Initiative was taken: two stout bottles of beer and a cloth-covered basket occupy the mid-section of the bench. Ellis is sat at one end, tunic laces undone, slightly sweaty from whatever he had been engaged in at the training yard.
(It was tennis. Jone can still trounce him nine times out of ten, despite best efforts.)
A tip of the head in greeting, welcoming Tony to both basket and seat, as Ellis closes the book he'd been occupying himself with.
Tony sits down, a leg kicked up to kind of face Ellis as he takes up on of the bottles, a 'thanks' on the way there as he looks it over. Warm beer. He always forgets, somehow, anticipating cold glass each time. There's probably an enchantment for that.
It'll be good enough, anyway, uncorking it as he says, "Scoutmaster and Commander are missing," because that seems imperative to communicate before they get fully into sweaty picnic mode. "No responses over crystals, check in late by several hours. Seems unusual, if Rutyer's the yardstick."
Tony brings up the beer to sip from, an 'uh huh' just before he tips it back. His expression is tense, mainly, and there is some corner of his mind that is not present, operating on overdrive.
"They were heading north," he says. "Along the Minanter. And it's getting spicy up there."
The annoying footnote that it could also be nothing is still present, although Tony doesn't think the Ambassador would have acted as fast as he did if it seemed like nothing.
A nod, Ellis' attention dropping to the cork as he thinks through the information, what's presented and what it will mean going forward. The cork is set down. Ellis rolls the bottle between his palms.
"How spicy?" is an easier question than What replacements are there?
"Riots in Hasmal," Tony says. "Refugees flooding out into the Marches. It's kind of a developing situation right now?"
Which makes it worse, in a way. They need Yseult's contacts to ensure the information they're getting is reliable. They need to coordinate a military response, probably, with leaders in the other Free cities. They don't need a bunch of half-finished machines and sketches for even more of them.
Tony flips open the lid of the basket, peers in.
"We're gonna kick off a search and rescue, but we need to draw from Forces and Scouting to do it. Byerly's covering Scouting. And what I do need from you," a glance up, over the brim of his sunglasses, "are names of folks you consider capable of handling some things while I wrangle Forces."
Refugees. Ellis remembers Kostos Averesch recounting some secondhand news of them, months ago.
The weight of what Tony's taking on registers immediately. A slight frown creases his face, though he nods without comment.
"Alright," Ellis says, swigs from the bottle before asking, "What kind of things?"
Though it likely won't change the names that come immediately to mind. Ellis already knows who he trusts, who he finds capable, and who he would have relegated to polishing armor and sorting weapons shipments.
Some food is taken out, divided, Tony definitely one of those people who forget to eat until there is something in front of him to put in his mouth. That flicker of recognition in Ellis is enough to relax him by a fraction. God, he really needs to get around to building a pizza oven.
Maybe once there's less war, and things.
"Flint has an assistant?" he says. He thinks, anyway. "Who can probably keep a hold of the non-urgents that cross his desk. But I could use the names of people with actual wartime experience, names of good combatants, anyone who knows the local area, or whoever you'd want to see show up in a crisis. Level heads would be wonderful."
"Matthias," in answer to what sounds like a question, but isn't the question.
A second swig from the bottle, before Ellis trades beer for something more substantial.
"Holden keeps a level head, and his friend, Amos is good in a fight. Aenor Dinadhal knows the land, and how to keep out of sight traveling it. Enchanters Julius, Smythe and Rowntree for mages. You'll want Jone of Denerim, Richard Dickerson, and Erik Stevens as well."
Then, with a sidelong look, a slight smile, Ellis tacks on, "And me."
List of names is filed away easy, and he says, "We're gonna send scouts out on griffons; Rutyer identified some safe zones in the area to check out. Hopefully something just spooked 'em into going to ground and they can come out mad at us for busting them.
"Or they eloped into retirement and I need to start auditioning for America's Next Top Model."
It doesn't need to be said. The looming possibility that the Commander and Scoutmaster are dead has not left the edge of Ellis' mind.
If they've lost Flint and Yseult, it would be a serious blow. Ellis doesn't need to say that aloud either.
"I can make you a list for that too," is absolutely meant as a joke instead, as Ellis tears the half of sandwich in his hands. "We can put Wysteria at the top of it."
A terrifying prospect, surely.
Though Ellis doesn't leave the humor much room to breathe, following it with, "They're too smart to get themselves killed that way. We'll flush them out sooner or later."
"You know what part I'm excited about," Tony says, between a bite of sandwich. "When we rescue them, and they're both extremely grateful and say thank you."
He tosses Ellis a crooked smile. That is also a joke.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
backflips to prose
(It was tennis. Jone can still trounce him nine times out of ten, despite best efforts.)
A tip of the head in greeting, welcoming Tony to both basket and seat, as Ellis closes the book he'd been occupying himself with.
gasp, applause
Tony sits down, a leg kicked up to kind of face Ellis as he takes up on of the bottles, a 'thanks' on the way there as he looks it over. Warm beer. He always forgets, somehow, anticipating cold glass each time. There's probably an enchantment for that.
It'll be good enough, anyway, uncorking it as he says, "Scoutmaster and Commander are missing," because that seems imperative to communicate before they get fully into sweaty picnic mode. "No responses over crystals, check in late by several hours. Seems unusual, if Rutyer's the yardstick."
no subject
A beat of quiet, assessing the expression on Tony's face, before Ellis says, "Are you worried?"
Tony's assessment will always carry more weight than anything Byerly Rutyer might have to say.
no subject
"They were heading north," he says. "Along the Minanter. And it's getting spicy up there."
The annoying footnote that it could also be nothing is still present, although Tony doesn't think the Ambassador would have acted as fast as he did if it seemed like nothing.
no subject
"How spicy?" is an easier question than What replacements are there?
no subject
Which makes it worse, in a way. They need Yseult's contacts to ensure the information they're getting is reliable. They need to coordinate a military response, probably, with leaders in the other Free cities. They don't need a bunch of half-finished machines and sketches for even more of them.
Tony flips open the lid of the basket, peers in.
"We're gonna kick off a search and rescue, but we need to draw from Forces and Scouting to do it. Byerly's covering Scouting. And what I do need from you," a glance up, over the brim of his sunglasses, "are names of folks you consider capable of handling some things while I wrangle Forces."
no subject
The weight of what Tony's taking on registers immediately. A slight frown creases his face, though he nods without comment.
"Alright," Ellis says, swigs from the bottle before asking, "What kind of things?"
Though it likely won't change the names that come immediately to mind. Ellis already knows who he trusts, who he finds capable, and who he would have relegated to polishing armor and sorting weapons shipments.
no subject
Maybe once there's less war, and things.
"Flint has an assistant?" he says. He thinks, anyway. "Who can probably keep a hold of the non-urgents that cross his desk. But I could use the names of people with actual wartime experience, names of good combatants, anyone who knows the local area, or whoever you'd want to see show up in a crisis. Level heads would be wonderful."
no subject
A second swig from the bottle, before Ellis trades beer for something more substantial.
"Holden keeps a level head, and his friend, Amos is good in a fight. Aenor Dinadhal knows the land, and how to keep out of sight traveling it. Enchanters Julius, Smythe and Rowntree for mages. You'll want Jone of Denerim, Richard Dickerson, and Erik Stevens as well."
Then, with a sidelong look, a slight smile, Ellis tacks on, "And me."
no subject
List of names is filed away easy, and he says, "We're gonna send scouts out on griffons; Rutyer identified some safe zones in the area to check out. Hopefully something just spooked 'em into going to ground and they can come out mad at us for busting them.
"Or they eloped into retirement and I need to start auditioning for America's Next Top Model."
Or they're dead, and they'll need to do the same.
no subject
If they've lost Flint and Yseult, it would be a serious blow. Ellis doesn't need to say that aloud either.
"I can make you a list for that too," is absolutely meant as a joke instead, as Ellis tears the half of sandwich in his hands. "We can put Wysteria at the top of it."
A terrifying prospect, surely.
Though Ellis doesn't leave the humor much room to breathe, following it with, "They're too smart to get themselves killed that way. We'll flush them out sooner or later."
no subject
He tosses Ellis a crooked smile. That is also a joke.
no subject
"Which of them do you think might be prone to tears of gratitude?"
The answer: neither
"We could place a bet."
Is this a vote of confidence in Flint and Yseult's survival skills, or just a way to keep Tony's spirits up? Both, perhaps?