Phalanx's hair gains a bit of color and waviness at the ends as the frustration grows. They press their mouth into a flat frown, looking back down at the trinkets in their hand, and think hard.

"Why are they yours..."

A few seconds go by as they wrestle in their own head, but in the end, they just start to close their fingers around the sharp little things and explain with some exasperation, "Mine."