Eddie is in the middle of raising a fork of eggs to his mouth when Erin comes across him. He raises an eyebrow in interest before lowering the fork back down onto his plate and eyeing the washcloth curiously.
Before unceremoniously untying the washcloth to reveal the tiny little bundle of guitar picks. His eyes light up immediate in recognition of each little branding.
"Holy shit! These are beautiful. Erin, seriously, thank you so much, you shouldn't have."
"I can't claim sole credit," Erin returns, playfully. "Peter Smith's wood treatments made 'em usable as actual picks, but I'm glad y'like 'em. Figure maybe you enjoy owning fingers and it's hard to shred without some."
Peter Smith -- ah, yes, Eddie remembers him, he'll have to thank him the next time he runs into him. "Well thank you, both of you then!" He smiles brightly as he runs his fingers over each pick, noting the way they feel.
"They'll be perfect, man, can't wait to get home and try them out!" Which, okay, he sometimes thinks before speaking, but doesn't bother correcting himself when he realizes he's called the damn boat home.
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Before unceremoniously untying the washcloth to reveal the tiny little bundle of guitar picks. His eyes light up immediate in recognition of each little branding.
"Holy shit! These are beautiful. Erin, seriously, thank you so much, you shouldn't have."
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"They'll be perfect, man, can't wait to get home and try them out!" Which, okay, he sometimes thinks before speaking, but doesn't bother correcting himself when he realizes he's called the damn boat home.
Probably wrap?