closed.

[heorte]

WHO: Benevenuta Thevenet Dorian Pavus, Ellis
WHAT: A tour
WHEN: Early August
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: What warning is appropriate for Dorian and Benny?

There is some point between Ellis' trek from the training yard to the shambles of the dining hall where it occurs that he might have over-committed himself. The brief dip in conversation with the woman, the invocation of a Warden Ellis had only known in passing and is now gone, perhaps should have been a sign to give them a wide berth for the moment.

And yet, he does not turn back.

No one could accuse these new arrivals of blending in, even without the mabari. Ellis marks them immediately, weaves around the patch of newly laid stonework to approach them.

"The dining hall is usually in better condition," he says, by way of greeting. Politely does not direct all his attention immediately to the mabari.

Comments

[ungovernable]

The mabari is mostly white, an older dog but not yet retired, lingering close to—

yes, they are rather unmistakable. Benevenuta's traveling clothes are fairly distinct; sensible-enough soft grey leather trousers, close-fitting, but her coat and cloak have been bundled with her luggage and the blouse she's wearing only begins buttoning about halfway down her torso, sleeves slashed open from shoulder to elbow and elbow to wrist. Her boots feature silver skulls fixed to the points that rise just above her knees, and her hair is bound back in a tight braid down to her waist. Her staff is taller than she is, bladed, and she's strapped up and tied to it a square wood and leather case with a jeweled lock.

In addition to their things, which look like at least Ellis is going to get plenty of dog-time out of this making probably two journeys to get them settled.

Max sniffs at his thigh, interested, as Benevenuta beams up at him. “That we have in common with it, but it was a quite the journey from the Frostbacks.”

[liberalum]

The man with her is a few inches taller, and especially obviously capable of carrying his own things. At least, once you look past certain details like a curled mustache and nails painted black like beetle backs and prim haircut and any other indicator of 'foreign pampered aristocrat'. Regardless, he is too dressed for their journey in lightweight leathers, many buckles, a raised collar, and bared arms, well bronzed in the high sun.

Dorian watches Ellis approach, and his smile is bright, symmetrical, not quite as maniacal as it could be. His own staff is at his back, serpentstone and iron.

"Careful," he adds, as to the state of the dining hall, "or we'll talk you into showing us out for dinner too."

A little of the comedic bullying has given way to acknowledgment. Ellis has been very sporting.

[heorte]

They make quite the picture. Ellis considers that at a remove, almost has the urge to step back and study them both properly. They strike him as a matched set, equally blinding in a first impression. The amount of buckles on it's own—

"I'll watch my step," he says, a shade of humor in his tone, before pointing out: "You both look capable of handling more than few bags."

Which doesn't mean Ellis won't carry them up however many flights of stairs. But he hasn't mistaken either of them for helpless, even without knowing much else about them. There are questions piling up: their association with the Inquisition, the Frostbacks, what they're doing here, but ultimately it's not his business what they do and don't volunteer to him.

"Have the pair of you picked out rooms?" He asks, absently offers a hand to the mabari. (It's a precursor to Ellis simply going down on one knee to pet the dog properly, but it seems impolite at this stage.)

[ungovernable]

“A room, yes,” Benevenuta agrees, briefly consulting a scrap of paper on which she has scrawled directions, “I understand they are quite large, the Gallows hardly lacking for accommodation.”

Both because it's the fucking Gallows and because Riftwatch is, frankly, no competition for the sheer manpower of the Inquisition. That the two of them had shared a room there for so long was necessity, after she'd given up her own private room to live in a tent among the wardens, but now it's habit. Preference, even, although she might object to being called upon to say out loud that she wouldn't like to do without Dorian's company.

Separate beds that they didn't have to pitch a tent and march somewhere intemperate to get will be nice, though.

“And where are your own quarters?”

[liberalum]

Indeed, now that forward progress is being made, Dorian goes ahead and picks up one of his saddlebags, which is a little warped from all the bookage it is carrying, and he hefts it over one well muscled, well tanned shoulder. He picks up another of its like, watching Ellis greet the dog, and so decides to take mercy and not immediately pitch the bag at the handsome Fereldan they've managed to catch in their claws within moments of their arrival.

They truly are a marvel! But anyway. Dorian swings this second bag on it straps as if to gear up for delivery, saying, "We look capable," agreeably, "but it's all for aesthetic. A stiff wind could knock us over, being delicate of disposition and good breeding, you see."

[heorte]

In the course of Benevenuta and Dorian's responses, Ellis has sunk to one knee to scritch the mabari in question behind the ear. The look he directs them both is amused, not quite taken in by the idea that either of them are so delicate as to be helpless.

"Sixth floor," Ellis answers Benevenuta. "But don't worry. The joint rooms are only four or five floors up, so you don't have to worry about getting to winded following me up."

There is a point where he'll have to stop directing attention to scratching the mabari under the chin. He does take a moment to eye their luggage, perhaps measuring how many trips up and down he's committing himself to, before asking—

"Which of these are you planning I start with? The essentials?"