"Fruit. Right." Sam quickly busied himself, going to his small kitchen to gather the supplies to make the tea. Coming back with a strainer and a teapot on an ornate tray, he laid them down on a table and wordlessly passed Jigano a handkerchief for his nose.
"Gifts...? O-Oh. That's not necessary." He was not accustomed to receiving things well, ever, and the thought was as exciting as it was mortifying. Peering at the sack Jigano dropped, he couldn't see any hint of what it was. To stop himself from staring at it an uncomfortable amount, he sat down facing away from it and motioned Jigano to sit at the other chair before the fireplace.
Sam's home was modest. Two chairs surrounded a warm fire in the living room (Sam sat in both of them interchangeably so one would not gather dust) with a simple woven rug and wooden table between them. Above the fireplace was a painting of a family, all frowning and pale, with drawn faces. There was a man and a woman, the man with a beard and gaunt cheeks, the woman blonde and dressed in extravagant furs. Before them, two children sat, virtually identical except for their hairstyles and clothes.
There was a bookshelf that had spilled over at the back, books stacked up around the floor surrounding it. The piles themselves were neat and organised, but clearly well read. The books on the shelf would occasionally give way to little paintings or ornaments. Next to the shelf was a door to the kitchen, and to the right was a staircase twisting upstairs. Everything was some shade of beige or a subtle dark red.
Sam curled his knees up underneath him and leaned forward to make the tea, the sweet scent of something not dissimilar to apples rising up from the pot.
"It needs a moment. To stew." He said, then sat back to wait, watching the steam rise. "...So...how have you been since...since...all of it?"
"Gifts...? O-Oh. That's not necessary." He was not accustomed to receiving things well, ever, and the thought was as exciting as it was mortifying. Peering at the sack Jigano dropped, he couldn't see any hint of what it was. To stop himself from staring at it an uncomfortable amount, he sat down facing away from it and motioned Jigano to sit at the other chair before the fireplace.
Sam's home was modest. Two chairs surrounded a warm fire in the living room (Sam sat in both of them interchangeably so one would not gather dust) with a simple woven rug and wooden table between them. Above the fireplace was a painting of a family, all frowning and pale, with drawn faces. There was a man and a woman, the man with a beard and gaunt cheeks, the woman blonde and dressed in extravagant furs. Before them, two children sat, virtually identical except for their hairstyles and clothes.
There was a bookshelf that had spilled over at the back, books stacked up around the floor surrounding it. The piles themselves were neat and organised, but clearly well read. The books on the shelf would occasionally give way to little paintings or ornaments. Next to the shelf was a door to the kitchen, and to the right was a staircase twisting upstairs. Everything was some shade of beige or a subtle dark red.
Sam curled his knees up underneath him and leaned forward to make the tea, the sweet scent of something not dissimilar to apples rising up from the pot.
"It needs a moment. To stew." He said, then sat back to wait, watching the steam rise. "...So...how have you been since...since...all of it?"
