@liightborne's answer:
Sai has flipped through his inventory list a few too many times; the ink has smudged from its place on the paper and disappears to the pads of his gloves. He cannot rightly explain why he has done this. He makes himself too busy to think about why. Something to replace it, he thinks. Something to replace it. So that I need not touch it again. Even the inside linings of his gloves turn his stomach, too similar to the waxy slip of a tome newly-opened for him to take with his eyes closed. But then there is the smell--too clean, the scent of sanitation. Burned there and cratered, having filled in the cut on his arm like the dirt packed into a grave; it's in his fingers. It's spread to his gloves, he's certain, and removing them will only force him to experience it again. It would be better to keep them on. He can hopefully return back to some semblance of normalcy if he deals with it long enough. He blinks out of his stupor when he hears a nearby voice, turning his head too far so that he must pull back. "Forgive me. I was thinking perhaps too hard," he chuckles, keeping his hands on the shelf of items he was observing. "It is... very kind of you to offer, but you needn't spend anything on myself." Whoever this philanthropist is, the proposal for supplementary funds is more kindness than Sai was expecting. The price tag for a staff peeks out at him among those of the skill scrolls and miscellany, and... well, if he were to do a little math, actually... no, he shouldn't... ahh, but he has already, and the price is actually somewhat achievable, there's just a small bit he needs... ... ... Sai coughs. He should not ask. "...Would I... May I, hum, be so bold as to, ahem. Request a small loan of 40 gold for a particular item...?" And yet.
"...Truly, it is of no hindrance to me." Bouncing up to his side with her hands clasped behind her back, she 'hmmed' and 'haaaed' at the selection herself. She hardly wanted to impose on him—perhaps if she appeared occupied, it would give him room to come to a conclusion himself. 50 gold here, 20 gold there—the labels impressed upon every customer a sign that the economy would still keep running even if castles came down in the foreground.
A cough has her cant her head in his direction, the brightest gleam collecting in her eyes. Yes? She coaxed, without saying a word.
"...Hehe! Yes—please, I insist. I used to traverse within an army structure that spoke not of how much gold or shares each had. And while I entirely understand concerns for privacy, the lack of pooling did curtail many a-strategy."
It's on her fingers—the warm slack of silk drawstrings, twined into braids. Her purse was loosened, and she was grateful for the opportunity. There was the privilege of having known two armies, hair standing on both arms as one dissipated and the other continued to walk on. To walk on until they learned of the world with blood beneath their nails and long palm lines ending where their mothers' had left off. Her hands were cleaner now, with the semblance of generosity when she had no room for it before.
40 gold, pressed into his gloved hands, was nothing at all today. But yesterday and yesterday before that, it would have been a hard-earned privilege to be giving at all.
"When the time comes, I am sure you shall pay it forward. Won't you?"