#s:fergus

[delicatevalentine]

When Fergus sets out to find his envoy, he brings with him three tenets: considerate, fashionable, and stinkin' rich. The first two are easy enough to read at a glance. Someone is either polite or rude, chic or out-of-touch. But the final criterion--wealth--can emerge in a plethora of ways. Someone can flaunt their money with extravagant bracelets and corsets that squeeze their midsection. They can blow their money gambling, they can be inebriated so often that they're more wine than blood. Or, it can hide entirely. Having money is not the same as spending money.

Fergus would know.

While making his rounds his eyes land on Hilda, and he digs his heel into the ground. They're classmates, if memory serves. He throws his collection of gifts over his knee to get a better look, then cross-references them with her outfit. There's only so much a student can modify, but she seems to push right up to that rule and bend it with an overbearing presence. Moreover, he's seen her act sort of snooty. Like gold might just be something she can throw at someone to make them dance. Whether she weaves it into a gleaming string is her own prerogative, but her demeanor tells no lies. Plus, she looks fun. She'd go all out for a gift exchange, right? Probably has some ego she'd like to stroke with her sucker of a giftee, too.

"'Scuse me!" he chimes, sauntering his way into conversing distance, "No offense, but you look pretty well off. See all this I'm carryin'?" The corner of his mouth quirks up, scraping for what scraps of confidence it can wear. He'll need all he can if it turns out he's off the mark. "It must've run whoever a whole lot of cash to make it happen... So I'm trying to find 'em and say thanks."

Simple enough, right? She doesn't need any more explanation than that.

He cocks his head at her, throwing his question in an arc, "So, was it you?"

It wasn't every day that Hilda was simply minding her own business -- not a hint of her noble upbringing in sight -- when a student would materialise from the crowd and accuse her of being rich. They were right, of course, but it still felt like a social faux pas.

"Good afternoon to you too!" she said with a hint of indignation.

She now recognised the accuser as a fellow Deer, but not one she was well acquainted with. His arms were laden with gifts which, true to his words, were high in quality, and, if correlation followed the norm, price. Hilda knew opulence when she saw it. But whilst the selection matched her lavish tastes quite nicely, the student stood before her had not been the fates' choice for her giftee.

"Hmm. Not me, I'm afraid." Running a finger along the luxurious material of the saddle, she added, "But if you find whoever it is, let them know I'm always open for gifts, if the urge ever strikes!"