There is so much of the city to look at that the relief of having the authority of navigation stripped from her is a pleasant relief. It affords her the opportunity to stare at the variety of stalls and the lantern lit squares, the variety of foot traffic, and even the great pillars stretching to the ceiling of the city pitched high, high above their heads with only the occasional remark of 'Oh, do you see that pattern there. It is almost certainly derived from one of the ancient house crests, which I have read all about in—'
And then they are drawing up. Wysteria, who in one of her simpler frocks, sturdy field boots, and wide-eyed eager expression is the very picture of some eager scholar, doesn't yet think to reclaim either of her hands as the center link of the chain. Instead:
"Do you require a clock for your new office, Provost?"
Before they'd set out, Ellis had taken care to rise early and take a soft cloth to his armor until it gleamed, went over the blue of his uniform to be certain there were no errant rips or tears he'd missed. He'd always been meticulous about the Warden-issued uniform, in spite of all the baggage, but it matters more in Orzammar.
The sigil on his chest carries a weight here that it simply doesn't above ground. He is aware of that. (And aware he may very well not be the only Warden moving through the city.)
As they walk, his thumb has been fallen into absent, anxious progression, back and forth across Wysteria's knuckles. Their shared delight is simply and straightforwardly good. Drawing up the rear of their little party, Ellis has been free to absorb their expressions as they take in their surroundings.
It isn't exactly commonplace for Ellis, but he'd visited enough times to have grown used to the wonder of Orzammar, city and market alike. Tony and Wysteria reacting to it draw some renewed curiosity from Ellis, what can be spared from observing the people passing around them.
"Hold out for the mechanical birds," Ellis advises. Wysteria hasn't let go of either of them so Ellis' grip remains, albeit loosened by a degree, thumb stilling as if the nervous tic has finally been noticed and silenced. "I remember them being very impressive."
"Kind of think I'll be in for a bad time if I'm the only person in the Gallows who knows what the heck kind of time it is, ever."
At night, anyway. People gauge something accurate in the daytime if they're hellbent, but what's the difference between a comfortable 10 pm or a black skied, lonely 3 am, when you're lost in the sauce of your work? Maybe a mechanical bird would be neat, and Tony bounces a skeptical glance off of Ellis over Wysteria's head.
He breaks the daisy chain, shaking apart the loose grip he had on Wysteria's hand as he moves on into the cordoned off area, attracted immediately to the smaller timepieces. Some of them are set in little latch boxes, and some of the most expensive closed in metal shells, a little bigger than a pocketwatch, but still impressive.
"Well I think it's a very good idea to know the time and I dislike having to remember to light a candle to do it," is not quite a protest and not quite directed at the back of Tony's head as he sidesteps into the boundary of the shop except for how it absolutely is.
With a labored sidelong look to Ellis, Wysteria breaks the remaining link of the chain and slips in after Tony.
"There is a great standing clock somewhere in the Gallows, I think. I believe Mister--Casimir was keeping it, though I can't remember where last I saw it. It must be in an archival room somewhere. Or perhaps Monsieur Baudin took it with him when he vacated the division office. I can't imagine such a thing could simply go missing."
A warning bark of 'Don't touch!' from the eagle-eyed merchant across the stall has Wysteria's hand snapping back from the verge of opening the panel at the front of a mantle clock. With a gentle repositioning of her body, she resumes her inspection.
Recipient of both gazes, Ellis nods to each in turn. Yes, these are valid looks of judgement, of course. To the agitated merchant, Ellis lifts a placating hand as he shadows the pair of them in their inspection of the stall's offerings.
"It might be in one of the storage rooms," Ellis suggests, before adding, "Though if we bought a large clock it would be difficult to transport all the way back to Kirkwall, and up the stairs in the Gallows."
Not impossible, just. difficult. Delicate internal machinery is a tricky thing to insulate in the back of a cart.
"Someone would notice you."
A secondary concern, but one Ellis suspects Tony would be more interested in.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
And then they are drawing up. Wysteria, who in one of her simpler frocks, sturdy field boots, and wide-eyed eager expression is the very picture of some eager scholar, doesn't yet think to reclaim either of her hands as the center link of the chain. Instead:
"Do you require a clock for your new office, Provost?"
no subject
The sigil on his chest carries a weight here that it simply doesn't above ground. He is aware of that. (And aware he may very well not be the only Warden moving through the city.)
As they walk, his thumb has been fallen into absent, anxious progression, back and forth across Wysteria's knuckles. Their shared delight is simply and straightforwardly good. Drawing up the rear of their little party, Ellis has been free to absorb their expressions as they take in their surroundings.
It isn't exactly commonplace for Ellis, but he'd visited enough times to have grown used to the wonder of Orzammar, city and market alike. Tony and Wysteria reacting to it draw some renewed curiosity from Ellis, what can be spared from observing the people passing around them.
"Hold out for the mechanical birds," Ellis advises. Wysteria hasn't let go of either of them so Ellis' grip remains, albeit loosened by a degree, thumb stilling as if the nervous tic has finally been noticed and silenced. "I remember them being very impressive."
no subject
At night, anyway. People gauge something accurate in the daytime if they're hellbent, but what's the difference between a comfortable 10 pm or a black skied, lonely 3 am, when you're lost in the sauce of your work? Maybe a mechanical bird would be neat, and Tony bounces a skeptical glance off of Ellis over Wysteria's head.
He breaks the daisy chain, shaking apart the loose grip he had on Wysteria's hand as he moves on into the cordoned off area, attracted immediately to the smaller timepieces. Some of them are set in little latch boxes, and some of the most expensive closed in metal shells, a little bigger than a pocketwatch, but still impressive.
Like, he's grading on a curve, here.
no subject
With a labored sidelong look to Ellis, Wysteria breaks the remaining link of the chain and slips in after Tony.
"There is a great standing clock somewhere in the Gallows, I think. I believe Mister--Casimir was keeping it, though I can't remember where last I saw it. It must be in an archival room somewhere. Or perhaps Monsieur Baudin took it with him when he vacated the division office. I can't imagine such a thing could simply go missing."
A warning bark of 'Don't touch!' from the eagle-eyed merchant across the stall has Wysteria's hand snapping back from the verge of opening the panel at the front of a mantle clock. With a gentle repositioning of her body, she resumes her inspection.
no subject
"It might be in one of the storage rooms," Ellis suggests, before adding, "Though if we bought a large clock it would be difficult to transport all the way back to Kirkwall, and up the stairs in the Gallows."
Not impossible, just. difficult. Delicate internal machinery is a tricky thing to insulate in the back of a cart.
"Someone would notice you."
A secondary concern, but one Ellis suspects Tony would be more interested in.