WHO: Fenris, Jone, & YOU. WHAT: Fenris & Jone are back in Kirkwall. WHEN: When... people... are back in Kirkwall... waves hand. WHERE: KIRKWALL NOTES: None yet.
"No," Ellis answers, easy over an old truth. Wardens don't sleep well. (Ellis hadn't slept well even before becoming a Warden.) He breaks apart the end of bread, trailing around to lean against the table. "You?"
Upon study of her bruises, Ellis has time to consider the likelihood of them being earned in the training yard, or elsewhere, and whether or not it's worth it to ask after the answer.
In better lighting, closer to the candleflame, the bruises on her neck take the clear shape of, well, hickies. If he's been anywhere near the training yard, he certainly hasn't seen that. By the same token, he wouldn't have seen much of Jone either. She's been strangely absent since the majority of Riftwatch returned to the Gallows, but it's only been a few days, barely three.
"A bit," Jone concedes, without any evident difficulty. "Never been in a siege before. Nasty stuff."
He is thinking of Jone's hands, digging through rubble. There is still nothing to say for that. He doesn't care to invite any of it further into the room with them now.
"Is that why..."
A trailing question, Ellis' hand gesturing vaguely to his own throat.
Jone has not blushed since she was fifteen and is not pleased to learn she still has the ability. She nearly drops her food in the process of pulling her shirt up, hiding the markings on her throat.
Jone suddenly has the entirely too vivid fantasy of pulling the lad into a headlock, but they've all seen a bit too much lately. Huffing with irrational embarrassment, she says, "he ain't so fancy, exactly..."
Embarrassment from Jone is a novel thing to see, and Ellis doesn't expect a repeat performance anytime soon.
However, his smile still widens further, before his expression settles, the quality of humor in his face veering back towards solemnity. There's warmth in his voice still when he presses—
"Is he good to you?"
Not teasing, not really. A question with an answer that matters.
An uncomfortable shift, this true, real question. She likes to blanket her truths in blaring noise, shock and stupidity, anything to hide the genuine feelings she holds dear. Yet, she can trust Ellis. He's shown her that. Anything less would be an insult.
"Some'll say he aint," she says, thinking of Barrow and his unasked-for concern. "But I been over my head before. Know what that is. He can't hurt me, even if he wanted to, and..." A small smile. Genuine. Loving. "He don't. Think he'd rather burn than that."
A good answer. Ellis sits with it a moment, considering the way Jone expresses this thing.
He's happy for her. It's as simple as that, even if he has to turn it over in his mind to acclimate to the idea of it.
The look he gives her is very tender, but rather than say something equally matched, Ellis shifts his weight and replies, "That's good then. I'd rather not have to hunt him down to offer a correction."
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Upon study of her bruises, Ellis has time to consider the likelihood of them being earned in the training yard, or elsewhere, and whether or not it's worth it to ask after the answer.
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"A bit," Jone concedes, without any evident difficulty. "Never been in a siege before. Nasty stuff."
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He is thinking of Jone's hands, digging through rubble. There is still nothing to say for that. He doesn't care to invite any of it further into the room with them now.
"Is that why..."
A trailing question, Ellis' hand gesturing vaguely to his own throat.
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Her voice is uncharacteristically high, "no!"
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He straightens by degrees, a broad smile rising to his face as he watches her.
"Do you have a fancy man, Jone?"
Turnabout is fair play, after all. Had she not asked him nearly the same question?
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But, you know. Yes.
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However, his smile still widens further, before his expression settles, the quality of humor in his face veering back towards solemnity. There's warmth in his voice still when he presses—
"Is he good to you?"
Not teasing, not really. A question with an answer that matters.
no subject
"Some'll say he aint," she says, thinking of Barrow and his unasked-for concern. "But I been over my head before. Know what that is. He can't hurt me, even if he wanted to, and..." A small smile. Genuine. Loving. "He don't. Think he'd rather burn than that."
no subject
He's happy for her. It's as simple as that, even if he has to turn it over in his mind to acclimate to the idea of it.
The look he gives her is very tender, but rather than say something equally matched, Ellis shifts his weight and replies, "That's good then. I'd rather not have to hunt him down to offer a correction."