The cork is fiddly work and he is well-tuned into the twist of it, lest he slip and spill blood across his trousers. When the catch of it finally releases with a grimace and a muffled thwonk, he’s careful to fold the blade away again before he adds:
“But I will answer to either.” Or ‘Mister Dickerson,’ as the case may be.
He does not seem put off by his decision to stay. Even if it does mean that he’s forced to stand and plant the open bottle on the table so that he can retrieve a cup from the trunk at the foot of his bed. Thot has rolled and stretched a paw up in pursuit of Ellis’ chin.
A kind of cornering question, asked quite steadily in spite of questing paw. Thot is allowed her attempts to scrabble at the bristle of his beard while Ellis watches her counterpart plunk said cup down onto the table.
Ellis called him to assist in the construction of a chicken coop and hadn’t squeezed his head off his shoulders when he’d informed him of his betrayal of Masters Stark and Poppell-de Foncé. His confidence in the shape and nature of his classification in whatever rolodex of non-Wardens is absolute.
Because he can be merciful, particularly after having held Ellis’ feet to a very small but also very persistent fire, he adds (as he pours) a more concrete: “Yes.”
Ellis' hand draws down the knobby arch of Thot's spine as her toes flex against his chin.
"Alright."
In some ways, this was already a foregone conclusion. Ellis considered Richard a friend. If he hadn't, Ellis might have granted his request already. It's still a hard thing to consign someone to, but Ellis knows it comes easier with near strangers.
You never answered my question goes unspoken. Maybe Richard stalling at consider rather than yes, of course I would cut your throat is it's own kind of answer. Or drawing that conclusion is a presumption.
"Thank you."
In recognition of having been given this piece of information apropos of nothing. A measure of unearned trust.
Silas certainly seems to believe the issue resolved, past the catch of friction to a pause before he lifts the cup to drink from it -- as if he’s sensed he’s missed something, but isn’t sure what. It hasn’t occurred to him that there might be another reason for him to punch a knife through Ellis’ jugular, beyond his previous expression of disappointment over his ongoing existence.
An exchange he was asked to forget about.
He must feel very strongly to have brought it up again on his own.
“Mm,” he says, instead of you’re welcome. And at least in clear part due to the wine being better than he expected. “I’d have mentioned it before, but it's never seemed important.”
Not that Ellis needs or even wants to know. It's not his business. He hadn't pressed Tony, and he doesn't care to press Richard. Silas.
He'll have his reasons. Ellis has known him long enough to know that he doesn't do things ildy. Silas will have a reason. Even when Ellis disagrees with them, he appreciates that quality in him.
“If you die alone in Weisshaupt, I’d like you to know who you have to blame.”
Silas says so very reasonably, as he also has a way of doing. There’s an affectionate resignation to the otherwise chilly grip of his reproach in a look.
That claps some of the shade off him -- mid-swallow, even, a small sip turned into a longer pull, his brow furrowed in the vacuum of whatever technicality he’d intended to disarm. Had he assumed Ellis didn’t have a family name?
It seemed as likely as any other explanation.
“Atheris,” he replies, compelled, for whatever reason, to keep things even.
Thot closes her eyes, piano wire muscle abuzz with her purr under the velvet of her hide.
There is, as ever, the urge to draw a line after the admission. This can go no further. But he thinks Silas understands that. Ellis has not spent nearly three years in this place without disclosing the information for it to be circulated.
Of all people Ellis has met here, Silas is one for an appreciation of holding information close to the chest.
He has other questions, but none that need asking in immediacy. There’s a more thoughtful weight to his quiet in contemplation all the same -- curiosity folded up and filed away for later.
"Three days," Ellis says, and, by way of explanation, "My armor should be repaired by then."
And it's enough time to see to any number of minor chores, make arrangements for his chickens, be sure the Hightown house is not in position to be consumed by an ambitious science experiment in his absence.
His hand smooths down Thot's arched spine, before he lifts her onto the table.
"I should go."
As he has run out of distractions for the day, and they shouldn't tempt fate.
Thot’s legs hang useless as she’s lifted, and languish loose in their joints where he tries to place her, so that Ellis must lay her down on her side like a broken doll. Silas looks on, briefly distant in his disapproval, wine in hand. He does not prompt her to behave.
“Of course,” he says. The door is open.
Not technically, technically it’s closed. They’ve been over this already. Reluctant instinct sees him up on his feet, wine and all, to cross for the door first.
Maybe Ellis is thinking again of the shrike in the dream. Maybe not. The roads are dangerous regardless, and armor won't go amiss.
As he stands, he gives Thot a last pet, a light chuck beneath her chin. Sprawling across the table in such a fashion cannot be so comfortable, but Ellis leaves her to it as he follows Silas towards the door.
"Thank you for the hospitality," is a little like a joke, some dredged up bit of manners from when Ellis was a functioning person who acknowledged such things regularly.
...Is an easy reminder, joke or no, coupled with a dry glance as Silas opens the door and steps aside. He’s glad they could come to an understanding.
“I’ll be ready in three days.”
He waits for Ellis to step out to say so, eyes keen until they’re closed away behind the crack. Somehow this alone imparts the impression that he might be scarce to find for the purpose of renegotiation over the next 72 hours.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The cork is fiddly work and he is well-tuned into the twist of it, lest he slip and spill blood across his trousers. When the catch of it finally releases with a grimace and a muffled thwonk, he’s careful to fold the blade away again before he adds:
“But I will answer to either.” Or ‘Mister Dickerson,’ as the case may be.
He does not seem put off by his decision to stay. Even if it does mean that he’s forced to stand and plant the open bottle on the table so that he can retrieve a cup from the trunk at the foot of his bed. Thot has rolled and stretched a paw up in pursuit of Ellis’ chin.
no subject
A kind of cornering question, asked quite steadily in spite of questing paw. Thot is allowed her attempts to scrabble at the bristle of his beard while Ellis watches her counterpart plunk said cup down onto the table.
no subject
Ellis called him to assist in the construction of a chicken coop and hadn’t squeezed his head off his shoulders when he’d informed him of his betrayal of Masters Stark and Poppell-de Foncé. His confidence in the shape and nature of his classification in whatever rolodex of non-Wardens is absolute.
Because he can be merciful, particularly after having held Ellis’ feet to a very small but also very persistent fire, he adds (as he pours) a more concrete: “Yes.”
no subject
"Alright."
In some ways, this was already a foregone conclusion. Ellis considered Richard a friend. If he hadn't, Ellis might have granted his request already. It's still a hard thing to consign someone to, but Ellis knows it comes easier with near strangers.
You never answered my question goes unspoken. Maybe Richard stalling at consider rather than yes, of course I would cut your throat is it's own kind of answer. Or drawing that conclusion is a presumption.
"Thank you."
In recognition of having been given this piece of information apropos of nothing. A measure of unearned trust.
no subject
An exchange he was asked to forget about.
He must feel very strongly to have brought it up again on his own.
“Mm,” he says, instead of you’re welcome. And at least in clear part due to the wine being better than he expected. “I’d have mentioned it before, but it's never seemed important.”
no subject
Not that Ellis needs or even wants to know. It's not his business. He hadn't pressed Tony, and he doesn't care to press Richard. Silas.
He'll have his reasons. Ellis has known him long enough to know that he doesn't do things ildy. Silas will have a reason. Even when Ellis disagrees with them, he appreciates that quality in him.
no subject
Silas says so very reasonably, as he also has a way of doing. There’s an affectionate resignation to the otherwise chilly grip of his reproach in a look.
no subject
"I'm not going to die alone in Weisshaupt."
There will most certainly be a great number of other Wardens in attendance, if such a fate came to pass.
But before Silas can argue the point, a discussion Ellis is very uninterested in pursuing, he continues, "My family name was Ginsberg."
no subject
It seemed as likely as any other explanation.
“Atheris,” he replies, compelled, for whatever reason, to keep things even.
Thot closes her eyes, piano wire muscle abuzz with her purr under the velvet of her hide.
no subject
Of all people Ellis has met here, Silas is one for an appreciation of holding information close to the chest.
"Silas Atheris," Ellis repeats back, familiarizing himself. "Alright."
Alright ringing to the tune of thank you.
no subject
He has other questions, but none that need asking in immediacy. There’s a more thoughtful weight to his quiet in contemplation all the same -- curiosity folded up and filed away for later.
“When should I be prepared to travel?”
no subject
And it's enough time to see to any number of minor chores, make arrangements for his chickens, be sure the Hightown house is not in position to be consumed by an ambitious science experiment in his absence.
His hand smooths down Thot's arched spine, before he lifts her onto the table.
"I should go."
As he has run out of distractions for the day, and they shouldn't tempt fate.
no subject
“Of course,” he says. The door is open.
Not technically, technically it’s closed. They’ve been over this already. Reluctant instinct sees him up on his feet, wine and all, to cross for the door first.
“I’ll bring mine as well.”
slaps bow onto this
Maybe Ellis is thinking again of the shrike in the dream. Maybe not. The roads are dangerous regardless, and armor won't go amiss.
As he stands, he gives Thot a last pet, a light chuck beneath her chin. Sprawling across the table in such a fashion cannot be so comfortable, but Ellis leaves her to it as he follows Silas towards the door.
"Thank you for the hospitality," is a little like a joke, some dredged up bit of manners from when Ellis was a functioning person who acknowledged such things regularly.
BOW
...Is an easy reminder, joke or no, coupled with a dry glance as Silas opens the door and steps aside. He’s glad they could come to an understanding.
“I’ll be ready in three days.”
He waits for Ellis to step out to say so, eyes keen until they’re closed away behind the crack. Somehow this alone imparts the impression that he might be scarce to find for the purpose of renegotiation over the next 72 hours.