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.
Sight unseen. He's confident, anyway. The leaf itself matters less than where it came from and who it reminds him of, same as the bits of string and buttons and wine corks and pebbles and sea shells that are the only physical evidence of the first thirty years of his life. Important, though. With all the time he's spent pretending, sometimes he feels like he's invented things that really did happen, too.
Now if it ever seems too absurd that he once knew a Warden who wandered off the Weisshaupt and left him with poetry to deliver and a ring that knew everyone's names, he'll have some proof, for as long as it takes a rarely-handled leaf to turn into dust.
But pleased as he is to not have been forgotten, especially while Ellis was enduring such a terrible ordeal as being imprisoned and proposed to nightly for weeks, he's not quite deterred.
"Are you going to go again?" he asks—to look for whatever it is—and there's a pause before he remembers that his usual habit of being quiet with quiet people and less so with the noisy ones has not been the best tactic with Ellis. Then he supplies more: "I suppose that is what Grey Wardens do. It is probably your oath. I will go away, maybe I will not come back, I will be eternally dissatisfied, I will answer no questions.”
Bastien is kind. Or Bastien is clever. Or both. He poses a question that needles and tugs at some deep, private uncertainty and couches it in some easy sort of humor. It's an attempt to make it easier on Ellis, maybe.
Ellis says nothing. A shadow of a smile comes in answer, because he is not unaware that Bastien has something funny, not necessarily about Wardens but about Ellis specifically. But the question itself—
Looking away from Bastien, he leans forward to set his elbows on his knees. Rubs a hand over his face, palm pressed hard over his mouth while he dredges about for an answer and comes up with nothing but uncertainty, and a messy tangle of feeling that won't resolve into words. Ellis is hardly certain he cares to give all of it up, regardless.
Ruadh sits up completely, pretense of nap abandoned in favor of more focused watchfulness in reaction to the shift in tone. The regal affect somewhere marred by the jaw-cracking yawn that follows, but that can hardly be avoided.
Bastien watches him without subtlety, until he takes that silence as an answer in itself and nods. Ellis gets a break from his attention as he turns it on Ruadh again. An endeared little smile for the yawn.
"I have never really known a mabari before," he says. "It is hard to imagine any dog being smarter than Whiskey."
There are others who would have pressed the point. Ellis knows he hasn't given an answer, and that the absence of one is not reassuring. But Bastien shifts away from it, and Ellis follows, looking towards the great beast occupying the space before them.
"It's not a fair comparison."
Not fair to Whiskey, who is a fine dog. (All the dogs Ellis has met are fine dogs.)
"With any luck, he'll have a chance to demonstrate his skills for you."
Considering they are actively involved in a war, the odds are good.
"Ruadh," comes low, and is answered by a second, smaller yawn before Ruadh stretches and rolls up, proceeds to sniff the air in Bastien's direction.
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no subject
Sight unseen. He's confident, anyway. The leaf itself matters less than where it came from and who it reminds him of, same as the bits of string and buttons and wine corks and pebbles and sea shells that are the only physical evidence of the first thirty years of his life. Important, though. With all the time he's spent pretending, sometimes he feels like he's invented things that really did happen, too.
Now if it ever seems too absurd that he once knew a Warden who wandered off the Weisshaupt and left him with poetry to deliver and a ring that knew everyone's names, he'll have some proof, for as long as it takes a rarely-handled leaf to turn into dust.
But pleased as he is to not have been forgotten, especially while Ellis was enduring such a terrible ordeal as being imprisoned and proposed to nightly for weeks, he's not quite deterred.
"Are you going to go again?" he asks—to look for whatever it is—and there's a pause before he remembers that his usual habit of being quiet with quiet people and less so with the noisy ones has not been the best tactic with Ellis. Then he supplies more: "I suppose that is what Grey Wardens do. It is probably your oath. I will go away, maybe I will not come back, I will be eternally dissatisfied, I will answer no questions.”
no subject
Ellis says nothing. A shadow of a smile comes in answer, because he is not unaware that Bastien has something funny, not necessarily about Wardens but about Ellis specifically. But the question itself—
Looking away from Bastien, he leans forward to set his elbows on his knees. Rubs a hand over his face, palm pressed hard over his mouth while he dredges about for an answer and comes up with nothing but uncertainty, and a messy tangle of feeling that won't resolve into words. Ellis is hardly certain he cares to give all of it up, regardless.
Ruadh sits up completely, pretense of nap abandoned in favor of more focused watchfulness in reaction to the shift in tone. The regal affect somewhere marred by the jaw-cracking yawn that follows, but that can hardly be avoided.
no subject
"I have never really known a mabari before," he says. "It is hard to imagine any dog being smarter than Whiskey."
That's the love talking.
no subject
There are others who would have pressed the point. Ellis knows he hasn't given an answer, and that the absence of one is not reassuring. But Bastien shifts away from it, and Ellis follows, looking towards the great beast occupying the space before them.
"It's not a fair comparison."
Not fair to Whiskey, who is a fine dog. (All the dogs Ellis has met are fine dogs.)
"With any luck, he'll have a chance to demonstrate his skills for you."
Considering they are actively involved in a war, the odds are good.
"Ruadh," comes low, and is answered by a second, smaller yawn before Ruadh stretches and rolls up, proceeds to sniff the air in Bastien's direction.