He goes the entire day without saying anything.
It makes him feel a tiny bit guilty, especially when he knows how excited Odin gets for his birthday. But where's the harm in a fun prank, eh? Not like Laslow won't make it up to his friend!
But the anticipation makes the hours crawl by. He nearly ruins everything at dinner, practically bursting at the seams to reveal his little surprise. Finally, finally, the meal ends, and Laslow trots up to Odin's side without a care in the world.
"I feel like I'm forgetting something," he chirps, slinging an arm over the mage's shoulders. "Not sure what, though. Oh! I borrowed a jacket of yours, didn't I? Come on, I'll grab it." While true--he had forgotten to return it--he hopes Odin doesn't sense the ulterior motive lurking behind the innocent request.
Laslow whistles merrily on the short walk to his quarters, stopping only once they reach his door. "Gods, this is embarrassing. Can you close your eyes? It's a mess in there." Satisfied, he opens the door, leaving Odin on the threshold while Laslow quickly grabs the wrapped present sitting on his bed. "Alright, you can open them!"
The room is a mess--all of his belongings have been shoved haphazardly aside to make room for his desk, which now sits somewhat in the room's center. An extra chair is placed opposite Laslow's own.
"Happy birthday, Owain! As if I'd forget my best friend's birthday. And, as part of my gift, I promise to not tease you only for tonight while you teach me how to play that tabletop game you're so fond of."
(The present itself is a new collection of wood-carved figurines for said roleplaying game.)
//via birthday asks; still accepting!
Odin is in a bad mood the whole evening. Surely Laslow--his good, globe-trotting, world-hopping friend, whom he had faced nearly all of life's adversities beside--wouldn't have forgotten his birthday. They always remembered this sort of thing for one another! A birthday, to him, is sacred. It is one of the few things that still stands in the face of a torn mesh of time. No matter the era, no matter the world, they would have themselves to celebrate.
He wonders, at some point during their idle conversations, if this is payback. Maybe he had done the same at some earlier point? He can't say for sure, but the doubt that clouds his vision adds another layer of challenge to staying upbeat. As he eats his final meal for the day, he digs his fork into his food. There comes a moment where he swears he hears his plate chipping.
But right as the rage is about to boil over--as Odin reaches the verge of shaking his poor pal until he remembers--Laslow speaks up. 'I feel like I'm forgetting something'. He crosses his arms, and allows the dancer his stage. It's about time he realized! But he continues, and surprise colors Dark's features. "Huh? Grr... Are you sure? Last I checked, you always unapologetically steal my stuff!"
He rises alongside his friend. "Fine," sounds the now crushed tune of his voice. It gives up the hope that the other would remember. "But it better not leave my office again. It's part of my hero ensemble..."
Odin follows with sloppy steps, practically trudging his way to Laslow's quarters. They are night and day in the way they walk. One back held straight, chin high, whistle in the air--and another hunched into an ugly stump, hands crammed into pockets and lips pulled into a frown. Odin knows he'll have to be the one to break the news, and that when he does, there won't be so much as a last-minute gift prepared for him...
Until they reach his door.
"Isn't everything you do embarrassing? This is like telling me to cover my ears every time you practice a pickup line!"
In spite of his snapping, he complies. Both his fell and sword hand fall over his eyes, shutting them until Dark is surrounded by a world of, well, dark.
Laslow gives the command, and Odin frees his face. His mouth opens to protest, telling him it had hardly been two seconds and that he didn't hear the door close; he'd still see the mess in a state like this. But what comes next steals his voice.
He gasps, feeling more than a little stupid for being played the fool.
"I-Inigo!" shouted in anger, but the mirror of their original names is a betrayal of sentiment, "You... You fiend!! I thought you forgot..."
A tear pools at the corner of his eye, but he is quick to wipe it away. He takes the gift next, and without a second thought, tears the wrapping to shreds. The scraps that litter Laslow's already dirty room are payback for his little bit of trickery.
"These are...! Impossible!" His gaze explodes at the sight of the unwrapped present. Each figure is a marvel of craftsmanship, made with the kind of skill he could only ever admire. And their weapons, and their intricate details: each is a furled parchment of paper, a story yet to be written by his hand. "There's no mistaking them... They're the sixth edition miniatures of Duma's Unrighteous Conquest! I... I haven't even read the newest monster sheets!"
He lifts one from the box: the terrifying Arch-Mogall. Its figurine is a notable improvement to that of its lesser cousin, sporting a sheen of dark magic round its tentacles, and the brimming of an evil spell in the center of its eye. After a short bout of fanboying he places it, along with the rest of the set, atop Laslow's desk. With his hands now freed he pulls him in for a hug--the tight and constricting kind his mother likes to give.
"GAH! I'm at such a loss for words! Never in a thousand thousand years could I express my gratitude to you, Inigo... No-" finally Odin frees him, so that he can reach back to the table and pluck a second model from the box, "Luthe, The Wizard of Untold Power! Your knowledge expands to the farthest reaches of the universe, and you have harnessed from the void's eye the ultimate source of ultra-magic! Hark! Our quest begins! At the port town of..."
It'll be a night to remember.
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