Is there something troubling him? Maybe, but it won't do either of them any good for him to admit any of the sins rattling around his head.
"I'd rather not talk about things like that, Wysteria," he says, because he cannot bring himself to lie to her, nor to dismiss her out of hand. She is perceptive, and he doesn't care to divert that or to try and fool her into mistrusting her own impression.
But he doesn't want certain aspects of his life to touch hers. It leaves him with one option forward, which is stating his wish plainly and hoping for the best.
It's a strange thing—to be both wrong in one direction and correct in another. But there's hardly any shame in modifying one's understanding of a thing, or a person, or whatever you please. And what Mr. Stark doesn't know, he won't needlessly crow over.
"Well, then I suppose I can hardly be expected to argue the point," is all pragmatism as she turns her hand in her lap so the snake can continue to sunbathe in some patch of light dappling her knee.
The sweetness of that offer catches him off-guard. It's overwhelming, to be afforded that kind of care. He has done nothing in his life to deserve this kind of loyalty, and yet, here is Wysteria, offering it up in absolute sincerity.
Ellis gets to his feet, leans down to kiss her forehead, hand light at her shoulder.
"You're too good," he tells her. Too good for him, perhaps too good for the whole of Thedas. "I'll remember that."
Recall this when she describes wanting to put slugs enchanted with lightning into people.
"Nonsense. Goodness has very little to do with it, Mr. Ellis," she informs him in no uncertain terms, pinching the back of his hand at her shoulder. "Now stop that. Your face is intolerably scratchy."
Maybe the lightening slugs are part of the charm. It's hard to say. Regardless, he doesn't contradict her. He's laughing quietly as he straightens up, lifts his satchel.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he promises. "Be careful with Richard's snake."
"Please. The two of us are quite good friends now, isn't that right?" This is addressed to the snake, who blinks back with its beady black eye and tastes the air with its dark tongue.
And that is that. For some time after, all traded notes and books and flowers and favors are incidental.
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no subject
"I'd rather not talk about things like that, Wysteria," he says, because he cannot bring himself to lie to her, nor to dismiss her out of hand. She is perceptive, and he doesn't care to divert that or to try and fool her into mistrusting her own impression.
But he doesn't want certain aspects of his life to touch hers. It leaves him with one option forward, which is stating his wish plainly and hoping for the best.
no subject
"Well, then I suppose I can hardly be expected to argue the point," is all pragmatism as she turns her hand in her lap so the snake can continue to sunbathe in some patch of light dappling her knee.
She looks at him, quite severe.
"But should it ever have to do with myself, or Misters Stark or Fitz or de Foncé or anyone else, then you must say so immediately and I will see about correcting it."
no subject
Ellis gets to his feet, leans down to kiss her forehead, hand light at her shoulder.
"You're too good," he tells her. Too good for him, perhaps too good for the whole of Thedas. "I'll remember that."
no subject
"Nonsense. Goodness has very little to do with it, Mr. Ellis," she informs him in no uncertain terms, pinching the back of his hand at her shoulder. "Now stop that. Your face is intolerably scratchy."
sticks bow on this
"I'll see you tomorrow," he promises. "Be careful with Richard's snake."
sticks second bow on top of first bow
And that is that. For some time after, all traded notes and books and flowers and favors are incidental.