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 jug is set down at the edge of the tub when she lowers herself into it, and she gazes at it for a moment at his question before laughing—
“I was carrying enough to begin with,” she says, rueful. “Thought I'd stash it in my brother's office to collect before I take the ferry back in the evening.”
A more salient question than how they plan to spit this coffee. He's levered up slightly, straightening from the boneless slouch that feels—
Uncouth isn't the right word. But it's close enough, edging around the need to reel himself back in, pull himself together in the presence of an unknown quality.
By contrast, Tsenka does not feel any particular need to reel in; he straightens and she's slouching, sinking low and comfortable in the water, her hair out of the way so she can dip low enough to almost touch her chin to the surface.
“Marcus Rowntree,” with a yawn, still sort of becoming a person. “Captain of the Guard, now, very swank of him. Minded to check on him with his blondes off Antiva way.”
Her solution to the coffee problem is simply to push it so it's easy for them both to reach. Might as well share.
A shake of her head that sets her thick hair bouncing—
“Abendroth,” she supplies. “Tsenka Abendroth. It's not a blood relation, him and I; we were brought up together.”
In the Circle. There's really no getting around that, but neither is Tsenka inclined to launch into every conversation with every new person she meets here with how would you like to hear about the worst parts of my life. There's frank and there's— whatever that would be.
They're mages. Draw your own conclusions.
“And he is. Capable.” That she's proud of him is understated, but obvious; the teasing, little sister way she refers to his promotion, the warm glow of affection when she agrees with Ellis's assessment. Her big brother is extremely badass and cool, thank you, she's been saying. “Are you new, or only back?”
Ellis knows the shape of it. (There were mages in the Grey Wardens. Ellis remembers them.) And he knows what Thedas prefers of it's mages, just as he knows families can be fashioned from people with no relation to each other but their place in the world and hard-forged trust.
He doesn't ask.
"Back," Ellis answers, slow over the words. Is he? He is here, but—
Not something to dwell on, not here.
"You?"
A fair question, Ellis thinks. He'd left for near six months, but there are some who leave for years.
It's not exactly a smile, but some flex of humor shifts Ellis' expression.
He does not mirror her, though it would take very little to call attention to the heavy rope of scarring at his throat, or even the ugly split and mottled stretches of scars climbing up from his hip. He doesn't lift his hand with it's bent fingers. None of it needs highlighting, nor does it quite fit against what that discoloration suggests.
"I'll remember that," he tells her instead. "Do you intend to stay?"
It's subtle — he's subtle — but she decides, precisely in that moment, that she likes it. Him. Something in her shoulders that wasn't even perceptibly tense relaxes when he nearly smiles, when she's allowed to make light of this ugliness without some heavy sympathy falling down between them, a chasm.
It's still heavy. But it's lighter, when she's allowed to make it so.
“With Scouting,” she says, and: “as long as it suits.” Ruminatively: “I wouldn't have been parted from Marcus, or any we were with. I don't mean to part from him now it's for me to choose.”
Tsenka isn't saying this to be instructive. She perhaps isn't even saying this for Ellis' benefit. He doesn't doubt that he is in some ways incidental here, a stranger sharing a bath at an absurd hour of the day.
But those words catch at him. I don't mean to part from him now it's for me to choose.
"The Scoutmaster is a fair woman," Ellis tells her. "And she knows what she's doing. She'll do right by you."
Whatever Ellis' word is worth. Less than Marcus', he assumes.
If it doesn't seem to land with significance, it has less to do with doubting him — or doubting him in particular — than with Tsenka's willingness to believe that certainly, one woman might be fair, and within her power do right as she sees it, and be with great ease ground up beneath the weight of a hundred more.
So far, she likes the people she's met in Riftwatch well enough. Whether they're all pulling in the same direction, and how she feels about that direction—
Ah, she doesn't say, but whose right?
She says, “Haven't seen anything to the contrary,” easy, leaning back with an elbow bent on the side of the tub. “Do you? Intend to stay?”
Tsenka says it lightly, the kind of throwaway thing one trades with an acquaintance in a tub perhaps without any expectation of deep answers. Ellis should have a response at his fingertips.
Instead, he leans back, arms stretching along the edge of the tub as his head tips briefly back. Thinking. (It is hard to summon Yes.)
"For a time," is a half-measure. A stop on the way to some fuller confirmation that Ellis isn't ready to say yet. "I've business with the Scoutmaster, as it happens. And the Commander."
And there are people he needs to see. People he has missed.
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no subject
“I was carrying enough to begin with,” she says, rueful. “Thought I'd stash it in my brother's office to collect before I take the ferry back in the evening.”
So, no cups.
no subject
A more salient question than how they plan to spit this coffee. He's levered up slightly, straightening from the boneless slouch that feels—
Uncouth isn't the right word. But it's close enough, edging around the need to reel himself back in, pull himself together in the presence of an unknown quality.
no subject
“Marcus Rowntree,” with a yawn, still sort of becoming a person. “Captain of the Guard, now, very swank of him. Minded to check on him with his blondes off Antiva way.”
Her solution to the coffee problem is simply to push it so it's easy for them both to reach. Might as well share.
no subject
A promotion. How things change.
"I'm glad he's still here. He's capable in a tight spot."
And what is Riftwatch but a mess of people wrangling series of difficult situations one after another?
Ellis carefully does not inquire after the blondes. That's not his business.
"Do you share his surname?"
no subject
“Abendroth,” she supplies. “Tsenka Abendroth. It's not a blood relation, him and I; we were brought up together.”
In the Circle. There's really no getting around that, but neither is Tsenka inclined to launch into every conversation with every new person she meets here with how would you like to hear about the worst parts of my life. There's frank and there's— whatever that would be.
They're mages. Draw your own conclusions.
“And he is. Capable.” That she's proud of him is understated, but obvious; the teasing, little sister way she refers to his promotion, the warm glow of affection when she agrees with Ellis's assessment. Her big brother is extremely badass and cool, thank you, she's been saying. “Are you new, or only back?”
no subject
Ellis knows the shape of it. (There were mages in the Grey Wardens. Ellis remembers them.) And he knows what Thedas prefers of it's mages, just as he knows families can be fashioned from people with no relation to each other but their place in the world and hard-forged trust.
He doesn't ask.
"Back," Ellis answers, slow over the words. Is he? He is here, but—
Not something to dwell on, not here.
"You?"
A fair question, Ellis thinks. He'd left for near six months, but there are some who leave for years.
no subject
A tilted smile: “I'm hard to be rid of, me.”
no subject
He does not mirror her, though it would take very little to call attention to the heavy rope of scarring at his throat, or even the ugly split and mottled stretches of scars climbing up from his hip. He doesn't lift his hand with it's bent fingers. None of it needs highlighting, nor does it quite fit against what that discoloration suggests.
"I'll remember that," he tells her instead. "Do you intend to stay?"
no subject
It's still heavy. But it's lighter, when she's allowed to make it so.
“With Scouting,” she says, and: “as long as it suits.” Ruminatively: “I wouldn't have been parted from Marcus, or any we were with. I don't mean to part from him now it's for me to choose.”
no subject
Tsenka isn't saying this to be instructive. She perhaps isn't even saying this for Ellis' benefit. He doesn't doubt that he is in some ways incidental here, a stranger sharing a bath at an absurd hour of the day.
But those words catch at him. I don't mean to part from him now it's for me to choose.
"The Scoutmaster is a fair woman," Ellis tells her. "And she knows what she's doing. She'll do right by you."
Whatever Ellis' word is worth. Less than Marcus', he assumes.
no subject
So far, she likes the people she's met in Riftwatch well enough. Whether they're all pulling in the same direction, and how she feels about that direction—
Ah, she doesn't say, but whose right?
She says, “Haven't seen anything to the contrary,” easy, leaning back with an elbow bent on the side of the tub. “Do you? Intend to stay?”
no subject
Tsenka says it lightly, the kind of throwaway thing one trades with an acquaintance in a tub perhaps without any expectation of deep answers. Ellis should have a response at his fingertips.
Instead, he leans back, arms stretching along the edge of the tub as his head tips briefly back. Thinking. (It is hard to summon Yes.)
"For a time," is a half-measure. A stop on the way to some fuller confirmation that Ellis isn't ready to say yet. "I've business with the Scoutmaster, as it happens. And the Commander."
And there are people he needs to see. People he has missed.