Here is some shared ground: that tension between explanation and excuse, Ellis has found himself in such a space before, even recently, standing on the opposite of Bastien's desk watching his face crumple into disapproval. And beyond that, this urge towards secrecy, holding fast to all parts of himself lest someone hear them and—
Draw conclusions. Come to some decision much like Ellis suspects Bastien already has: that Ellis is worth something, when that has not been true in a very long time.
But still, he has been given something. A piece of the kind of truth that Ellis knows comes at a very dear price.
"I didn't think of it as something to be used in the way you described," Ellis admits. "I've not used it at all myself."
Is this so surprising? Ellis has never wanted anyone else's secrets. He has reached no hand towards anything that isn't freely given. But it isn't so much about the work as it is about what Bastien holds in check. Ellis hasn't wrenched that secret from him. (He had put it on his smallest finger, standing in the crowded market square. He had taken it off only moments later, unsettled by the rush of whispered names that had spilled forth. If one was Bastien's, it would be impossible to know which.)
His hands turn one over the other. Index finger and thumb finding the stiff bend of his left hand, masking it behind the closure of one hand over the other. Draws breath, and holds it. Hesitating. Ruadh gone still between them, attentive.
no subject
Draw conclusions. Come to some decision much like Ellis suspects Bastien already has: that Ellis is worth something, when that has not been true in a very long time.
But still, he has been given something. A piece of the kind of truth that Ellis knows comes at a very dear price.
"I didn't think of it as something to be used in the way you described," Ellis admits. "I've not used it at all myself."
Is this so surprising? Ellis has never wanted anyone else's secrets. He has reached no hand towards anything that isn't freely given. But it isn't so much about the work as it is about what Bastien holds in check. Ellis hasn't wrenched that secret from him. (He had put it on his smallest finger, standing in the crowded market square. He had taken it off only moments later, unsettled by the rush of whispered names that had spilled forth. If one was Bastien's, it would be impossible to know which.)
His hands turn one over the other. Index finger and thumb finding the stiff bend of his left hand, masking it behind the closure of one hand over the other. Draws breath, and holds it. Hesitating. Ruadh gone still between them, attentive.