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.
Tony withdraws, hands finding a place to rest briefly on either side of Ellis' curly head, before a palm claps down on his shoulder and he goes to steer him deeper into the room. There's an armchair by the fire, just one, but it's to this that Tony sets Ellis on a path towards before moving off across the room.
He turns, hefting a chair by the back, not quite as elaborately comfortable but still padded and cushioned, with armrests. In his other hand is a glass bottle of some kind of amber liquid, best he can do on short notice.
The lingering hesitation before Ellis sits betrays the momentary consideration of making Tony take the chair, an impulse evaluated and given up on in the span of a breath. Ellis knows a losing battle when he sees it.
“I came from the stables,” Ellis offers, easing into the seat. The plushness of the chair seems to highlight all the places his body hurts.
There had been a time when he was so used to such soreness. It had been a constant companion.
“I’m sorry,” has nothing to do with the stables. “I didn’t mean to be so long away.”
Thump, goes the second chair as all four feet connect with the floor almost all at once, kind of neatly punctuating Ellis's apology.
Don't worry about it is on the tip of Tony's tongue, moving to a shelf to take down two cups with a hook of his finger. Sits, still kind of hunched forward, pouring some helpings into a silence that settles between them, and the apology that dangles over head.
He offers a cup to Ellis. Brandy, by the scent of it.
"Yeah," Tony says, finally. "Starting to think it was something I said."
That moment of consideration, Ellis' eyes on the cup, lasts longer than it should. Longer than it might have, before.
But he shakes his head with a small, rueful smile. Declining.
"I shouldn't."
For a variety of reasons.
And then, after a brief pause, Ellis tells him, "I came back because of something you said."
It would be a lie to say that there hadn't been a moment, a stretch of time where Ellis had considered that he might send Thot back and vanish into Weisshaupt Fortress. Return to what he was before he'd come south. It would have been painful, but it would have been possible.
Tony stays posed in that offer for a second longer than necessary, before efficiently tipping the contents of one glass into the other, bringing the liquid close to the rim. More for me, spoken in this gesture of care-free redistribution. Reminded of a long ago memory, a mirror reflection, flying home, battered and bruised. He hadn't been very thirsty, either. Not on touch down.
"Was it when I called you good looking?"
You know, the quip before the earnest negotiations for Ellis to come home. That he'd passed off to Yseult. That he'd not told Wysteria about.
"They weren't so free with their compliments in Weisshaupt."
As if that is a drawback.
Having been seated even for a few moments, all the ways his body hurts comes into clear focus. He is tired. But he isn't so tired that he cares to leave this seat in search of his room.
"What are you working on?" Ellis asks, as if this were any other night where he's found Tony working far too late on something or other.
Well, he's making jokes. Something about that is so unexpectedly relieving that Tony's focus drops to his brandy, and then he lists backwards to drink from it. A generous mouthful, but that's just kind of how he drinks, you know, like a latent alcoholic, and he sets the glass aside after.
"Trying out a new casing," Tony says, lacing his fingers together. "Something that'll contain a higher rate of thaumic decay. I made you a present for Satinalia. You want it?"
The shift in conversation doesn't at all change the tone and cadence of his voice, seamlessly following whatever synapse firing brought it on.
The sudden turn of Tony's focus is met with a beat of quiet. Reacclimating.
Right. Satinalia. Ellis had lost track of it. That's as much a part of the pause as Ellis realigning to the new direction of their conversation, remembering that Tony's does this and that he is capable of keeping up with it.
"Yes," comes slower than it might have, but still, it arrives. Ellis straightens in his chair, prepared to rise if necessary.
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no subject
Tony withdraws, hands finding a place to rest briefly on either side of Ellis' curly head, before a palm claps down on his shoulder and he goes to steer him deeper into the room. There's an armchair by the fire, just one, but it's to this that Tony sets Ellis on a path towards before moving off across the room.
He turns, hefting a chair by the back, not quite as elaborately comfortable but still padded and cushioned, with armrests. In his other hand is a glass bottle of some kind of amber liquid, best he can do on short notice.
"You just get in?"
no subject
The lingering hesitation before Ellis sits betrays the momentary consideration of making Tony take the chair, an impulse evaluated and given up on in the span of a breath. Ellis knows a losing battle when he sees it.
“I came from the stables,” Ellis offers, easing into the seat. The plushness of the chair seems to highlight all the places his body hurts.
There had been a time when he was so used to such soreness. It had been a constant companion.
“I’m sorry,” has nothing to do with the stables. “I didn’t mean to be so long away.”
no subject
Don't worry about it is on the tip of Tony's tongue, moving to a shelf to take down two cups with a hook of his finger. Sits, still kind of hunched forward, pouring some helpings into a silence that settles between them, and the apology that dangles over head.
He offers a cup to Ellis. Brandy, by the scent of it.
"Yeah," Tony says, finally. "Starting to think it was something I said."
no subject
But he shakes his head with a small, rueful smile. Declining.
"I shouldn't."
For a variety of reasons.
And then, after a brief pause, Ellis tells him, "I came back because of something you said."
It would be a lie to say that there hadn't been a moment, a stretch of time where Ellis had considered that he might send Thot back and vanish into Weisshaupt Fortress. Return to what he was before he'd come south. It would have been painful, but it would have been possible.
And yet.
no subject
"Was it when I called you good looking?"
You know, the quip before the earnest negotiations for Ellis to come home. That he'd passed off to Yseult. That he'd not told Wysteria about.
no subject
Very solemn.
"They weren't so free with their compliments in Weisshaupt."
As if that is a drawback.
Having been seated even for a few moments, all the ways his body hurts comes into clear focus. He is tired. But he isn't so tired that he cares to leave this seat in search of his room.
"What are you working on?" Ellis asks, as if this were any other night where he's found Tony working far too late on something or other.
no subject
"Trying out a new casing," Tony says, lacing his fingers together. "Something that'll contain a higher rate of thaumic decay. I made you a present for Satinalia. You want it?"
The shift in conversation doesn't at all change the tone and cadence of his voice, seamlessly following whatever synapse firing brought it on.
no subject
Right. Satinalia. Ellis had lost track of it. That's as much a part of the pause as Ellis realigning to the new direction of their conversation, remembering that Tony's does this and that he is capable of keeping up with it.
"Yes," comes slower than it might have, but still, it arrives. Ellis straightens in his chair, prepared to rise if necessary.