[He's given no time to remark, and that's fine, so Ardyn merely listens with interest that refuses to wane. A Starlight Celebration. If something ironic decides to lurch itself up and over in his mind, it's with a practiced effort that he compartmentalizes it away for now.
Besides, when X'rhun slides this present across the table towards him, bright red bow contrasting the brown wrapping paper, he blinks down at it once. A brow arches, and he picks it up -- gently -- feeling its weight. It's light.
Eyes lift back up to his friend, and a moment passes before-]
...You're far too kind. I have nothing to give you in return.
[How strange it is, to be given a gift. There's something simple in the gesture, not overwrought by the facetious, paper-thin civility of Niflheim politics he's used to. Gifts then were weighed with the hope of garnering favor, of expectation. At best, they were seen as burgeoning opportunities. At worst? Annoying inconveniences.
Here, this is just... a present. Just because X'rhun could.
He's not... quite sure what to do with it. Outwardly, he knows how he must act. But his mind digs its heels in, asks him where those invisible strings are that must be attached. Habit. Old, old habit.]
no subject
Besides, when X'rhun slides this present across the table towards him, bright red bow contrasting the brown wrapping paper, he blinks down at it once. A brow arches, and he picks it up -- gently -- feeling its weight. It's light.
Eyes lift back up to his friend, and a moment passes before-]
...You're far too kind. I have nothing to give you in return.
[How strange it is, to be given a gift. There's something simple in the gesture, not overwrought by the facetious, paper-thin civility of Niflheim politics he's used to. Gifts then were weighed with the hope of garnering favor, of expectation. At best, they were seen as burgeoning opportunities. At worst? Annoying inconveniences.
Here, this is just... a present. Just because X'rhun could.
He's not... quite sure what to do with it. Outwardly, he knows how he must act. But his mind digs its heels in, asks him where those invisible strings are that must be attached. Habit. Old, old habit.]