I’ve mentioned before how the human male is more or less addicted to fountain pens. He is a connoisseur, not just of the pens themselves, but of inks and papers and pen wallets and the entire experience.
He has very, very fancy shopping lists.
He has recently spent some of his saved pennies upon a super-fancy fountain pen, and today it came! Sigyn and I have volunteered to unpack it. (This demonstrates either a lapse of judgment or a sad, willful ignorance of my propensity for mischief.)
Magic is exceedingly useful for opening boxes–I never have to hunt up the scissors!
This is a well-traveled pen!
Sigyn thinks the QR code would make a fun cross-stitch pattern.
The customs form is not terribly descriptive.
We have the box open now. Right on top is a picture postcard of a…
I give up. I’m stumped. If a typewriter and a very small pipe organ had a baby, I imagine it might look something like this.
And if this is what the enclosed pen looks like…