The Frost Faire swirled around Ruffano in a riot of color and noise, lanterns bobbing and voices overlapping in a way that would have driven a lesser beast to distraction. For him, it was bracing. Invigorating. The cold still gnawed at his extremities in a way he found deeply offensive, yes, but the spectacle itself more than made up for it, and the sight of Pomodu’s familiar red fur cutting through the crowd chased away any lingering complaints. Chaos suited him just fine, especially when it came wrapped in cheer, generosity, and the promise of a scene worth remembering.
"My dear Pomodu," he said gently, voice rich with reassurance,
"if ever there were doubt that you had grasped the spirit of the season, banish it at once. You are not merely participating in Giftsgiving, you are carrying it upon your shoulders. You are delivering ten beasts’ worth of cheer, at least. Possibly twelve, depending on enthusiasm."
As Ruffano turned the bundle over in his paws, weighing it with theatrical consideration, a voice nearby cut in with open curiosity.
“Now that looks like something quite strange, indeed! You have me all curious now. I profess, it’s my first winter here in the Harbour proper and I have yet to see gift exchanges. I can’t help but want to know what it is myself.”
Ruffano glanced up, ears tipping toward the speaker, and his smile widened without a hint of reservation.
"Ah, then you’ve arrived at precisely the right moment," he said lightly, inclining his head in greeting.
"Giftsgiving thrives on enthusiasm, mild bewilderment, and the collective agreement that beggars can't be choosers."
He lifted the parcel slightly, presenting it to the small knot of onlookers now gathered.
"Whatever waits inside, it was chosen with genuine cheer," he continued, eyes bright.
"And that alone makes the ceremony worthwhile. I would encourage you to stay. The reveal is half the delight."
Only then did he turn his attention back to the parcel, beginning at last to peel away the paper.
Nestled within was a battered iron gauntlet, its surface chewed by rust and age, the leather lining inside cracked and softened to the point that it bore an unfortunate resemblance to decaying flesh. The effect was subtle enough to unsettle without quite tipping into grotesque, the sort of artifact that invited questions no one truly wanted answered.
Ruffano’s brows rose. Just a fraction.
"Oh my," he murmured, tilting it to catch the lantern light.
"I do wonder if the previous owner left their arm behind when they decided to part with it."
Then, without missing a beat, his smile widened, bright and delighted.
"What a marvelous prop," he continued, admiration sincere now.
"Perfect for the stage. I could see it already, a tragic revenant knight, or perhaps Old Iron Claw himself. Though..." he turned it slightly, inspecting the fit,
"...alas, the wrong paw for full historical accuracy. But art, my dear, must occasionally make concessions."
Nearby, the air filled with the sharp crack of compacted snow meeting fur.
Griblo had just taken his first, deeply satisfying drag of a freshly lit cigar when a wayward snowball detonated squarely against his muzzle, exploding into icy shrapnel and extinguishing the cigar in an instant. He choked, spluttered, and staggered back a step, hacking out a curse as soggy remnants of leaf and snow clung to his whiskers.
"HELL'S GATES!"
Behind the stand, Grubbage paused mid-inventory. Just long enough for a rare, unmistakable smirk to crease his muzzle.
"That's what y'get fer pinching the merchandise," he observed dryly, before straightening and shaking a fist toward the unseen offenders.
"Watch where ye throw, ye feral little menaces! This is a place o’ business!"
Griblo wiped his face with the back of his paw, glaring murderously toward the snowball melee as he mourned the ruined cigar under his breath.
Unaware or unconcerned with the minor tragedy unfolding nearby, Ruffano shifted, clearly struck by a sudden thought. He patted one pocket, then another, layers upon layers rustling as he searched, his expression turning faintly sheepish.
"Ah... just a moment," he said, already half-laughing as his paw finally emerged clutching a delicate bracelet. Glass beads caught the lantern light in pale blues, soft whites, and glimmers of icy green, strung together with care if not extravagance.
"I hadn’t planned on reciprocation," he admitted, offering it to her,
"but the season has a way of insisting, doesn’t it? It’s nothing grand. Just something I’ve kept because it reminded me that winter needn’t be all frozen misery."
Reaching out, he stretched the bracelet over Pomodu's massive paw, the cord threatening to snap as it finally came to rest around her wrist.
"I think it will suit you far better than it ever did me."
@Pomodu lu Modokunomulo @Callisto Bluemoon
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