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Technically, it's not at all unusual to see Ellis occupying the space in front of the fire in the dining hall. It's not his preference, but he had taken up space there often enough, taking advantage of a spot where the light is good and Noose comes to drape across his feet when it is perhaps too late to travel to Wysteria's house to spread his mending across her kitchen table.
Had no one been paying close attention, the sight of Ellis returned to his seat there might be so routine so as to be unremarkable.
But perhaps the five month absence and the massive red-hued mabari stretched luxuriously across the hearth warrant a second look. (The assortment of items to be mended is much diminished, and the habitual whistling is absent. The mabari bears an assortment of scars, outstrips Noose in size easily.) The patter of boots on stone prompts no particular reaction from either party, but should the footsteps veer closer—
The mabari's eyes crack open, then narrow at the approach of a stranger. Ellis' head lifts from his work, fingers stilling over the thread long enough for a minor nod of acknowledgement.
"Aye?" is polite, more question than welcome.
Had no one been paying close attention, the sight of Ellis returned to his seat there might be so routine so as to be unremarkable.
But perhaps the five month absence and the massive red-hued mabari stretched luxuriously across the hearth warrant a second look. (The assortment of items to be mended is much diminished, and the habitual whistling is absent. The mabari bears an assortment of scars, outstrips Noose in size easily.) The patter of boots on stone prompts no particular reaction from either party, but should the footsteps veer closer—
The mabari's eyes crack open, then narrow at the approach of a stranger. Ellis' head lifts from his work, fingers stilling over the thread long enough for a minor nod of acknowledgement.
"Aye?" is polite, more question than welcome.
It is a hard journey south, made harder by how he'd chosen to take his leave of Weisshaupt. He is carrying very little. (All he could stash without drawing attention, all in service of leaving under muddled, potentially involuntary circumstances.) And while he means to cover much ground very quickly, he can only push Gruagh so hard; horses have their limits, even hardy Aavar mounts. Ruadh ranges away and back, sometimes with some small game clenched in his jaw while Thot hops and chirps merrily at his shoulder, unbothered by their hasty departure and the ensuing misery of the trek.
Ellis has lived this way before. He has traveled on next to nothing, and made his way across Thedas without benefit of steed or mabari or make-shift bird. He knows how to weather the long road back to Kirkwall, growing lean, dodging Imperial soldiers, winding his way southwards: skirting the edges of Nevarra, through the fields of Ghislain, cutting through the Vinmark Mountains, descending through the scattering of villages until Kirkwall proper looms up around him.
There is some difficulty hauling Gruagh aboard the ferry. It is very late and the ferryman is muttering mutinously under his breath, but between Ellis and Ruadh, there is sufficient motivation to indulge, and deliver them both to the Gallows.
After the stables, after coaxing his crystal from Thot one last time and sending her on her way, there are a number of places Ellis might go. The baths. His room, to see if it's still intact. To the kitchen.
Instead, he climbs the stairs to push open the door to Tony's office without bothering to knock in hopes of finding him there.
Ellis has lived this way before. He has traveled on next to nothing, and made his way across Thedas without benefit of steed or mabari or make-shift bird. He knows how to weather the long road back to Kirkwall, growing lean, dodging Imperial soldiers, winding his way southwards: skirting the edges of Nevarra, through the fields of Ghislain, cutting through the Vinmark Mountains, descending through the scattering of villages until Kirkwall proper looms up around him.
There is some difficulty hauling Gruagh aboard the ferry. It is very late and the ferryman is muttering mutinously under his breath, but between Ellis and Ruadh, there is sufficient motivation to indulge, and deliver them both to the Gallows.
After the stables, after coaxing his crystal from Thot one last time and sending her on her way, there are a number of places Ellis might go. The baths. His room, to see if it's still intact. To the kitchen.
Instead, he climbs the stairs to push open the door to Tony's office without bothering to knock in hopes of finding him there.
As late as he'd arrived, as little sleep as he'd managed (he'd thrown his blanket onto the floor for Ruadh to curl up on, dropped his pack, and stretched out on his bed, but the strangeness of the room, the pieces of his life he'd been uncertain whether or not he'd see again, it makes sleep impossible.) dawn still finds him on the first ferry into Kirkwall.
It's biting cold. (It is strange to be without his armor.) Ellis turns the collar of his coat up against the chill, draws his scarf up a little higher. Ruadh huffs as they disembark, falls into step at Ellis' side as they wind through the empty streets towards Hightown.
(This too is strange to the point of surreal.)
The gate creaks on its hinges. Ruadh trots through first, while Ellis lingers, testing it once, twice, three times before easing it closed.
The chickens are still tucked away inside their coop, and there is no immediate evidence of the rumored goat, but there is signs that the garden itself hasn't been well-prepared for the change in seasons. He should have given Oona the coin for it, but he hadn't been intending for his absence to stretch as long as it had.
He stands for a long moment looking up at the darkened house. But rather than let himself in (it's too early. it's too soon.) Ellis turns his attention to what is most familiar, and closest at hand. While Ruadh inspects the perimeter of the garden, Ellis gathers hammer and nails, rakes and shovels, and begins tending the raised garden beds. Too late, maybe, but the work is easy and familiar and grounds him in the present.
Ruadh's the first to sense movement. The mabari's great squared head lifts from snuffling at the far fencing to swivel towards the house and give a soft, suspicious boof in answer to whatever movement is occurring. No proper bark, so Ellis only clucks his tongue in dismissive answer, attention set on levering the corners of the raised bed back together before reaching for his hammer. It's early yet. (He's not yet decided whether or not he is going in.) This can be finished and the chickens can be fed before Wysteria rises, before Ellis enters the house.
It's biting cold. (It is strange to be without his armor.) Ellis turns the collar of his coat up against the chill, draws his scarf up a little higher. Ruadh huffs as they disembark, falls into step at Ellis' side as they wind through the empty streets towards Hightown.
(This too is strange to the point of surreal.)
The gate creaks on its hinges. Ruadh trots through first, while Ellis lingers, testing it once, twice, three times before easing it closed.
The chickens are still tucked away inside their coop, and there is no immediate evidence of the rumored goat, but there is signs that the garden itself hasn't been well-prepared for the change in seasons. He should have given Oona the coin for it, but he hadn't been intending for his absence to stretch as long as it had.
He stands for a long moment looking up at the darkened house. But rather than let himself in (it's too early. it's too soon.) Ellis turns his attention to what is most familiar, and closest at hand. While Ruadh inspects the perimeter of the garden, Ellis gathers hammer and nails, rakes and shovels, and begins tending the raised garden beds. Too late, maybe, but the work is easy and familiar and grounds him in the present.
Ruadh's the first to sense movement. The mabari's great squared head lifts from snuffling at the far fencing to swivel towards the house and give a soft, suspicious boof in answer to whatever movement is occurring. No proper bark, so Ellis only clucks his tongue in dismissive answer, attention set on levering the corners of the raised bed back together before reaching for his hammer. It's early yet. (He's not yet decided whether or not he is going in.) This can be finished and the chickens can be fed before Wysteria rises, before Ellis enters the house.
The library is the same as it ever was: overcrowded. A little cluttered, a little dusty; it's disorder that comes from consistent use and no dedicated attention to tending the aftermath.
Ellis thinks briefly of Mhavos as he winds his way through the stacks, come and gone and come and gone again, archivist's desk abandoned in his absence. He raps knuckles at the edge before passing into the stacks.
At the present moment, masks are stacked haphazardly atop the shelves. Ellis lingers in the center of the aisle, looking up. Nothing is labeled, or not labeled on the ends jutting out over the edge of the shelving. They'll all have to come down, so he retreats out, casting about for anyone else who can be recruited for the cause, or a chair that might be dragged over.
Which brings him to the nearest table, though before he reaches to commandeer the necessary furniture, he asks the occupant, "Do you mind?"
Ellis thinks briefly of Mhavos as he winds his way through the stacks, come and gone and come and gone again, archivist's desk abandoned in his absence. He raps knuckles at the edge before passing into the stacks.
At the present moment, masks are stacked haphazardly atop the shelves. Ellis lingers in the center of the aisle, looking up. Nothing is labeled, or not labeled on the ends jutting out over the edge of the shelving. They'll all have to come down, so he retreats out, casting about for anyone else who can be recruited for the cause, or a chair that might be dragged over.
Which brings him to the nearest table, though before he reaches to commandeer the necessary furniture, he asks the occupant, "Do you mind?"
The exact nature of the disturbance from within the house doesn't make itself known for some minutes. The time allotted before any notable change occurs is almost exactly number of minutes required for, say, a dog led by the noise of trespassers to sniff suspiciously around the entirety of the kitchen's door and then to pad responsibly through up through the house and sit for some minutes scratching at the door to her mistress's bedroom, and then to be scolded by the person in question for scratching at the woodwork, and then some minutes more to convince this person that they ought to come investigate the state of the garden and all its offensively unfamiliar smells and sounds. To add insult to injury, this diligent creature must tolerate being misinterpreted and the resultant delay required by fetching the goat, and it's only after a great deal of bickering (the dog is not involved; the goat and the young lady are) that the house's year door springs open and the mop-like fawn colored briard is allowed out into the glum grey morning.
The Avvar goat with a rope collar around its neck is hot on her heels, as is Wysteria in her shift and slippers and undone hair hissing a curse after the both of them: "There. For gods' sake, I don't see what all the fuss was about—"
The briard draws up short. Nearly tripping Wysteria in the process and definitively blocking her thoughtless exit from the house, the dog plants herself firmly just past the threshold and lets out a single threatening bark at the strangers in her garden.
The Avvar goat with a rope collar around its neck is hot on her heels, as is Wysteria in her shift and slippers and undone hair hissing a curse after the both of them: "There. For gods' sake, I don't see what all the fuss was about—"
The briard draws up short. Nearly tripping Wysteria in the process and definitively blocking her thoughtless exit from the house, the dog plants herself firmly just past the threshold and lets out a single threatening bark at the strangers in her garden.
It is absurdly early.
Normally, Ellis doesn't make much of the baths. It's always been a quick affair, over and done without lingering.
But it's very early, and his entire body aches. And so after the slow, miserable shedding of layers of clothing stiff with dirt from the road, and some minor attention paid to new bruising and old scarring, Ellis eases into the water. He draws in a deep breath, and then exhales it, letting himself slouch into the warmth up to his neck.
It's good. (Enough so that he can give a little space to the depth of his exhaustion, and the tangle of conflict knotted in his chest.) He's closed his eyes, more or less satisfied with the idea that most everyone is asleep at this hour.
And then, of course, because this is how Ellis' luck tends to work: footsteps on damp stone.
His eyes open, straightening by degrees to assess the approaching individual.
Normally, Ellis doesn't make much of the baths. It's always been a quick affair, over and done without lingering.
But it's very early, and his entire body aches. And so after the slow, miserable shedding of layers of clothing stiff with dirt from the road, and some minor attention paid to new bruising and old scarring, Ellis eases into the water. He draws in a deep breath, and then exhales it, letting himself slouch into the warmth up to his neck.
It's good. (Enough so that he can give a little space to the depth of his exhaustion, and the tangle of conflict knotted in his chest.) He's closed his eyes, more or less satisfied with the idea that most everyone is asleep at this hour.
And then, of course, because this is how Ellis' luck tends to work: footsteps on damp stone.
His eyes open, straightening by degrees to assess the approaching individual.
An unfamiliar face—and all the rest of her, wrapped in a loose robe with her hair piled up atop her head, the mess of it not entirely hiding the pointed ears that confirm, presumably, what the slight frame might have suggested in the first place. Her wrists and ankles are discolored in a particular way that suggests other reasons for that slightness, but as elven women go she's on the taller side and as Riftwatch goes, she certainly doesn't carry herself with any timidity. Not even the ordinary sort one might feel, approaching a stranger in a hot bath—
“Morning,” a Starkhaven-accent, a low, smoky voice, “ought to be more than enough room for the both of us. You want some of this?”
This—appears to be an entire jug of coffee, lifted from the dining hall's breakfast set out on her way down here. Tsenka doesn't actually live in the Gallows any more, but far be it from her not to take advantage of the amenities when she's about; her loft hasn't got anything like as nice as these baths, and she's had a vigorous morning.
“Morning,” a Starkhaven-accent, a low, smoky voice, “ought to be more than enough room for the both of us. You want some of this?”
This—appears to be an entire jug of coffee, lifted from the dining hall's breakfast set out on her way down here. Tsenka doesn't actually live in the Gallows any more, but far be it from her not to take advantage of the amenities when she's about; her loft hasn't got anything like as nice as these baths, and she's had a vigorous morning.
The pile up of dog, goat and girl in the doorway cannot be missed; it is not a quiet affair.
Ellis doesn't have to turn towards the door. He simply looks up and there she is. (It is in this moment that he considers: He has never seen Wysteria's hair loose in this fashion.) Having caught sight of her, Ellis has little attention for anything else for a long moment. The hammer in his hands, the bite of the cold, even the briard and the goat.
But Ruadh has no such hesitations. Abandoning entirely the scent he'd been snuffling after along the fencing, Ruadh wheels around to face the approaching...threat. Challenger. Irritant. There is no answering bark, but a raising of hackles, the suggestion of teeth, as Ruadh trots forward. Perhaps to inspect, perhaps not.
Which draws Ellis back to reality, enough that he drops the hammer to catch Ruadh before he can pass with a soothing murmur. His hand passes over old scars, sleek, short fur, before his gaze turns back to Wysteria.
What is there to say? If he thinks of anything, it's blotted out by the sight of her. That's the trouble, of wanting so much, of feeling so much. There's nothing to be done with it.
Ellis doesn't have to turn towards the door. He simply looks up and there she is. (It is in this moment that he considers: He has never seen Wysteria's hair loose in this fashion.) Having caught sight of her, Ellis has little attention for anything else for a long moment. The hammer in his hands, the bite of the cold, even the briard and the goat.
But Ruadh has no such hesitations. Abandoning entirely the scent he'd been snuffling after along the fencing, Ruadh wheels around to face the approaching...threat. Challenger. Irritant. There is no answering bark, but a raising of hackles, the suggestion of teeth, as Ruadh trots forward. Perhaps to inspect, perhaps not.
Which draws Ellis back to reality, enough that he drops the hammer to catch Ruadh before he can pass with a soothing murmur. His hand passes over old scars, sleek, short fur, before his gaze turns back to Wysteria.
What is there to say? If he thinks of anything, it's blotted out by the sight of her. That's the trouble, of wanting so much, of feeling so much. There's nothing to be done with it.
She's new.
(It isn't surprising that people might have come and gone. It should have occurred to him sooner.)
The discolorations at her wrists and ankles don't go unnoticed. Ellis' gaze skims over her, studying and assessing, before he nods.
"Aye," he answers, as his gaze lifts up and away as she settles into the bath. The discarding of the robe, the descent into the tub, she doesn't need eyes on her for the process of it. "D'you have a cup, or were you intending to drink straight from the jug?"
(It isn't surprising that people might have come and gone. It should have occurred to him sooner.)
The discolorations at her wrists and ankles don't go unnoticed. Ellis' gaze skims over her, studying and assessing, before he nods.
"Aye," he answers, as his gaze lifts up and away as she settles into the bath. The discarding of the robe, the descent into the tub, she doesn't need eyes on her for the process of it. "D'you have a cup, or were you intending to drink straight from the jug?"
Joy, like all emotions in Jone's heart, lives close to rage. She's glad to see him. She's angry he's left. Her first action is to vent the latter, not the former. Maybe if she could smile, grin, give a whoop of girlish enthusiasm, she'd be a better person. But as it stands, all she can think to do is smack his shoulder and rattle his chair.
"You horse's arse. Least you could to is mention a return. Have to be bleeding mysterious, ennit?"
"You horse's arse. Least you could to is mention a return. Have to be bleeding mysterious, ennit?"
It's become something of a personal project for Mobius. There are occasionally people who tend to the library lest it dissolve into complete chaos, but it's not enough. He hasn't been here long enough to see to the whole damn library, but a bit of effort every day to make sure books and scrolls and the like are tended to, repaired, organized back into a proper place.
Okay, so it's a long-term project, but he plans to stick around Riftwatch for as long as he's needed.
Which is why the table in question is littered with books, set in various piles, and this older fellow making note of each volume as he picks it up, title, author if legible, condition, subject. He looks up at the intrusion, blinks owlishly for a moment, and then: "Oh, sure, no, go right ahead. No ladder around? Blessed Andraste, I'm gonna requisition some made so people aren't climbing the shelves." He sets down the book he was looking at. "You need a hand?"
Okay, so it's a long-term project, but he plans to stick around Riftwatch for as long as he's needed.
Which is why the table in question is littered with books, set in various piles, and this older fellow making note of each volume as he picks it up, title, author if legible, condition, subject. He looks up at the intrusion, blinks owlishly for a moment, and then: "Oh, sure, no, go right ahead. No ladder around? Blessed Andraste, I'm gonna requisition some made so people aren't climbing the shelves." He sets down the book he was looking at. "You need a hand?"
The goat isn't deterred by either dog, the fall for the hammer, or any of the various personal dramas (canine or otherwise) which might be occurring in it's vicinity. It barges past the briard and makes its way directly toward it's favorite part of the garden—directly beside the chicken coop where two stacked bales of hay are covered by a tarpaulin—with little more that a dismissive flick of the tail.
That leaves just the dog and the girl in the doorway, the latter of which has clearly been stunned into rare silence. Perhaps it's the grey early light, or her state of undress, or the shock of her partially amputated arm with its vivid red scar, but for a moment she looks especially dumbfounded to have discovered Ellis and a mabari in her garden. And then, with much the same attitude as the goat before her, Wysteria is shoving past the briard.
"You horrible villain! You're not meant to be here!" is outrage or shrill relief or both all at once. Her face flushes twelve shades of red as, with a suspicious dog following tightly in tow at her heels, Wysteria storms across the narrow garden toward him.
That leaves just the dog and the girl in the doorway, the latter of which has clearly been stunned into rare silence. Perhaps it's the grey early light, or her state of undress, or the shock of her partially amputated arm with its vivid red scar, but for a moment she looks especially dumbfounded to have discovered Ellis and a mabari in her garden. And then, with much the same attitude as the goat before her, Wysteria is shoving past the briard.
"You horrible villain! You're not meant to be here!" is outrage or shrill relief or both all at once. Her face flushes twelve shades of red as, with a suspicious dog following tightly in tow at her heels, Wysteria storms across the narrow garden toward him.
Only the briefest of looks is spared for the goat (handsome, whoever gifted it chose well) to be sure of it's trajectory away from anything delicate and in need of tending. There is some comic similarity in both Ellis and his newfound companion, the pair of them both shooting a scrutinizing glance sideways before swiveling back to mark Wysteria's approach.
You're not meant to be hear is one of those things Wysteria means nothing by, but catches at him regardless. It wedges like a splinter. Ellis is distantly aware of it; more present in his mind is the creaking ache of his joints as he levers out of the crouch by the raised garden bed, straightening fully upright to meet Wysteria as she approaches.
She's going to be cold, he thinks. She's not properly bundled against the frigid morning.
But the sight of her is so, so welcome. He can do nothing but look at her, one hand drifting back to Ruadh's shoulder as a safeguard against any further hackle-raising.
He should say something, he knows. The expression on his face will resolve itself into words, sooner or later, but even the questions or cautions won't stick for the revelation of her, unchanged and flushed and blustering across the garden to scold him.
You're not meant to be hear is one of those things Wysteria means nothing by, but catches at him regardless. It wedges like a splinter. Ellis is distantly aware of it; more present in his mind is the creaking ache of his joints as he levers out of the crouch by the raised garden bed, straightening fully upright to meet Wysteria as she approaches.
She's going to be cold, he thinks. She's not properly bundled against the frigid morning.
But the sight of her is so, so welcome. He can do nothing but look at her, one hand drifting back to Ruadh's shoulder as a safeguard against any further hackle-raising.
He should say something, he knows. The expression on his face will resolve itself into words, sooner or later, but even the questions or cautions won't stick for the revelation of her, unchanged and flushed and blustering across the garden to scold him.
Instinctively, Ellis' hand closes over the whole of his mending at the jostling welcome Jone bestows upon him. The pin digs into his palm, but the spike of pain barely registers.
On the floor, Ruadh has rolled up onto his belly, still laid out but shifted to something approaching motion. Not fully upright, but the languid stretch of his body has transitioned to wary preparedness as he observes Ellis' reaction.
"You know I'm not one to make a fuss."
Is probably not much of an explanation. But the idea of announcing himself felt as impossible now as it had the first time he'd arrived, if not more so now.
On the floor, Ruadh has rolled up onto his belly, still laid out but shifted to something approaching motion. Not fully upright, but the languid stretch of his body has transitioned to wary preparedness as he observes Ellis' reaction.
"You know I'm not one to make a fuss."
Is probably not much of an explanation. But the idea of announcing himself felt as impossible now as it had the first time he'd arrived, if not more so now.
Unfamiliar face.
A moment to doublecheck the chair he's laid a hand on isn't also harboring a small pile of books, before Ellis does pull it back and lift it, cementing his claim. As to the offer—
"If you wouldn't mind handling some maps."
There might be a ladder. There one was a ladder, but who knows who had made off with it for some alternate reason. Ellis has little idea of what Satinalia was like this year, but it wouldn't surprise him had several ladders been employed to decorate or if some disaster had occurred and damaged the lot, or—
There are possibilities. Ellis finds it best not to dwell.
"Assuming you are in a place to leave off."
A moment to doublecheck the chair he's laid a hand on isn't also harboring a small pile of books, before Ellis does pull it back and lift it, cementing his claim. As to the offer—
"If you wouldn't mind handling some maps."
There might be a ladder. There one was a ladder, but who knows who had made off with it for some alternate reason. Ellis has little idea of what Satinalia was like this year, but it wouldn't surprise him had several ladders been employed to decorate or if some disaster had occurred and damaged the lot, or—
There are possibilities. Ellis finds it best not to dwell.
"Assuming you are in a place to leave off."
It's outrageous that he should be standing there in the garden, looking battered and tired from travel and rough living but definitively not dead or missing or called off to some dark Warden business in the Deep Roads. It's absurd! It's insulting! It's the sort of make believe thing she has been stubbornly convincing herself would happen since the delivery of that dreadful note he'd left for her—
(The note wasn't dreadful. The purpose of it was. Maybe in the next days, she'll reread it stripped of the context of Ellis isn't coming back and find something more satisfying in it.)
—And, as it always is, being correct is so very satisfying.
"You might have sent word. A raven. Anything! Déranger, down!"
His dog is in her way as well. So either the mabari will cede ground or it will find itself contesting with Wysteria's intentions to trample into Ellis's space and throw an arm about him.
(The note wasn't dreadful. The purpose of it was. Maybe in the next days, she'll reread it stripped of the context of Ellis isn't coming back and find something more satisfying in it.)
—And, as it always is, being correct is so very satisfying.
"You might have sent word. A raven. Anything! Déranger, down!"
His dog is in her way as well. So either the mabari will cede ground or it will find itself contesting with Wysteria's intentions to trample into Ellis's space and throw an arm about him.
Whatever Ruadh had intended (it is likely he had intended on keeping well in the way of both approaching female and her canine) doesn't matter. Ellis' hand leaves his shoulder as steps immediately around Ruadh's bulk to catch hold of Wysteria, crumple down into her, put his face in against her neck as his arms came round her waist.
An explanation is for later (He was alone for miles and miles, and it had never felt safe to take any risk, to call Thot down and have her force up his crystal so he might indulge himself. He'd wanted to hear her voice, Tony's voice, so badly that it was impossible to trust that urge.) after he has somehow had his fill of her. She is bristling with anger and so warm in his arms and she looks herself again, healthier than he remembers her being when he left.
He's holding onto her so very tightly as Ruadh pads around to his opposite side in a paltry attempt to ignore Déranger, at whom he is still huffing and curling a lip at. Ellis' hands flatten against her back, over her shoulder blades, cinching her in tight against him while he fails to do anything other than hold onto her. He exhales a hard, shuddering breath against her neck. If he says something, it's muffled beyond hearing by the fabric of her housecoat.
An explanation is for later (He was alone for miles and miles, and it had never felt safe to take any risk, to call Thot down and have her force up his crystal so he might indulge himself. He'd wanted to hear her voice, Tony's voice, so badly that it was impossible to trust that urge.) after he has somehow had his fill of her. She is bristling with anger and so warm in his arms and she looks herself again, healthier than he remembers her being when he left.
He's holding onto her so very tightly as Ruadh pads around to his opposite side in a paltry attempt to ignore Déranger, at whom he is still huffing and curling a lip at. Ellis' hands flatten against her back, over her shoulder blades, cinching her in tight against him while he fails to do anything other than hold onto her. He exhales a hard, shuddering breath against her neck. If he says something, it's muffled beyond hearing by the fabric of her housecoat.
Thankfully no books on the seats. People need those sometimes, you see. Mobius gets up with a little stretch. "I'll handle whatever needs handling, sure. Don't mind the mess," with a wave to the table, "just doing some organizing. Seems like a lot of people haven't heard of organization for, you know, an organization."
It's probably not as bad as he makes it sound, but Maker's breath, books back in the Circle being out of place would've gotten someone chewed out with extra work at least, so maybe he's been spoiled with a certain expectation.
"No one's told me off for taking someone else's job yet."
It's probably not as bad as he makes it sound, but Maker's breath, books back in the Circle being out of place would've gotten someone chewed out with extra work at least, so maybe he's been spoiled with a certain expectation.
"No one's told me off for taking someone else's job yet."
"We'd had an archivist," Ellis says, tone mild in spite of some minor twinge of disapproval. "But he's been gone for some time now."
Longer than Ellis. Perhaps he will never see Mhavos again. Wherever he's gone, Ellis hopes he's found some solace there. Whatever peace can be found in these times, with war escalating around them.
"I don't know that anyone's put themselves forward for it."
Not that Ellis is exactly up to date on the happenings around the Gallows. He can't imagine it's so changed that they are suddenly blessed with all the help they might need.
A tip of his head as he turns back to the shelves. Expecting to be followed, back to the carefully stacked rolls of maps atop the stacks.
Longer than Ellis. Perhaps he will never see Mhavos again. Wherever he's gone, Ellis hopes he's found some solace there. Whatever peace can be found in these times, with war escalating around them.
"I don't know that anyone's put themselves forward for it."
Not that Ellis is exactly up to date on the happenings around the Gallows. He can't imagine it's so changed that they are suddenly blessed with all the help they might need.
A tip of his head as he turns back to the shelves. Expecting to be followed, back to the carefully stacked rolls of maps atop the stacks.
"No," is the truth. "Sore, from too much time in the saddle. But it'll pass."
Too much time in the saddle, to many nights sleeping on hard ground without proper gear. He hadn't been able to hide away enough to make the journey easy. But he'd managed to get here, so what objection can there be?
"Are you alright?"
In which alright is such an open-ended thing. He's been gone so long. She seems unchanged to him, but what does that account for, really?
Too much time in the saddle, to many nights sleeping on hard ground without proper gear. He hadn't been able to hide away enough to make the journey easy. But he'd managed to get here, so what objection can there be?
"Are you alright?"
In which alright is such an open-ended thing. He's been gone so long. She seems unchanged to him, but what does that account for, really?
It's all the permission Jone needs to start pulling him into a headlock, adding her knuckles to his scalp with a firm rub if he'll let her. "I'm fine. I'm fine. You, lad, disappear for who knows what else in the bloody dark without a word, oh, I'm fine, I am."
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