
What is this meant to convey?
（ he thumbs through it, and although the point of each individual coupon is clear, it does nothing to mitigate his confusion. what is the point, gwen. what is it. ）
no subject
Uh, that I like you? That you’re my friend? That it’s your birthday so you get presents, but right now the planet is in a bit of a crisis—and also I have no money—so I had to get creative?
〈 she makes a little moue. 〉
I can pull out my phone and let Taylor Swift help you feel twenty-two if you prefer.
no subject
I... see.
（ he stops on one of the coupons about painting nails, and then rather bemusedly — ）
Thank you.
（ he still doesn't... quite understand the why of it all, but he understands the spirit in which it was meant, the care that was put into it. he traces the only slightly imperfect line of a scribble in the coupon's image with a finger, head tilted like a bird. hm. ）
no subject
gwen wrinkles her nose at him playfully. 〉 There's no expiration date so you can trade them in whenever.
〈 and the offer for jamming out to "22" is still there 😌 〉
no subject
（ whatever? that? is?? ）
no subject
I am great at mani-pedis, by the way. Not right now.
〈 she glances down at her nails. a few are chipped. the nail on her left index finger, which she lost along with the tip of that finger in the explosion, is the only entirely lacking in nail polish. small price of having it regrown from scratch.
instinctively, she reaches up to her ear to brush her hair back only to graze her buzzcut. 〉
I need my supplies. You can keep the usual black or maybe get wild with an extremely dark, nearly black red.〈 when you're thinking outside but still pressed right up against the box. 〉
no subject
You do not generally ask me questions regardless.
（ he supposes he isn't the sort of man easily leant to such a thing. people listen to him, or don't, but few question him. ）
no subject
〈 you brought this one on yourself.
thwip! a web-line attaches to the roof. 〉
I'll catch you later.
no subject
okay bye, go save the world spider-woman!! ）