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.
"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."
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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."