WHO: Ellis + OTA WHAT: Homecoming WHEN: Guardian WHERE: Kirkwall NOTES: Thread collection. Closed and open starters in the comments. Holler if you want something bespoke or drop in a wildcard, I'll roll with it.
The library is the same as it ever was: overcrowded. A little cluttered, a little dusty; it's disorder that comes from consistent use and no dedicated attention to tending the aftermath.
Ellis thinks briefly of Mhavos as he winds his way through the stacks, come and gone and come and gone again, archivist's desk abandoned in his absence. He raps knuckles at the edge before passing into the stacks.
At the present moment, masks are stacked haphazardly atop the shelves. Ellis lingers in the center of the aisle, looking up. Nothing is labeled, or not labeled on the ends jutting out over the edge of the shelving. They'll all have to come down, so he retreats out, casting about for anyone else who can be recruited for the cause, or a chair that might be dragged over.
Which brings him to the nearest table, though before he reaches to commandeer the necessary furniture, he asks the occupant, "Do you mind?"
It's become something of a personal project for Mobius. There are occasionally people who tend to the library lest it dissolve into complete chaos, but it's not enough. He hasn't been here long enough to see to the whole damn library, but a bit of effort every day to make sure books and scrolls and the like are tended to, repaired, organized back into a proper place.
Okay, so it's a long-term project, but he plans to stick around Riftwatch for as long as he's needed.
Which is why the table in question is littered with books, set in various piles, and this older fellow making note of each volume as he picks it up, title, author if legible, condition, subject. He looks up at the intrusion, blinks owlishly for a moment, and then: "Oh, sure, no, go right ahead. No ladder around? Blessed Andraste, I'm gonna requisition some made so people aren't climbing the shelves." He sets down the book he was looking at. "You need a hand?"
A moment to doublecheck the chair he's laid a hand on isn't also harboring a small pile of books, before Ellis does pull it back and lift it, cementing his claim. As to the offer—
"If you wouldn't mind handling some maps."
There might be a ladder. There one was a ladder, but who knows who had made off with it for some alternate reason. Ellis has little idea of what Satinalia was like this year, but it wouldn't surprise him had several ladders been employed to decorate or if some disaster had occurred and damaged the lot, or—
There are possibilities. Ellis finds it best not to dwell.
Thankfully no books on the seats. People need those sometimes, you see. Mobius gets up with a little stretch. "I'll handle whatever needs handling, sure. Don't mind the mess," with a wave to the table, "just doing some organizing. Seems like a lot of people haven't heard of organization for, you know, an organization."
It's probably not as bad as he makes it sound, but Maker's breath, books back in the Circle being out of place would've gotten someone chewed out with extra work at least, so maybe he's been spoiled with a certain expectation.
"No one's told me off for taking someone else's job yet."
"We'd had an archivist," Ellis says, tone mild in spite of some minor twinge of disapproval. "But he's been gone for some time now."
Longer than Ellis. Perhaps he will never see Mhavos again. Wherever he's gone, Ellis hopes he's found some solace there. Whatever peace can be found in these times, with war escalating around them.
"I don't know that anyone's put themselves forward for it."
Not that Ellis is exactly up to date on the happenings around the Gallows. He can't imagine it's so changed that they are suddenly blessed with all the help they might need.
A tip of his head as he turns back to the shelves. Expecting to be followed, back to the carefully stacked rolls of maps atop the stacks.
"I imagine that happens a lot." That they've had people in certain roles. And now they're gone. That's what war certainly seems to do. The Inquisition seemed so much larger even with its fledgling beginnings than Riftwatch does now; each loss is probably felt more than in a larger organization. (Like the Inquisition of now.)
Still. Mobius would prefer to get his bearings first before he jumps in and snipes anyone's job, even if they aren't here. He follows along dutifully, and eyes the stack of maps with a little sigh. "Yeah, those probably need a better place somewhere."
Or at the very least, labels affixed to the ends rather than the middles. Perhaps this was a convenient system when the Gallows had someone tending this room, back when it was more prison than makeshift barracks.
If that aye is meant to stretch to encompass the comings and goings of Riftwatch, Ellis gives no sign. The topic can pass. He instead positions the stool, nudges it in securely against the shelves, before ascending to stretch a hand up to the heap of maps.
"Mind your head," in the event that once one is dislodged, the others follow.
Not a very talkative one. That's fine. They don't always have to be. Sometimes a man just wants to get his work done. Mobius doesn't press the issue, as it's really not much of an issue at all.
"Consider it minded." He keeps his arms resting on one of the shelves, there to catch anything that might fall, or there to handle anything passed to him. "Can I ask what exactly it is you're looking for?"
Is not exactly an answer. But it does explain why Ellis is passing down tube after tube to Mobius. No, nothing is labeled. It might have been, once. But time passes. Labels fade, or flake off, and there has not been an archivist to attend the matter.
"Anderfels, and the north," he tacks on. "I've a report to complete, and the map might be of use."
Abby's eyes don't come up off of her book, which is far more engaging than she thinks it has any right to be. It is spine-flat to the table, to keep people from spying the title; eventually she glances up, as the chair starts to be dragged away.
Double takes.
"When did you get back?"
If it sounds a little accusatory, well– that's only because she has something in her tower room that belongs to him, not because she was vaguely concerned, okay. Don't worry about it.
The question stalls Ellis, who might have simply lifted the chair and gone without further conversation at that exact moment.
"Not so long ago," is not a satisfactory answer. But it's what he has to offer, at the moment. "I've a few things to settle right off, once I made it into the Gallows."
This is not entirely untrue. Yes, some of those things are simple. A bath. Sleeping uninterrupted in a bed behind a door that locked. Spending time with Tony and Wysteria.
But some are also writing. Lots of writing. All of what he'd seen and all of what had to be chased after, now that he's made it back to the Gallows to pass this information into the Division Heads' hands.
"You needn't interrupt your reading on my account."
"It's not interrupting," because the book isn't anything special, it's just– fun and trashy, and she closes it immediately without looking down. "Do you need a hand with something?"
Both because she'd like to help, and she wants to hear more about where he's been. It hit a point where people who knew him better stopped commenting on it at all. Silently, she'd been assuming the worst.
"I could boost you." Means he wouldn't need the chair. She's taller than him by a sliver, so she can't exactly reach it for him.
She doesn't mind the initial awkwardness. Maybe she can be the practice.
Conversationally, "You dropped that shield off at my door with perfect timing, by the way." Assuming he heard all about the undead attack on the Gallows that swiftly followed.
Looking up as she speaks, Ellis considers the upper shelves. And then nods, gesturing with a sweep of his hand for her to do as she will. He'll follow her lead.
"Aye, I heard there was some disruption."
Disruption.
"What happened?" stands in for the inevitable request. The shield had been a gift from Tony, and so Ellis would reclaim it. It had been a kindness for Abby to hold it for him, just as it had been a kindness for Tony to build it for him in the first place. He observes this from a distance, some prickle of discomfort accompanying it as he prompts, "What happened?"
In any case, she's more than fine to cross toward the book shelf and steady her linked hands on her knee for him to step into. Then, she can get him up to that map he's after.
Team work.
"What didn't fucking happen," is her grumbly reply when she boosts him, "We got attacked by undead skeletons." Another day ending in y, right.
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ota.
Ellis thinks briefly of Mhavos as he winds his way through the stacks, come and gone and come and gone again, archivist's desk abandoned in his absence. He raps knuckles at the edge before passing into the stacks.
At the present moment, masks are stacked haphazardly atop the shelves. Ellis lingers in the center of the aisle, looking up. Nothing is labeled, or not labeled on the ends jutting out over the edge of the shelving. They'll all have to come down, so he retreats out, casting about for anyone else who can be recruited for the cause, or a chair that might be dragged over.
Which brings him to the nearest table, though before he reaches to commandeer the necessary furniture, he asks the occupant, "Do you mind?"
no subject
Okay, so it's a long-term project, but he plans to stick around Riftwatch for as long as he's needed.
Which is why the table in question is littered with books, set in various piles, and this older fellow making note of each volume as he picks it up, title, author if legible, condition, subject. He looks up at the intrusion, blinks owlishly for a moment, and then: "Oh, sure, no, go right ahead. No ladder around? Blessed Andraste, I'm gonna requisition some made so people aren't climbing the shelves." He sets down the book he was looking at. "You need a hand?"
no subject
A moment to doublecheck the chair he's laid a hand on isn't also harboring a small pile of books, before Ellis does pull it back and lift it, cementing his claim. As to the offer—
"If you wouldn't mind handling some maps."
There might be a ladder. There one was a ladder, but who knows who had made off with it for some alternate reason. Ellis has little idea of what Satinalia was like this year, but it wouldn't surprise him had several ladders been employed to decorate or if some disaster had occurred and damaged the lot, or—
There are possibilities. Ellis finds it best not to dwell.
"Assuming you are in a place to leave off."
no subject
It's probably not as bad as he makes it sound, but Maker's breath, books back in the Circle being out of place would've gotten someone chewed out with extra work at least, so maybe he's been spoiled with a certain expectation.
"No one's told me off for taking someone else's job yet."
no subject
Longer than Ellis. Perhaps he will never see Mhavos again. Wherever he's gone, Ellis hopes he's found some solace there. Whatever peace can be found in these times, with war escalating around them.
"I don't know that anyone's put themselves forward for it."
Not that Ellis is exactly up to date on the happenings around the Gallows. He can't imagine it's so changed that they are suddenly blessed with all the help they might need.
A tip of his head as he turns back to the shelves. Expecting to be followed, back to the carefully stacked rolls of maps atop the stacks.
no subject
Still. Mobius would prefer to get his bearings first before he jumps in and snipes anyone's job, even if they aren't here. He follows along dutifully, and eyes the stack of maps with a little sigh. "Yeah, those probably need a better place somewhere."
no subject
Or at the very least, labels affixed to the ends rather than the middles. Perhaps this was a convenient system when the Gallows had someone tending this room, back when it was more prison than makeshift barracks.
If that aye is meant to stretch to encompass the comings and goings of Riftwatch, Ellis gives no sign. The topic can pass. He instead positions the stool, nudges it in securely against the shelves, before ascending to stretch a hand up to the heap of maps.
"Mind your head," in the event that once one is dislodged, the others follow.
no subject
"Consider it minded." He keeps his arms resting on one of the shelves, there to catch anything that might fall, or there to handle anything passed to him. "Can I ask what exactly it is you're looking for?"
no subject
Is not exactly an answer. But it does explain why Ellis is passing down tube after tube to Mobius. No, nothing is labeled. It might have been, once. But time passes. Labels fade, or flake off, and there has not been an archivist to attend the matter.
"Anderfels, and the north," he tacks on. "I've a report to complete, and the map might be of use."
no subject
Abby's eyes don't come up off of her book, which is far more engaging than she thinks it has any right to be. It is spine-flat to the table, to keep people from spying the title; eventually she glances up, as the chair starts to be dragged away.
Double takes.
"When did you get back?"
If it sounds a little accusatory, well– that's only because she has something in her tower room that belongs to him, not because she was vaguely concerned, okay. Don't worry about it.
no subject
"Not so long ago," is not a satisfactory answer. But it's what he has to offer, at the moment. "I've a few things to settle right off, once I made it into the Gallows."
This is not entirely untrue. Yes, some of those things are simple. A bath. Sleeping uninterrupted in a bed behind a door that locked. Spending time with Tony and Wysteria.
But some are also writing. Lots of writing. All of what he'd seen and all of what had to be chased after, now that he's made it back to the Gallows to pass this information into the Division Heads' hands.
"You needn't interrupt your reading on my account."
no subject
Both because she'd like to help, and she wants to hear more about where he's been. It hit a point where people who knew him better stopped commenting on it at all. Silently, she'd been assuming the worst.
forgive this extreme tardiness
Which doesn't necessarily sound like a thing anyone would need help with, but Ellis tips his head back the way he came. Invitation.
But after that he just lifts the chair, makes to return to it. Abby's free to follow. It's not that he minds company, help or no. It's just—
He's out of practice with it.
no subject
She doesn't mind the initial awkwardness. Maybe she can be the practice.
Conversationally, "You dropped that shield off at my door with perfect timing, by the way." Assuming he heard all about the undead attack on the Gallows that swiftly followed.
no subject
"Aye, I heard there was some disruption."
Disruption.
"What happened?" stands in for the inevitable request. The shield had been a gift from Tony, and so Ellis would reclaim it. It had been a kindness for Abby to hold it for him, just as it had been a kindness for Tony to build it for him in the first place. He observes this from a distance, some prickle of discomfort accompanying it as he prompts, "What happened?"
no subject
In any case, she's more than fine to cross toward the book shelf and steady her linked hands on her knee for him to step into. Then, she can get him up to that map he's after.
Team work.
"What didn't fucking happen," is her grumbly reply when she boosts him, "We got attacked by undead skeletons." Another day ending in y, right.