South agonises for multiple days about if doing this counts as breaking the rules, before Carolina cuts through the bullshit. South. You're spiralling, again. Well of fucking course she is, this is the first year in thirty-two she's spent the holidays away from her brother, but— the point is taken, and she goes ahead and gets the stupid presents.
They've always gotten each other something. Always. No matter how dire everything else is, how little they had, they find a way. Rough years, years like when they were struggling kids or strained defectors on the run, could be as little as a packet of sweets or a bottle of shitty alcohol stolen from a store, but it's the thought. Just one of those unspoken traditions.
This time, she at least has actual money to spare.
So she sends Carolina over with a box containing a good quality chef's knife and a solid hand-crank mixer, plus an unboxed, belated addition of a new axe. (She asks Carolina for updates sometimes, okay.) The only note says merry christmas, di x in her scrawly handwriting, not good enough with words to find something longer and more personal that doesn't feel somehow at risk of guilting him.
(She just hopes he can tell that she tried, that this is genuine and not for some reward. Really, with things as they are, she doesn't expect anything in return at all.)
North thanks Carolina, giving her a small gift as well--- a macabre pewter jawbone ring "so that she can match with her man". Then he sends her with a simple, polished wooden box for South, containing a chisel set and a note for his sister.
Have a good Christmas, Tash. Love you.
There's a doodle of a Christmas tree and a compass rose underneath, with the Northern and Southern points labeled.
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christmas presents
South agonises for multiple days about if doing this counts as breaking the rules, before Carolina cuts through the bullshit. South. You're spiralling, again. Well of fucking course she is, this is the first year in thirty-two she's spent the holidays away from her brother, but— the point is taken, and she goes ahead and gets the stupid presents.
They've always gotten each other something. Always. No matter how dire everything else is, how little they had, they find a way. Rough years, years like when they were struggling kids or strained defectors on the run, could be as little as a packet of sweets or a bottle of shitty alcohol stolen from a store, but it's the thought. Just one of those unspoken traditions.
This time, she at least has actual money to spare.
So she sends Carolina over with a box containing a good quality chef's knife and a solid hand-crank mixer, plus an unboxed, belated addition of a new axe. (She asks Carolina for updates sometimes, okay.) The only note says merry christmas, di x in her scrawly handwriting, not good enough with words to find something longer and more personal that doesn't feel somehow at risk of guilting him.
(She just hopes he can tell that she tried, that this is genuine and not for some reward. Really, with things as they are, she doesn't expect anything in return at all.)
no subject
Have a good Christmas, Tash. Love you.
There's a doodle of a Christmas tree and a compass rose underneath, with the Northern and Southern points labeled.
no subject
On top of from her genuine surprise and delight at the gift itself, that note ends up tucked into her pocket for at least the next week.