[ ah, it really is a terrible shame, that his face must be so uncooperative as to make returning the kindness in that expression near impossible. with the best that he can manage being limited to a softening around the corners of his eyes, ingo takes the offered handkerchief, though does not put it to use before he has made the extent of his gratitude clear. ]
That is most kind of you, sir... I shall have to accept the gesture. Thank you.
[ while ingo's first instinct is to firmly yet politely insist that would only be proper for him to wash such a fine handkerchief before returning it to its owner... even he has to concede that making a promise of this sort when he hasn't the slightest of ideas if there are any washing facilities on board at all may not be the best set of tracks to follow. he makes quick work of wiping his face, pausing only when the emblem catches his eye.
perhaps not what someone so dressed in black and tired in subtle ways would be expected carry, though it's quite cute. idly, he wonders: what sort of pokémon might this emblem depict? it resembles a hoothoot or noctowl to a certain extent, but not quite... either way, it makes him feel the slightest of connections with this young gentleman, as one who is often assumed to be far more gloomy and stern than he actually is.
he takes care to fold the handkerchief back into a neat square before handing it back. as he does so, he cannot help but notice the scarring of old wounds and burns. could it be that this young man is someone who uses fire-type pokémon? ]
Once more, thank you ever so much. I believe I've some disinfectant, should you wish to clean your hands, sir.
[ a little bit of rummaging through an inner pocket of his spacious coat— black and with stripes the color of rust —he produces a small plastic bottle. the label on it sports a peculiar little creature. ]
no subject
That is most kind of you, sir... I shall have to accept the gesture. Thank you.
[ while ingo's first instinct is to firmly yet politely insist that would only be proper for him to wash such a fine handkerchief before returning it to its owner... even he has to concede that making a promise of this sort when he hasn't the slightest of ideas if there are any washing facilities on board at all may not be the best set of tracks to follow. he makes quick work of wiping his face, pausing only when the emblem catches his eye.
perhaps not what someone so dressed in black and tired in subtle ways would be expected carry, though it's quite cute. idly, he wonders: what sort of pokémon might this emblem depict? it resembles a hoothoot or noctowl to a certain extent, but not quite... either way, it makes him feel the slightest of connections with this young gentleman, as one who is often assumed to be far more gloomy and stern than he actually is.
he takes care to fold the handkerchief back into a neat square before handing it back. as he does so, he cannot help but notice the scarring of old wounds and burns. could it be that this young man is someone who uses fire-type pokémon? ]
Once more, thank you ever so much. I believe I've some disinfectant, should you wish to clean your hands, sir.
[ a little bit of rummaging through an inner pocket of his spacious coat— black and with stripes the color of rust —he produces a small plastic bottle. the label on it sports a peculiar little creature. ]