Pass. But give her my compliments if you see her next. You're not a bad hand to have around.
And as a matter of fact, I have. Which...I might also owe to having a little help along the way. [A healer's hands, spared warmth, shed blood, torn clothes— a set of talons clinging to the edges of his memory. All of it more than he'd expected to find.]
All that time we spent alone together in the woods and you think I'm using you.
But now I’m starting to wonder. Has she mentioned it to you, yet? Adrasteia.
The way she blushes when she talks about you is....hm. [A soft, soft hum. Ever so thoughtful.] Poor thing’s been too shy to tell you, of course. You’ll go to her, won’t you? Because I know there’s a heart beating in that chest of yours. That you wouldn’t leave a sweet young creature floundering in the dark.
I’m being gentle you know. Sweet, even. [Pay attention to him, please.]
And besides, it’s unbearably boring scraping the dust out of rotted floorboards— I swear it’s almost as if Kirkwall generates it as quickly as I displace it.
Presumably, Ellis communicates where he might be found before tucking away his crystal.
And he is patiently sat on a low stone wall, watching the dealings of a small cluster of Marchers muttering together. Ellis has chosen the far side of Lowtown, where the city begins to slope downwards, where the lifts are located and operated. The observation of comings and goings has occupied him well enough while he waits for Astarion to arrive.
Astarion is there soon enough, just as promised, weaving through the dark like a cat prowling along the edge of a railing: one foot after the other, silent as the grave— it's almost a wonder how something paler than a sheet manages to blend into Lowtown so effortlessly.
A smile's flashed when he's near enough, lopsided and unsettling. He's bid farewell to the fine leather that'd adorned him before, trading it for a simple, loose shirt with an open collar, bandages still peeking out from beneath its edge.
"Yes," comes without any hesitation, as Ellis straightens up onto his feet from his slouch against the stone. "Are you whole enough to keep someone from sticking a knife into me?"
"Not to worry, I can do much more than just that."
He follows that eyeline downwards, patting featherlight at the edges of his shirt where it gives way to wrapping, lopsidedly smiling in the most effortless reassurance imaginable.
"Shocking as it is to hear, I'm something of a vain creature. And while you've seen some of my scars, I'd like to avoid adding more to my current repertoire."
In other words, he's simply making sure those last, clinging, now-shallow little marks fade without so much as a single scratch.
But he is reassured all the same. Nothing about Astarion has given Ellis the impression that he's the type to persevere through great injury.
"You're ready? Have what you need?"
A knife, presumably. All Ellis need do is present himself as bait, and has accordingly shed his breastplate. Does it do anything to paint him as an easy mark? Maybe, maybe not.
It's not exactly by-the-book, this routine of theirs. In fact, Astarion's fairly certain it's about as off the books as anything gets: Ellis sans visible defenses, strolling through unfriendly streets in order to draw out the worst the Kirkwall has to offer— and it has so much more than usual, as of late.
For Astarion, it's a gift. For Ellis, however...
"You're certain you won't get in trouble for this? After all, I...doubt it's what anyone had in mind when they sent you out here to play dutiful watchdog."
"It's unorthodox," Ellis concedes. "But if we're drawing attention here, it'll be lessen the chances anyone makes it over to bother the guards at the warehouse."
Perhaps the Commander had never considered that someone might take such a circular approach to their duty. If it all goes wrong, Ellis doubts the loophole will spark any kind of amusement.
"Me? Worried?" Almost gasped, fingertips fanning all the more across his collarbone in a feigned show of surprise— that bleeds neatly into a dark, predatory grin.
"Absolutely."
And then, another switch flipped, his tone suddenly light. Amused.
"Because if an axe happens to come down, I'm going to miss seeing that pretty little head of yours resting neatly on those shoulders when you take all the blame, like a true hero."
But that suits Astarion just fine. Same as that affectionate little tap to his elbow that leaves his own toothy smirk a little wider. A little more slanted.
He chases it with an adoring chuckle— and then steps backwards onto the lift, almost disappearing entirely in the shadows cast by its surrounding shaft.
Apparently he intends to get started early on the whole ‘Ellis' invisible shadow’ role.
Having caught the intention, Ellis' response is limited to, "Aye," as the lift rattles to life and plunges them downward.
And there's only one minor backwards glance when the lift clatters to a stop, a slight grin flashed to Astarion before he squares his shoulders and sets out at a brisk walk.
He has some idea of where he's going. There are still things to obtain in Darktown, even if it's only a gathering of Deathroot to be turned over to the appropriate parties to be converted into poison. The secondary benefit is for Astarion. Nothing shifts immediately, but the narrowing of attention on Ellis becomes a palpable thing. Ellis is visibly unarmed. Brawny and tall, certainly, but the odds of one man on his own without armor or weapon against armed men lacking morals are not promising.
It's theoretically Astarion's decision: wait until trouble arrives, or pick off the circling vultures as they line themselves into formations.
The bigger the score, the more fun the ensuing chaos. Astarion waits, biding his time, watching skulking shadows gather as they discreetly coast along in Ellis' wake. He's no shivering grandmother, nor sickly child clutching a purseful of coins, but even the strong on their own are someone's prey: rats will swarm to sink their teeth into a larger meal.
It's only when the street hooks in a twisting curve that the gathered flock shows their hand in blocking Ellis' exit: a sturdy trio altogether, only one of the pack is leaner and longer, hunched forward to hide the fact that he doesn't quite match up in silhouette to the others. Not that it matters, they can preen and posture all they like, but the moment they tip their hand by growling out the fact that Ellis has stepped onto their turf, that's the moment Astarion lunges like a cat from shadow— claws outstretched in twin daggers, both plunging into the meat of the nearest thug's side, and eliciting a howl of agony.
The scrawnier vermin, startled by it, seems more inclined to leap back than help his own kin. The third, however, a flat-faced grunt only owing to the fact that he looks as though his nose has been broken more than a few times with almost startling effectiveness, takes his outrage to Ellis instead, bull-rushing forward with only his fists as a weapon.
Might be a good time to stall for time, Ellis. However you can.
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Call it something of a curiosity, that I felt the faintest little itch of wondering as to whether or not you'd survived the brunt of all that war.
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[ Credit where credit's due. ]
And you sound better, than last I heard. Have you made it back to Kirkwall?
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And as a matter of fact, I have. Which...I might also owe to having a little help along the way. [A healer's hands, spared warmth, shed blood, torn clothes— a set of talons clinging to the edges of his memory. All of it more than he'd expected to find.]
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And what will you do now? Is this a conversation meant to occupy your time while you finish recovering?
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No wonder that poor girl has kept her feelings for you a secret all this time.
[A feathering little gasp. Oops.]
—oh dear, I've said too much.
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Still, a beat of consideration precedes— ]
Then enlighten me. What are you pursuing?
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But now I’m starting to wonder. Has she mentioned it to you, yet? Adrasteia.
The way she blushes when she talks about you is....hm. [A soft, soft hum. Ever so thoughtful.] Poor thing’s been too shy to tell you, of course. You’ll go to her, won’t you? Because I know there’s a heart beating in that chest of yours. That you wouldn’t leave a sweet young creature floundering in the dark.
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If you're planning on carrying on this way, I'll put my crystal back into my pocket now.
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I’m being gentle you know. Sweet, even. [Pay attention to him, please.]
And besides, it’s unbearably boring scraping the dust out of rotted floorboards— I swear it’s almost as if Kirkwall generates it as quickly as I displace it.
I’m not meant for this kind of work.
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[ riveting, surely ]
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...that depends. Are there any miscreants about tonight?
Any dastardly villains in need of harsh handling?
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[ Enticing. ]
We could walk through Darktown, if you like. If someone tries to stab me, you can make them regret the idea.
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...and then you go and say the most charming things.
[In other words: yes, Ellis, he'd be delighted to.]
My house is in Lowtown. Give me a few minutes to finish up with these wretched floorboards, and I'll be there quick as you can blink.
backflips to action
And he is patiently sat on a low stone wall, watching the dealings of a small cluster of Marchers muttering together. Ellis has chosen the far side of Lowtown, where the city begins to slope downwards, where the lifts are located and operated. The observation of comings and goings has occupied him well enough while he waits for Astarion to arrive.
powerslides in
A smile's flashed when he's near enough, lopsided and unsettling. He's bid farewell to the fine leather that'd adorned him before, trading it for a simple, loose shirt with an open collar, bandages still peeking out from beneath its edge.
"Is this all you do for fun?"
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The bandages have been noted.
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He follows that eyeline downwards, patting featherlight at the edges of his shirt where it gives way to wrapping, lopsidedly smiling in the most effortless reassurance imaginable.
"Shocking as it is to hear, I'm something of a vain creature. And while you've seen some of my scars, I'd like to avoid adding more to my current repertoire."
In other words, he's simply making sure those last, clinging, now-shallow little marks fade without so much as a single scratch.
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But he is reassured all the same. Nothing about Astarion has given Ellis the impression that he's the type to persevere through great injury.
"You're ready? Have what you need?"
A knife, presumably. All Ellis need do is present himself as bait, and has accordingly shed his breastplate. Does it do anything to paint him as an easy mark? Maybe, maybe not.
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For Astarion, it's a gift. For Ellis, however...
"You're certain you won't get in trouble for this? After all, I...doubt it's what anyone had in mind when they sent you out here to play dutiful watchdog."
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Perhaps the Commander had never considered that someone might take such a circular approach to their duty. If it all goes wrong, Ellis doubts the loophole will spark any kind of amusement.
"You're not worried, are you?"
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"Absolutely."
And then, another switch flipped, his tone suddenly light. Amused.
"Because if an axe happens to come down, I'm going to miss seeing that pretty little head of yours resting neatly on those shoulders when you take all the blame, like a true hero."
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Overly optimistic? Maybe.
His fist knocks lightly at Astarion's elbow as he tips his head towards the lift in silent invitation.
Well?
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But that suits Astarion just fine. Same as that affectionate little tap to his elbow that leaves his own toothy smirk a little wider. A little more slanted.
He chases it with an adoring chuckle— and then steps backwards onto the lift, almost disappearing entirely in the shadows cast by its surrounding shaft.
Apparently he intends to get started early on the whole ‘Ellis' invisible shadow’ role.
"I suppose we'll just have to wait and see."
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And there's only one minor backwards glance when the lift clatters to a stop, a slight grin flashed to Astarion before he squares his shoulders and sets out at a brisk walk.
He has some idea of where he's going. There are still things to obtain in Darktown, even if it's only a gathering of Deathroot to be turned over to the appropriate parties to be converted into poison. The secondary benefit is for Astarion. Nothing shifts immediately, but the narrowing of attention on Ellis becomes a palpable thing. Ellis is visibly unarmed. Brawny and tall, certainly, but the odds of one man on his own without armor or weapon against armed men lacking morals are not promising.
It's theoretically Astarion's decision: wait until trouble arrives, or pick off the circling vultures as they line themselves into formations.
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It's only when the street hooks in a twisting curve that the gathered flock shows their hand in blocking Ellis' exit: a sturdy trio altogether, only one of the pack is leaner and longer, hunched forward to hide the fact that he doesn't quite match up in silhouette to the others. Not that it matters, they can preen and posture all they like, but the moment they tip their hand by growling out the fact that Ellis has stepped onto their turf, that's the moment Astarion lunges like a cat from shadow— claws outstretched in twin daggers, both plunging into the meat of the nearest thug's side, and eliciting a howl of agony.
The scrawnier vermin, startled by it, seems more inclined to leap back than help his own kin. The third, however, a flat-faced grunt only owing to the fact that he looks as though his nose has been broken more than a few times with almost startling effectiveness, takes his outrage to Ellis instead, bull-rushing forward with only his fists as a weapon.
Might be a good time to stall for time, Ellis. However you can.
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hovers bow over this thread menacingly
ties it for you