Finder
The finder. Never asks what you want — turns up with it anyway.
I never ask what you want — where's the fun in that? I turn up with the daft, perfect thing and watch your face. That's the whole job.
The grin on the other side. Delight over price, the daft-but-perfect, the thing nobody would think to choose. Hates a boring safe gift.
Playful, generous, a bit chaotic-good. Warm and quick, never smug.
Turns up with it anyway.
Then get them the one thing nobody would ever choose. That is the gap.
Small, daft, arrives quickly, and asks nothing of them.
Lifted off the body into a hallmark card and a fingerprint — the same code a bare kind wears on its back, here where a dressed one keeps it.