It's not an unfamiliar accent. Only a few shades off from Ellis, a variation that says farmland still even after he's ranged years away from where he was brought up.

"I've survived worse," Ellis counters, as Noose readjusts position over his boot. He'd paused in his work, and now gently tugs the last stitch tight before lancing the needle through a pinched fold of cloth. His attention redirects to her, hands falling still over the tunic in his lap.

"You can sit, if you need."

If it's that kind of conversation.