“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}
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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.
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"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."
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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.
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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.
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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?”
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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.
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“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.