silcorynard:
Very few people get to see him smile, let alone like this. Even the unblinking sharpness of the left side of his face seems softened as he looks at her.
Seventeen. She’s been ‘seventeen’ before. A few months ago she was twenty, and before that she was twelve. She goes where whim takes her, and he finds it refreshing, engaging. Chaotic, perhaps, but a bright and cheerful kind. She is who she is, and he has always encouraged her to enjoy the power of choice.
“Those are all very good ideas,” he says, thoughtfully. “They might even be better than what I’ve brought you.” He brings the lumpy round-ish parcel into his hands and considers it with a hum. A flicker of concern settles into the right side of his face, the look of a man who perhaps hasn’t brought a proper present for a seventeen-year-old. But then his gaze tracks back to her, and he holds the parcel out for her. “But I shall let you decide, I think. Happy birthday, my dear Jinx.”
Perhaps he will be allowed in. For now, he lets her accept the gift, and clasps his hands behind his back to watch. This is real paper, a rare indulgence he allows himself for her sake. It has a slight silvery sheen to it and the pattern of perfectly-symmetrical flowers. He has been very careful with folds and placement of tape, though he does not expect the paper to survive her exuberance. Flowers were ephemeral things, after all.
Jinx rips the gift open with gusto befitting a twelve-year-old (which, perhaps, she'll be again soon), not caring how many pieces the wrapping paper ends up in. She isn't the type to appreciate carefully crafted things, unfortunately.
But the gift! The gift itself! It's a plush toy - a cartoon bird, fat and round, and under its stubby little wing is a plush knife. Her eyes light up.
"It's a borb!" she squeals, holding the bird-orb to her chest. "He's so fat!"
She throws open the door to her room, still grinning, and catapults herself (and the borb) onto her bed. Her feet go flying into the air, kicking wildly in excitement as she examines every aspect of the plush. The knife's sewn on, and not sharp, duh, but she can wiggle it and act like the bird's holding someone up.
But... she's forgotten something!
"Um- thank you!"