Sometimes when Freminet’s diving, he picks up a few coins, or articles of jewelry, and he holds onto them until he resurfaces.

He likes to gift them to you, see if your business can profit from a couple nifty things he’s gathered, and in return you sometimes buy him mechanical parts from Beaumont Workshop that he can’t afford yet, and so he holds on tight to those spare coins and bracelets and necklaces and earrings because he dislikes the prospect of his value diminishing in your eyes.

It’s an arrangement of sorts, at the very least.

He’s draped across your lap, hair spilling over one of your legs as he gazes up at you listlessly.

You’re holding the coin up to the window, watching the light refract over it as you hold his hand loosely.

And for a moment, he feels like he’s drowning in the depths of the sea.