Weather may seem like a dull subject of conversation — more like he's killing time than anything else — but it'd been strange to think that this is the only season he's had yet to see in Kirkwall. Late fall, winter, spring, summer: all times of year where he knows what to expect.
Maybe in another year, or two, or five, he'll forget what it was like to live in climate-controlled stations and ships, gravity only a gentle suggestion under his feet and seasons an impossibility.
He accepts the redirection, breaking from that line of thought, and blinks against the rain as he considers the question. He shakes his head.
"I lost track of the time. They still need all the help they can get at the settlement just outside the city."
Things are stabler for the refugees than they'd been a matter of weeks ago, but there's still plenty of work to be done.
Maybe his tone shouldn't sound so grim, but it does. Ellis is thinking of the Fifth Blight, of what it was to be displaced so entirely. If there's any benefit, it's that they could return to their land the moment Tevinter was driven from it.
But that's the difficulty: how long would it take to drive Tevinter back from the territory that had been occupied?
"I've meant to spend time there. I've some experience in building shelters that'll hold against the weather."
Said as the downfall intensifies momentarily, dousing them as they duck briskly through the streets. Timing.
His boot catches on a puddle, and it's enough to slow him down momentarily as he stumbles. It's only a brief slip, though, and he luckily doesn't go down or anything equally embarrassing. Regaining his footing, he moves to catch up with Ellis as they take another turn onto an equally rain-slicked street.
"There's more need for them than there are hands, and the rain hasn't helped."
The slip goes unremarked upon. The recovery was graceful enough, surely nothing else need be said.
"I can help you, as the rest of my duties allow," Ellis offers, though his tone tips towards mild humor. As if one man is going to shift the imbalance there. "But you might put out a call and see if you can attract more from our group."
Surely Ellis isn't the only one capable of wielding some hammers.
Though Ellis derails the opportunity for either of them say as much by veering to the right, towards a building with light still burning in one window. He nods up at it, as he says, "Here. This is the place."
No, one man isn't going to shift the imbalance. But if Holden starts thinking about it that way, he might have to cast a more critical eye on how he's been spending his time. One man can't change a whole lot, but he do something, at least.
And it's a good notion, though he's distracted too by the inn Ellis points out.
"Cozy," he says, and whether it's dry or not is surely hard to make out in the damp. Instead, he heads for the door, holds it open for Ellis.
The Amber Crow is modest, with a chipped sign hung off a rusting post above the door. Behind the door is a pair of portly dwarves, crowded together around a small table upon which rests a checkerboard. One slits a glance at the pair of them, kicks his partner under the table, receives a kick in return which prompts him to leave her to her move on the board while he slouches towards the counter to attend to the pair of them.
As predicted, the rates are higher than is possibly acceptable. Ellis puts down the coin for it without waiting, and lets Holden accept the key to the room.
"I can pay for another," is what Ellis offers however, upon seeing the small space they've been allotted. Will Holden fit on the bed, is the question. It's not exactly proportioned for dwarves, but it's not truly intended for a man of Holden's height.
"I remember saying something about having the coin," is the objection he finally voices as they consider the small room. He doesn't even sound dismayed, really, just resigned. Of course Ellis's preferred inn was built by dwarves. If this weren't Ellis, he'd strongly suspect this to be a practical joke.
"I can sleep on the floor," he returns, already helping himself to a towel that'd been offered to keep them from dripping all over the already tight space.
is not calling Ellis a liar, but is inviting the concept into the room. He towels off his face and hair, leaving the latter an unruly mess, his neck, and his hands before he attends to the matter of his boots. No point tracking in more water and grime.
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Maybe in another year, or two, or five, he'll forget what it was like to live in climate-controlled stations and ships, gravity only a gentle suggestion under his feet and seasons an impossibility.
He accepts the redirection, breaking from that line of thought, and blinks against the rain as he considers the question. He shakes his head.
"I lost track of the time. They still need all the help they can get at the settlement just outside the city."
Things are stabler for the refugees than they'd been a matter of weeks ago, but there's still plenty of work to be done.
no subject
Maybe his tone shouldn't sound so grim, but it does. Ellis is thinking of the Fifth Blight, of what it was to be displaced so entirely. If there's any benefit, it's that they could return to their land the moment Tevinter was driven from it.
But that's the difficulty: how long would it take to drive Tevinter back from the territory that had been occupied?
"I've meant to spend time there. I've some experience in building shelters that'll hold against the weather."
Said as the downfall intensifies momentarily, dousing them as they duck briskly through the streets. Timing.
no subject
His boot catches on a puddle, and it's enough to slow him down momentarily as he stumbles. It's only a brief slip, though, and he luckily doesn't go down or anything equally embarrassing. Regaining his footing, he moves to catch up with Ellis as they take another turn onto an equally rain-slicked street.
"There's more need for them than there are hands, and the rain hasn't helped."
Clearly.
no subject
"I can help you, as the rest of my duties allow," Ellis offers, though his tone tips towards mild humor. As if one man is going to shift the imbalance there. "But you might put out a call and see if you can attract more from our group."
Surely Ellis isn't the only one capable of wielding some hammers.
Though Ellis derails the opportunity for either of them say as much by veering to the right, towards a building with light still burning in one window. He nods up at it, as he says, "Here. This is the place."
puts a hand over timestamps
And it's a good notion, though he's distracted too by the inn Ellis points out.
"Cozy," he says, and whether it's dry or not is surely hard to make out in the damp. Instead, he heads for the door, holds it open for Ellis.
no subject
The Amber Crow is modest, with a chipped sign hung off a rusting post above the door. Behind the door is a pair of portly dwarves, crowded together around a small table upon which rests a checkerboard. One slits a glance at the pair of them, kicks his partner under the table, receives a kick in return which prompts him to leave her to her move on the board while he slouches towards the counter to attend to the pair of them.
As predicted, the rates are higher than is possibly acceptable. Ellis puts down the coin for it without waiting, and lets Holden accept the key to the room.
"I can pay for another," is what Ellis offers however, upon seeing the small space they've been allotted. Will Holden fit on the bed, is the question. It's not exactly proportioned for dwarves, but it's not truly intended for a man of Holden's height.
oh my god
"I can sleep on the floor," he returns, already helping himself to a towel that'd been offered to keep them from dripping all over the already tight space.
heheheh
"The beds were proper-sized, when I was here last," Ellis says, a mild defense. "They might have run through those rooms before we arrived."
Or their hosts just weren't so concerned with Holden's comfort.
Setting down his own satchel, Ellis begins carefully peeling off his sodden coat. They're resigning themselves to this, so.
no subject
is not calling Ellis a liar, but is inviting the concept into the room. He towels off his face and hair, leaving the latter an unruly mess, his neck, and his hands before he attends to the matter of his boots. No point tracking in more water and grime.