It really doesn't warrant so much fuss, and a lot of people (especially those so well-dressed) would probably scoff at being handed what is, in effect, a rag, but Vrenille takes it graciously, shoving his damp gloves into a pocket and wiping his hands with the scrap of cloth, then folding it neatly before handing it back.
There's a few reasons for it--for one thing, if it makes this kid feel better to mother hen him for a minute, there's really no skin off his nose in letting him. But for another, no matter how well-off he looks now, he still came from nothing, and he still appreciates that very simple rule of the streets which says that when you have little and you're still generous enough to share, to offer help to another person, the worth of that can't be measured in coin.
"I'm all right," he assures. "Promise. Anyway, they got these amazing things here--dry cleaners," his smile is patient, genuine. He gestures to the young man's jacket and glove where the fabric's stained dark from the wet of the spill. "What 'bout you?"
He considers all that's said about the alien invasion, the worries about frostbite and pain and risk, letting it sketch a lay of the land for his companion's point of view. "Well, I know something 'bout trying to fight off impending planetary doom. Different sorta threat but--" He shrugs as if to say potayto, potahto. For now, they can save the particulars.
"Everyone's got their no zones, stuff that's beyond their limit. Different experiences draw the lines in all kinda ways. Kneeling in the snow? You don't gotta do that--well, I wanna say ever. This place is ain't great on the consent front though. Let's say if you're smart 'bout it, you shouldn't have to do crap you don't wanna almost ever."
no subject
There's a few reasons for it--for one thing, if it makes this kid feel better to mother hen him for a minute, there's really no skin off his nose in letting him. But for another, no matter how well-off he looks now, he still came from nothing, and he still appreciates that very simple rule of the streets which says that when you have little and you're still generous enough to share, to offer help to another person, the worth of that can't be measured in coin.
"I'm all right," he assures. "Promise. Anyway, they got these amazing things here--dry cleaners," his smile is patient, genuine. He gestures to the young man's jacket and glove where the fabric's stained dark from the wet of the spill. "What 'bout you?"
He considers all that's said about the alien invasion, the worries about frostbite and pain and risk, letting it sketch a lay of the land for his companion's point of view. "Well, I know something 'bout trying to fight off impending planetary doom. Different sorta threat but--" He shrugs as if to say potayto, potahto. For now, they can save the particulars.
"Everyone's got their no zones, stuff that's beyond their limit. Different experiences draw the lines in all kinda ways. Kneeling in the snow? You don't gotta do that--well, I wanna say ever. This place is ain't great on the consent front though. Let's say if you're smart 'bout it, you shouldn't have to do crap you don't wanna almost ever."