open.

[heorte]

WHO: Ellis + OTA
WHAT: Dream aftermath and other miscellany.
WHEN: Post-dream, Wintermarch/Kingsway-ish.
WHERE: Gallows, etc.
NOTES: A handful of opportunities to bump into/corner Ellis post-dream. If you want something in particular, hit me up for a starter or just go ham in the comments.

GALLOWS

Normally, Ellis lays out his mending across Wysteria's kitchen table, well away from open flame or acid-based chemicals, but close enough to participate in the rise and fall of conversation between Wysteria and Tony and sometimes Fitz. It had become a comfortable routine.

But the dream rattled something loose, enough so that Ellis has instead taken up space close to the fire with a small pile of items set on a stool to be repaired. Noose has made an appearance, claimed Ellis' booted foot as resting place for a lazy nap. Intermittent twitches and small yips punctuate the work.

He'd been whistling softly, but the song tapers to a halt at the approach of a third party. There's a beat of quiet, Ellis' eyebrows raising in silent question. There is a second chair, but surely Noose is the bigger draw between them.

"Aye?" comes slowly, prompting, as Noose slits open one eye to assess the newcomer before yawning almost comedically loudly in punctuation.

FIELD WORK

In his experience, Tantervale is almost always muddier than it should be. The passing snowfall has turned the roads to chilly slush, and the spatter of it has streaked horse and rider thoroughly long before they've made their way to the spot marked on the map and discovered the ruins in question are set further beyond the scrubby, barren spate of trees. One crumbling tower is visible from the road, the only sufficient marker guiding them forward.

So far, no one has been obliged to dismount. And once off the road, the chance of mud splatter is greatly reduced. Small blessings.

"Are we certain there's anything of value to be found?" Ellis questions mildly. It's a little late to abandon the venture, regardless of mud, snow drifts and dubiously accurate maps. But exactly what they're recovering could stand to be clearer. "Long lost valuables from the Viscount Aravind's forefather's collections" isn't as helpful as Viscount Aravind might have considered when lodging his request with Riftwatch.

WILDCARD.

( do literally whatever you want, i'm not the boss of you. )

Comments

[poleaxed]

Jone keeps working on what she's given, generally slower than Ellis. She's just not as fastidious, though there have been times when she hadn't the money to just buy new clothing, when she had to mend everything she owned. A motivation to take better contracts.

No luck for it now.

"You Riftwatch lot are the worst sort, Andraste Almighty. No half-bright fool makes a stunt like that and isn't ready for questions."

[heorte]

After this long among them, it shouldn't twinge against his attention to be included in the midst of Riftwatch's number, and yet.

"I'd understand if you weren't interested in talking about it beyond what's already been said."

Which might say more about him than anything else.

"Part of me thinks it's about as good a way to deal with that dream as can be."

When the baseline is the Ambassador's insinuating questions, it's not a hard bar to clear in Ellis' eyes.

[poleaxed]

"Who knows, you may be the first to ask a question that isn't a barely bloody hidden insult."

Not that her pride is on the line, it never is.

"I meant to show this lot how stupid a grudge would be. I hope, if some twat decides to hold that sourness in his heart, he'd remember he's making himself a bigger fool than me. And that's dead embarrassing."

[heorte]

"Not a bad example to set," Ellis replies.

He isn't entirely certain whether or not it's a move that had the intended effect. But Ellis' concerns are narrow. There's a very small number of people he's concerned himself with, and what sort of scuffles ripple out among the rest of the company will only be an issue for him when they create some danger in the field.

Optimistic, to think that it might not come to that.

"None of the healers objected to your method?"

[poleaxed]

"Yeah, yeah. We'll see if it holds." Finally done with the initial sock, she reaches over for a second, getting to work quickly. She likes having something to do with her hands. "Oh, the dwarf kicked up a fuss, but if she don't at every opportunity I think it might kill her."

[heorte]

That draws a chuckle from Ellis, half-smile brightening in response though he doesn't answer her for a moment, delayed with a stretch of fabric where the tear won't draw neatly together.

"Aye, Sister Sara is given to that," comes the answer, quiet amusement coloring over his tone. "She means well."

And Ellis understands where it comes from, even if he can't muster the same ferocity.

"And you can't say we don't give her reason."

A statement which includes Ellis, who collects his fair share of injuries.

[poleaxed]

"It's her bloody job. If I howled every time there was an idiot needed killing, no one would have nearly the patience."

Not that she feels any ill will against them, not that she's dumb enough not to realize the difference between healing or killing-- she's just complaining for the sake of it; an old and bitter tradition of the perpetually disappointed.

"Speaking of," she sighs over a pulled stitch, "how's tricks?"

[heorte]

The temptation to ask which tricks presents itself and is summarily dismissed.

"Well enough," is the customary answer, isn't it?

At his feet, Noose's feet kick in a half-hearted attempt to shift position. Ellis' boot lifts slightly in answer as he tugs the thread taut, pauses a moment to check his handiwork before continuing, "I've no one to seek revenge on, and I haven't argued with the Ambassador, so I've no complaints."

That's the bar to beat at present, Ellis believes.

[poleaxed]

"A blissful life for a warden, ennit." Jone finally finishes her sock, and reaches for another. "So you're obviously lying. I know you lot, you're all sad bastards at the best of times."

[heorte]

A smile, a proper smile, flashed over to her in response. Rebuttal or confirmation, who can say?

"A man can be a sad bastard without complaining of it," Ellis points out mildly. It is the second time in so many days he's been party to some consideration of what peace of mind might be open to him. Or the absence of it. "Suppose being a sad bastard as a rule gives me a better sense of when I've nothing to point to as a cause of it?"