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.
A low grumbling comes from somewhere beneath the table, whether in response to Déranger or to the implication of impending movement is anyone's guess. (Perhaps an objection to being named simply a dog.) Across the table, Ellis manages an unsteady laugh, punched out and shaky as he rises with a scrape of the chair.
"Aye, I'd like that."
Not so much the conversation, but being in the room with the two of them. In due time they'll hit upon something to debate over, and Ellis can lapse into quiet, listening as they banter back and forth. It will be a very good way to spend a morning.
Ellis has not let himself fully consider how much he would have missed such an occasion before this exact moment. It is not so far removed from the prickle of feeling returning to frozen limbs after coming in from the cold.
Under Déranger's watchful eye, Ellis rounds the table, extends a hand out to her, inviting, as he reminds, "You'll need your cloak. It's cold."
Even if he cannot say the rest, cannot tell her a true thing, the sentiment comes couched in such a small offering of care. That is enough for Ellis, in the moment.
Without the obstacle of the table between them, it's a matter of course that Wysteria accepts the offer of his hand. Only at the last moment does she recall to be mindful of her feet so she doesn't accidentally trod all over some bit of the mabari lurking under her chair, leaning hard on the benefit of Ellis' hand to keep her balance as she quick steps to avoid Ruadh.
"Ah, yes. The cold," she says in some knowing tone, all forced lightness for she refuses to shed so much as a single silly tear. Standing there between Ellis and the chair and amidst the grumbling of two dogs displeased with this rearrangement, Wysteria fixes him with a serious look which she can maintain only for as long as it takes her to say,
"That must account for why you've let your all the hair on your head grow so long. You're positively shaggy, Mister Ellis."
Before she flashes him a wobbly smile, fiercely squeezes his hand, then separates to fetch the bright red cloak from its peg.
"Come along, Déranger," she calls to the briard with a snap of her fingers once the cloak has been donned, the coals in the fireplace shoved all the way to the back wall, and the little copper mechanized dog has returned to its box and gentle bed of wood shavings. "You may as well make good your acquaintance with both these gentlemen. I suspect you will be obligated to tolerate their company for quite some time to come."
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bow on this y/y?
"Aye, I'd like that."
Not so much the conversation, but being in the room with the two of them. In due time they'll hit upon something to debate over, and Ellis can lapse into quiet, listening as they banter back and forth. It will be a very good way to spend a morning.
Ellis has not let himself fully consider how much he would have missed such an occasion before this exact moment. It is not so far removed from the prickle of feeling returning to frozen limbs after coming in from the cold.
Under Déranger's watchful eye, Ellis rounds the table, extends a hand out to her, inviting, as he reminds, "You'll need your cloak. It's cold."
Even if he cannot say the rest, cannot tell her a true thing, the sentiment comes couched in such a small offering of care. That is enough for Ellis, in the moment.
yyyy : ' )
"Ah, yes. The cold," she says in some knowing tone, all forced lightness for she refuses to shed so much as a single silly tear. Standing there between Ellis and the chair and amidst the grumbling of two dogs displeased with this rearrangement, Wysteria fixes him with a serious look which she can maintain only for as long as it takes her to say,
"That must account for why you've let your all the hair on your head grow so long. You're positively shaggy, Mister Ellis."
Before she flashes him a wobbly smile, fiercely squeezes his hand, then separates to fetch the bright red cloak from its peg.
"Come along, Déranger," she calls to the briard with a snap of her fingers once the cloak has been donned, the coals in the fireplace shoved all the way to the back wall, and the little copper mechanized dog has returned to its box and gentle bed of wood shavings. "You may as well make good your acquaintance with both these gentlemen. I suspect you will be obligated to tolerate their company for quite some time to come."