Loth-kitten
WRITING WEDNESDAY: A GIFT
Some gifts are thoughtful, they bear a very specific meaning to the recipient and can say a lot about them as a person.
Sometimes, the gift is shallow and unwarranted. From those who are not friends at all.
Who is the recipient and who is the gifter in the scenario you decide?
***
***
‘Hey, doesn’t that look awesome!’
Distinctive tones of a clone voice made Boil turn his head. Waxer was standing down the pile of scattered rocks, armor splattered with dim sunset colors.
‘Just some local flora,’ said Boil, holding a little plant between his fingers like it was frail glass, intricate twigs forming rosette with a lone dark-brown five-petal flower in the middle. It looked like it was made of stone, in a hard and nothing-special sort of way, but its tenderness and clear lines clashed hard with the barren landscape of the war-thorn planet.
‘Haven’t seen much of that here on Ryloth?’ came the instant answer. ‘It’s Numa, right.’
‘What I even do with it,’ muttered Boil, descending down the slope to join Waxer. His squadmate shrugged somewhat derisive even with his helmet on.
‘Then have it. Have it,’ insisted Boil, his voice tight even to his own ears. He handed him the flower, but Waxer was just eyeing it intensely. ‘You’re the one who liked it anyway.’
‘It’s a gift, you dumbhead,’ protested Waxer, reprove clear and evident. ‘Don’t you get? The girl’s giving you her gratitude. And look, it’s pretty rare, so she had to search hard and…’
Boil sighed, exasperated.
‘Didn’t she call you a brother first?’ he interrupted, not even hiding his annoyance. ‘Take the girl’s gift, Waxer.’
There was a pause, and then Waxer’s helmet went off.
‘Certainly a dumbhead,’ muttered the clone and picked up the small plant as carefully as did Boil when Numa passed it to him with a happy ‘nerra’ chanting.
‘Suit yourself,’ grumbled Boil, turning to look at the darkening sky so he didn’t have to watch Waxer try to wipe off an awkward expression with fake smugness.
Some gifts are thoughtful, they bear a very specific meaning to the recipient and can say a lot about them as a person.
Sometimes, the gift is shallow and unwarranted. From those who are not friends at all.
Who is the recipient and who is the gifter in the scenario you decide?
***
***
‘Hey, doesn’t that look awesome!’
Distinctive tones of a clone voice made Boil turn his head. Waxer was standing down the pile of scattered rocks, armor splattered with dim sunset colors.
‘Just some local flora,’ said Boil, holding a little plant between his fingers like it was frail glass, intricate twigs forming rosette with a lone dark-brown five-petal flower in the middle. It looked like it was made of stone, in a hard and nothing-special sort of way, but its tenderness and clear lines clashed hard with the barren landscape of the war-thorn planet.
‘Haven’t seen much of that here on Ryloth?’ came the instant answer. ‘It’s Numa, right.’
‘What I even do with it,’ muttered Boil, descending down the slope to join Waxer. His squadmate shrugged somewhat derisive even with his helmet on.
‘Then have it. Have it,’ insisted Boil, his voice tight even to his own ears. He handed him the flower, but Waxer was just eyeing it intensely. ‘You’re the one who liked it anyway.’
‘It’s a gift, you dumbhead,’ protested Waxer, reprove clear and evident. ‘Don’t you get? The girl’s giving you her gratitude. And look, it’s pretty rare, so she had to search hard and…’
Boil sighed, exasperated.
‘Didn’t she call you a brother first?’ he interrupted, not even hiding his annoyance. ‘Take the girl’s gift, Waxer.’
There was a pause, and then Waxer’s helmet went off.
‘Certainly a dumbhead,’ muttered the clone and picked up the small plant as carefully as did Boil when Numa passed it to him with a happy ‘nerra’ chanting.
‘Suit yourself,’ grumbled Boil, turning to look at the darkening sky so he didn’t have to watch Waxer try to wipe off an awkward expression with fake smugness.