It had taken Talyn some time before he decided on what he might give to Vynix. The Raven’s proprietor, as it turned out, was adept at being both open and welcoming, while also revealing very little about himself. It was a trait Talyn could certainly appreciate- a little tidbit to be tucked way for now.
The others- that Vynix was a complicated man with a complicated history, with a young son to show for it, and secrets besides- were only what he could initially glean as he took to the business of watching his employer whenever he could. Well, when it was reasonably safe to do so. It wouldn’t do to get caught listening in on casual conversation in the lounge, or watching as the clever innkeeper pored over the numbers at end of day, after all.
Still, none of this was of particular value to Talyn where gifts were concerned. Not, at least, of the kind that wouldn’t mark him as completely inept when it came to this sort of thing.
The tavern was obviously of importance to the man. His son. His lover. And the staff he kept on there were an extended ‘family’ of sorts, all frayed edges and stitched-together scraps. Talyn still couldn’t really fathom how Vynix did it, but he managed to seamlessly band the motley crew together with no more than a roof over their heads and a bit of coin in their pockets.
Vynix did a lot for other people, as it turned out, and perhaps that was what made this hard. What was something Vynix himself might enjoy, for him and him alone? What gave him that rush, that even Talyn himself could relate to (in his own way, of course)?
The answer finally came one drizzly afternoon that couldn’t decide whether it was rain or snow that fell, when he was slinking down the hallway towards no where in particular, just in sight of Vynix’ quarters. An open door, shoved wide by tiny, sticky hands no doubt, afforded him just the sight he needed, tucked into the closet, and out of their reach. At the time, Talyn shared a smile with the tavern-keep scooping up the little boy, carrying on as though he would head for the communal showers just down the hall. But there was more to it than simple pleasantries, as he was already forming an idea.
Another few days would pass, and then most of an afternoon, before he finished, leaving the pair of brown-paper parcels tied up in shiny, red ribbons at the ‘in’ box just outside Vyn’s office. He was careful not to bend it- for though the handmade leather cuff with its silver embellishments would be just fine, the delicate composer’s journal, stitched by hand into sleek, leather binding, might not fare so well.
He realized too late that he’d forgotten a card, but a simple note on thick parchment would probably suffice. He hoped so, at least; words like these never were his strong suit.
I thought a lot about what you might like for Winter’s Veil. And I realized, between the tavern itself and everything happening in town lately, you might not take a lot of time to do what you really want to be doing. And maybe it’s not always practical. Sometimes you have to just play your part.
But I thought maybe you’d enjoy having a little reminder, for when you’re too busy to get your violin down from the shelf. And if you do, maybe it would be nice to have a place to jot down what you find.
Happy Winter’s Veil.
