[Sabriel's gift for Itachi arrives outside his door, wrapped in dark blue paper and tied with a silver ribbon.
Inside is a container of loose-leaf sencha tea, and several bottles of nail polish- black, of course, but also an assortment of dark hues, like an ink-stained rainbow, and one bottle of red nail polish that just about matches the color of Itachi's eyes.
๏ผ the gift is... mindful, and there is certainly no mistaking its origin. the blue and silver is strongly representative of sabriel's colours, and the particularity of the contents are things he has discussed with no one else.
he does not quite know what to say — he has not needed to express gratitude in a very long time, and is rather out of the habit. the box sits, its contents untouched on his bedside table for several days. the smell of citrus and sencha hangs in the air with a familiarity that makes him ache for a place that is no longer his home.
the fruit he savours, pulling one apart piece by piece. it's too far past solstice to trouble himself about bathing — and anyway, the shower cubicles are hardly built for it. the tea he saves. the nail polish... he will trouble himself about that once the coat yelena painted on his nails has begun to chip and flake.
nearer the new year, she gets a small, handwritten note. it's in hiragana save her name, which is done in katakana to capture the transliteration of the foreign sounds. the entire message is written in exactingly precise calligraphy that is almost too perfect to be called art.
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Around Christmas
Inside is a container of loose-leaf sencha tea, and several bottles of nail polish- black, of course, but also an assortment of dark hues, like an ink-stained rainbow, and one bottle of red nail polish that just about matches the color of Itachi's eyes.
There is also a small bag of yuzu fruit.]
no subject
he does not quite know what to say — he has not needed to express gratitude in a very long time, and is rather out of the habit. the box sits, its contents untouched on his bedside table for several days. the smell of citrus and sencha hangs in the air with a familiarity that makes him ache for a place that is no longer his home.
the fruit he savours, pulling one apart piece by piece. it's too far past solstice to trouble himself about bathing — and anyway, the shower cubicles are hardly built for it. the tea he saves. the nail polish... he will trouble himself about that once the coat yelena painted on his nails has begun to chip and flake.
nearer the new year, she gets a small, handwritten note. it's in hiragana save her name, which is done in katakana to capture the transliteration of the foreign sounds. the entire message is written in exactingly precise calligraphy that is almost too perfect to be called art.
ใตใใชใจใซใใ
ใๅฟใฎใใใฃใใๅใใใใใจใใใใใพใ
the translation may not quite capture the nuance implied — but it does convey, at least, the gratitude. ๏ผ