[The symbol is just about as rough and jagged as the man wearing it. The shape is similar in appearance to a skull, but peering closely, the base of it forms an S shape as well. It' simple in appearance, and the gold is probably fake or just plated, but...the value isn't in how much money it'd net being melted down or whatever. Oh no, Guzma would never allow such a thing no matter how much money he got for it. The experiences had and the weight of this symbol is worth far more than anything a few dollars could give him.
If only he had another one to give - the silver pendants he has his grunts wear... Effortlessly would he hand one over to the Drifter, as a sign - a symbol - that they are part of his team, his family. They belong, and Guzma would treat them as one of his own until he's dead and gone. Even without, of course, he'd do the same, but sometimes having something that ties people together, something tangible, is just as meaningful as the action itself.
Guzma snickers softly, nodding his head as he slouches and hooks his thumbs on his belt loops. It never fails - he reaches out, and people...little misfit kids who think so low of themselves, are always so darn astonished. It's kind of sad--no, it's really sad, but he feels good being the one to act. No one ought to feel like they don't belong. He's been there, it sucks, and having had the first ever family that felt like a family, even if it was just a bunch of stupid kids with nothing to their name...
Or an island filled with people of differing backgrounds, trying to make a living, and get back home--
no subject
If only he had another one to give - the silver pendants he has his grunts wear... Effortlessly would he hand one over to the Drifter, as a sign - a symbol - that they are part of his team, his family. They belong, and Guzma would treat them as one of his own until he's dead and gone. Even without, of course, he'd do the same, but sometimes having something that ties people together, something tangible, is just as meaningful as the action itself.
Guzma snickers softly, nodding his head as he slouches and hooks his thumbs on his belt loops. It never fails - he reaches out, and people...little misfit kids who think so low of themselves, are always so darn astonished. It's kind of sad--no, it's really sad, but he feels good being the one to act. No one ought to feel like they don't belong. He's been there, it sucks, and having had the first ever family that felt like a family, even if it was just a bunch of stupid kids with nothing to their name...
Or an island filled with people of differing backgrounds, trying to make a living, and get back home--
It's pretty great.]
S'what I said.