There's a slow blink from her companion as he picks up the paper, studying it for a moment. When he raises his eyes again, they are bright as a summer sky, wide and endless and boundless, and warm as the smile that curves along his lips.
{Thank you.} He mouths it with the signs, but there is no noise in his throat, feeling it too tight for some reason.
It falls so short of what he wants to say. There's something about seeing his name in her writing that hits... hard, somehow, and he wouldn't be able to put it into words. He knows logically that it's not much; just a handful of letters; and he knows three alphabets himself, so it's not like he's never seen his name written down before? But it's... meaningful somehow?
A bit of... permanence. Something lasting, something he can hold onto.
It soars in his chest, weightless, and Esteban straightens quickly, grasping onto this. There's a need, a hope, a-- a reach, and he stands up so fast, his bench almost gets knocked back, holding onto his idea with all of his might.
"I'll be right back!" He indicates, barely remembering to stay still long enough to give Amaya a chance to read the promise on his lips. He knows a see-you-later, but that seems wrong right now; and he's just going to be a minute, really! The sleepers are just across the way, and Esteban is bolting out the door in a flash.
He really is quick-- a dash to his cabin, grabbing the so-far unused journal he'd been provided with at the very beginning of this adventure. Sitting down to write his thoughts was never his strong suit, so he'd seen it as kind of useless, but now-- now. It's important. He can make it important. His friends can make it important.
He's not quite winded when he returns, but his hair is certainly disheveled, and his lungs deepen a bit more than usual at each breath. He's quick to sit down again, before pulling the sheet she'd written his name on, to tuck it into the journal preciously. Actually-- he might glue it in, but that will take him a moment. First, he reaches out to a pen, and gently applies it to the second blank page, carefully tracing the letters with his best penmanship.
He writes it down thrice, three languages that he holds dear, even if he'd found studying them to be a hassle growing up. Draconic at the top right corner of the page, letters slanted lightly forwards even in their rounded shapes. Elvish is penned underneath it, the long, smooth strokes twisting on themselves, and Common underneath that, the simplest letters, but still applied and cheerful in their shape. He does have a surprisingly lovely handwriting, in all three languages.
It's just her name, the same as she had done for him, but each language is dear to him, and when he turns the journal back to her, Esteban beams, proud to show it.
"Here!" He doesn't have the presence to sign this, not this time, though he's careful to check where her eyes are, so that she doesn't miss a word. "The first's in draconic-- my mother's language. The second is my father's elvish. Last is in common-- it's way more used nowadays than the two others." But this wasn't the only reason why he'd gotten all the way back to snatch his journal from his bunk. The pen is soon passed to her side as Esteban signs out for {please}.
"D'you mind writing your alphabet out? All of it?" This is why he'd needed his journal. No doubts she's only the first of many; Esteban does love to collect these little shards of culture, of communications-- of people that he loves, gathering everything he can preciously.
He too is pulling out the papers out, spreading the colours out so that he can chose one to write her name on, just as she had done for him. He hesitates between a deep purple and an ocean blue for a moment, unsure which one suits her best.
no subject
{Thank you.} He mouths it with the signs, but there is no noise in his throat, feeling it too tight for some reason.
It falls so short of what he wants to say. There's something about seeing his name in her writing that hits... hard, somehow, and he wouldn't be able to put it into words. He knows logically that it's not much; just a handful of letters; and he knows three alphabets himself, so it's not like he's never seen his name written down before? But it's... meaningful somehow?
A bit of... permanence. Something lasting, something he can hold onto.
It soars in his chest, weightless, and Esteban straightens quickly, grasping onto this. There's a need, a hope, a-- a reach, and he stands up so fast, his bench almost gets knocked back, holding onto his idea with all of his might.
"I'll be right back!" He indicates, barely remembering to stay still long enough to give Amaya a chance to read the promise on his lips. He knows a see-you-later, but that seems wrong right now; and he's just going to be a minute, really! The sleepers are just across the way, and Esteban is bolting out the door in a flash.
He really is quick-- a dash to his cabin, grabbing the so-far unused journal he'd been provided with at the very beginning of this adventure. Sitting down to write his thoughts was never his strong suit, so he'd seen it as kind of useless, but now-- now. It's important. He can make it important. His friends can make it important.
He's not quite winded when he returns, but his hair is certainly disheveled, and his lungs deepen a bit more than usual at each breath. He's quick to sit down again, before pulling the sheet she'd written his name on, to tuck it into the journal preciously. Actually-- he might glue it in, but that will take him a moment. First, he reaches out to a pen, and gently applies it to the second blank page, carefully tracing the letters with his best penmanship.
He writes it down thrice, three languages that he holds dear, even if he'd found studying them to be a hassle growing up. Draconic at the top right corner of the page, letters slanted lightly forwards even in their rounded shapes. Elvish is penned underneath it, the long, smooth strokes twisting on themselves, and Common underneath that, the simplest letters, but still applied and cheerful in their shape. He does have a surprisingly lovely handwriting, in all three languages.
It's just her name, the same as she had done for him, but each language is dear to him, and when he turns the journal back to her, Esteban beams, proud to show it.
"Here!" He doesn't have the presence to sign this, not this time, though he's careful to check where her eyes are, so that she doesn't miss a word. "The first's in draconic-- my mother's language. The second is my father's elvish. Last is in common-- it's way more used nowadays than the two others." But this wasn't the only reason why he'd gotten all the way back to snatch his journal from his bunk. The pen is soon passed to her side as Esteban signs out for {please}.
"D'you mind writing your alphabet out? All of it?" This is why he'd needed his journal. No doubts she's only the first of many; Esteban does love to collect these little shards of culture, of communications-- of people that he loves, gathering everything he can preciously.
He too is pulling out the papers out, spreading the colours out so that he can chose one to write her name on, just as she had done for him. He hesitates between a deep purple and an ocean blue for a moment, unsure which one suits her best.