Not a yes, but Ellis has parsed out the options. How long a shardbearer can be away from the Gallows. Whether or not Richard would abandon all his things. Whether he would simply go without a word to anyone at all.
Maybe he has come to a conclusion, and is only waiting for Wysteria to arrive there alongside him.
"He has," seems, from her tenor, to be a very narrow form of agreement on agreement. Yes, this is true. Richard Dickerson has in fact been away from Kirkwall for some time. Yes, he seems not to have warned anyone that he would be going. No, he had not been sent into the field prior to his disappearance. Yes, all these things are true. Indeed, she can understand why lots of people would take for granted that the easy and obvious answer be the correct one.
I have this feeling, is all, Loxley had said.
Wysteria dusts her hand absently off on her skirts. This isn't the first time she's done this today, and consequently she currently sports a funny powdery splotch around thigh height.
"But if he had gone, surely his little Thought would still be present. Other things that have come through the Rifts have, regardless of who they might belong to."
Wysteria is afforded several uninterrupted moments to pluck at the stall's offerings while Ellis gathers his thoughts. (Remembers Thot, tiny and persistent, tucked in against his neck at Weisshaupt, circling overhead on the long journey back.)
"We saw him call Thot. She didn't come through of her own accord."
Call a generous term to describe Thot's arrival in Thedas.
There are a half dozen very easy counter arguments one might make against this. Yes, but Mister Dickerson's little companion had been forged of magic, and not so different from any enchanted object to be found here in Thedas. And they know it to be entirely possible for her to be separated from him. To say nothing of the fact that Mister Dickerson had, she knows, somewhat pressing personal business elsewhere that certain parties would have discouraged.
"It's just," she says, absently checking another label on a sack. "He is very clever. And he would not be the first member of Riftwatch to slip away without a word for some length of time. And even the anchor he possesses is not an entirely insurmountable an obstacle. He, of all people, would know this and—"
A further, brief pause.
"I suppose I would be cross if he had, is the thing. Gone, I mean. As in reclaimed by the Fade, not as in having gone gallivanting about without informing anyone. Although obviously I would be cross about that as well. We have very important studies to be conducting, and his absence has put me in quite an inconvenient position of not knowing whether to continue on or to reserve the work until his return."
As she speaks, an ache cracks open in Ellis' chest. It widens by degrees, growing from sliver to chasm as Wysteria continues.
They had not spoken in some time. Ellis is still so, so angry with him. Angrier now, maybe, that Silas had dragged him back into this life and this body only to slip away.
It isn't within his control. Ellis knows that, but it doesn't quell the unhappy pulse of anger beating behind his ribs.
But Ellis can section it off, wall it away so that when he reaches to take her hand and stall her inspection of the sack in question, his voice is very gentle.
"You should resume it, Wysteria," he tells her, with his thumb light over her knuckles. Watching her face. Aware of what he is implying. "He wouldn't want you to lose time."
The moment he takes her hand up, Wysteria's nose wrinkles. For she knows instinctively what will follow, and she has a great distaste for the thing Ellis is bound to imply with his gentle touch of fingers and gentler voice and his careful attention on her. It's all very irritating. Not him, not Ellis specifically. But the circumstances— what a dreadful annoyance, and she supposes that it's only fair to be angry with Mister Dickerson now when she has otherwise not been even when he sometimes seemed to wish her to be.
Her nose remains wrinkled. Wysteria frowns down at the contents of the sack, aware of some flush of annoyance or directionless irritability crawling up the back of her neck. Making her ears faintly warm. Invading beyond her hairline.
Yes, yes. Gentle hand, gentle voice. She gets the point, Mister Ellis.
"How frustrating," is a very broad, incredibly bland statement for the whole sensation.
It is not much to offer her in return. He is gone. They can do nothing about it. As clever as Wysteria is, and all that she may yet unravel about the universe, there seems no way to call a rifter back to them.
Ellis' fingers remain there, a light grasp of contact circling hers.
"Have you checked his rooms?" is a question on the way to some larger point, surely.
"Have I checked his— No," she cuts herself off, making a sound somewhere between a scoff and a mortified laugh. "No, I haven't checked his rooms."
Should she have thought of that? Maybe she ought to've. He might have papers in there. Notes. A suggestion of where he'd gone or, given the inevitable, some things organized in case he should ever go very suddenly. Surely if anyone would be the type, it would be Mister Dickerson.
It had occurred to him, but how welcome would Ellis have been? Surely Loxley had been the one to manage the collection of items left in Silas' wake, box them up and store them away on the off chance he returned.
"Oh. Well—" She glances down at her hand in his, not really seeing it so much as simply letting the point of her attention flit about in the effort not to look directly at the obligation to go rifling through Mister Dickerson's things as if they are looting a corpse.
"No," she says at last. Looks up. "No, that hardly seems necessary. I can simply ask Loxley if there was anything of note among his papers."
There may well be something Wysteria could make use of in her research. Maybe Ellis will find that something to worry about, whenever he circles around to contemplating her research more directly.
"Would his snake have been remained?"
The little snake, given to poking its tiny head out from shirtcuffs, weaving through the plants in Wysteria's garden. It had always seemed fond of her. And Ellis had never asked where it had come from.
"Ribbon," she supplies automatically, though it occurs to her abruptly that it was a distraction she's given the snake rather than any official one.
"I don't know," is offered up with a shake of the head. "It was made of a similar magic to Mister Dickerson's cat, yes, but not precisely the same. And he told me once that she'd been given to him as a gift, and that he hadn't done the spellwork of assembling her himself, so I imagine it must be possible for the snake to continue independent from his..."
A pause. She searches for the correct word, fingers twitching absently inside Ellis' grasp as she unconsciously makes as if to gesture with that hand.
So Ribbon may well be gone already, having made its way down and out of the Gallows in Richard's absence.
Maybe it's for the best. Wysteria has begrudgingly accepted so many animals into her household. Being spared a further occupant is a very thin silver lining.
But rather than prompt her to this, Ellis tells her, "I won't be able to help with your research the way he did. But you can ask me, if you need another set of hands."
A minor twitch of his mouth, a bleak flinch of humor. He is hardly a worthwhile replacement. But he has sat alongside her and Tony for a long time. Maybe there is something he could do, if she needed it.
"Oh, well," has some fringe quality of humor or a scoff living at its very edge. Not laughing at him or the offer, certainly, but clearly on a similar page with respect to what kind of substitute Ellis might make for Mister Dickerson. They are very different people, with very different skills.
(Were? No, she will continue to think 'are,' if only because it may very well be true that whatever arcane energies had made up the older gentlemen may still be moving about the world, even if they no longer take the shape of a man.)
"That's very kind of you to offer, Mister Ellis. I will of course keep it under consideration."
It's not a dismissal. The frisson of humor passing between them clarifies the reality beyond any confusion: Ellis cannot offer the kind of help Richard would.
For better or for worse.
His fingers tighten over hers, the skim of his thumb across her knuckles a minor sort of consolation. Hold there, as he looks from her to the contents of the stall, eyes lifting inevitably back to her face.
"Aye," comes after a long moment of quiet, leading to, "Would you like to stop at one of the little shops once you've all you need here? One of the ones that sell ribbon, or the bakery across the way?"
"Ah, now here you can be of assistance," she proclaims, making then to slip her hand deftly from his. He has reminded her that she has a few more sacks of chalk and powdered metals to put her fingertips into. "When we've finished here, you may treat me to one of those cheese pastries I liked so much the other day. I left the last one of the table meaning to save it for later, and Tab jumped up and ate it before I could stop him."
Which, presumably, is why the little white dog hasn't accompanied them today. He is being punished for his poor behavior; strictly no adventuring in the city until he leans better than to hork down baked goods.
"Obviously I will make it up to you," she says, attention flitting back to the rows of alchemical components. "I know which cookies you like best and when you're to be stuck on watch."
Wysteria pulls away to prod her way through the remainder of the goods on offer, and Ellis' hand closes in on itself, over empty air.
Spends a moment contemplating little Tab's sins as he watches Wysteria stir a finger through a sack of chalky, powdered stone, before answering, "Aye, we could do that."
And it followed swiftly, predictably, by: "There's no need to make anything up to me. I like your visits well enough without anything accompanying them."
"Yes, yes. You're very noble and selfless, Mister Ellis," has the ring of fond chiding to it, like slapping him gently on the back of the hand might feel.
"I'll forgive the lack of modesty in insisting on pointing it out, however. In exchange for helping me to carry a sack of this back to the Gallows, of course," she says, withdrawing her hand from the powdery substance and dusting it from his fingers and onto the hip of her brightly colored skirts.
She punctuates all this with a sidelong look in his direction, overly playful in order to disguise any real tenderness of sentiment. It is good of him to have indulged her in the question; they had been friends, she's certain. He and Mister Dickerson. And what with Ellis having such a practice of saying nothing at all—
Best not to linger over these things overlong, lest he regret being baited into the conversation to begin with.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ignores brackets forgive
"He has been away for some time now."
Not a yes, but Ellis has parsed out the options. How long a shardbearer can be away from the Gallows. Whether or not Richard would abandon all his things. Whether he would simply go without a word to anyone at all.
Maybe he has come to a conclusion, and is only waiting for Wysteria to arrive there alongside him.
Tbh me today like why did I start with brackets??
I have this feeling, is all, Loxley had said.
Wysteria dusts her hand absently off on her skirts. This isn't the first time she's done this today, and consequently she currently sports a funny powdery splotch around thigh height.
"But if he had gone, surely his little Thought would still be present. Other things that have come through the Rifts have, regardless of who they might belong to."
no subject
Wysteria is afforded several uninterrupted moments to pluck at the stall's offerings while Ellis gathers his thoughts. (Remembers Thot, tiny and persistent, tucked in against his neck at Weisshaupt, circling overhead on the long journey back.)
"We saw him call Thot. She didn't come through of her own accord."
Call a generous term to describe Thot's arrival in Thedas.
"I haven't seen her," he supplies, quieter.
no subject
There are a half dozen very easy counter arguments one might make against this. Yes, but Mister Dickerson's little companion had been forged of magic, and not so different from any enchanted object to be found here in Thedas. And they know it to be entirely possible for her to be separated from him. To say nothing of the fact that Mister Dickerson had, she knows, somewhat pressing personal business elsewhere that certain parties would have discouraged.
"It's just," she says, absently checking another label on a sack. "He is very clever. And he would not be the first member of Riftwatch to slip away without a word for some length of time. And even the anchor he possesses is not an entirely insurmountable an obstacle. He, of all people, would know this and—"
A further, brief pause.
"I suppose I would be cross if he had, is the thing. Gone, I mean. As in reclaimed by the Fade, not as in having gone gallivanting about without informing anyone. Although obviously I would be cross about that as well. We have very important studies to be conducting, and his absence has put me in quite an inconvenient position of not knowing whether to continue on or to reserve the work until his return."
no subject
They had not spoken in some time. Ellis is still so, so angry with him. Angrier now, maybe, that Silas had dragged him back into this life and this body only to slip away.
It isn't within his control. Ellis knows that, but it doesn't quell the unhappy pulse of anger beating behind his ribs.
But Ellis can section it off, wall it away so that when he reaches to take her hand and stall her inspection of the sack in question, his voice is very gentle.
"You should resume it, Wysteria," he tells her, with his thumb light over her knuckles. Watching her face. Aware of what he is implying. "He wouldn't want you to lose time."
no subject
Her nose remains wrinkled. Wysteria frowns down at the contents of the sack, aware of some flush of annoyance or directionless irritability crawling up the back of her neck. Making her ears faintly warm. Invading beyond her hairline.
Yes, yes. Gentle hand, gentle voice. She gets the point, Mister Ellis.
"How frustrating," is a very broad, incredibly bland statement for the whole sensation.
no subject
It is not much to offer her in return. He is gone. They can do nothing about it. As clever as Wysteria is, and all that she may yet unravel about the universe, there seems no way to call a rifter back to them.
Ellis' fingers remain there, a light grasp of contact circling hers.
"Have you checked his rooms?" is a question on the way to some larger point, surely.
no subject
Should she have thought of that? Maybe she ought to've. He might have papers in there. Notes. A suggestion of where he'd gone or, given the inevitable, some things organized in case he should ever go very suddenly. Surely if anyone would be the type, it would be Mister Dickerson.
"Why? Have you visited there?"
no subject
It had occurred to him, but how welcome would Ellis have been? Surely Loxley had been the one to manage the collection of items left in Silas' wake, box them up and store them away on the off chance he returned.
If there had been anything meant to pass along—
Well, surely by now it would have arrived.
"But I could, if you like. Or accompany you."
no subject
"No," she says at last. Looks up. "No, that hardly seems necessary. I can simply ask Loxley if there was anything of note among his papers."
no subject
There may well be something Wysteria could make use of in her research. Maybe Ellis will find that something to worry about, whenever he circles around to contemplating her research more directly.
"Would his snake have been remained?"
The little snake, given to poking its tiny head out from shirtcuffs, weaving through the plants in Wysteria's garden. It had always seemed fond of her. And Ellis had never asked where it had come from.
no subject
"I don't know," is offered up with a shake of the head. "It was made of a similar magic to Mister Dickerson's cat, yes, but not precisely the same. And he told me once that she'd been given to him as a gift, and that he hadn't done the spellwork of assembling her himself, so I imagine it must be possible for the snake to continue independent from his..."
A pause. She searches for the correct word, fingers twitching absently inside Ellis' grasp as she unconsciously makes as if to gesture with that hand.
"Influence, I suppose."
no subject
Maybe it's for the best. Wysteria has begrudgingly accepted so many animals into her household. Being spared a further occupant is a very thin silver lining.
But rather than prompt her to this, Ellis tells her, "I won't be able to help with your research the way he did. But you can ask me, if you need another set of hands."
A minor twitch of his mouth, a bleak flinch of humor. He is hardly a worthwhile replacement. But he has sat alongside her and Tony for a long time. Maybe there is something he could do, if she needed it.
distinction*. Slaps away my phone typos.
(Were? No, she will continue to think 'are,' if only because it may very well be true that whatever arcane energies had made up the older gentlemen may still be moving about the world, even if they no longer take the shape of a man.)
"That's very kind of you to offer, Mister Ellis. I will of course keep it under consideration."
w/e i forgot a whole ass word in another thread
For better or for worse.
His fingers tighten over hers, the skim of his thumb across her knuckles a minor sort of consolation. Hold there, as he looks from her to the contents of the stall, eyes lifting inevitably back to her face.
"Aye," comes after a long moment of quiet, leading to, "Would you like to stop at one of the little shops once you've all you need here? One of the ones that sell ribbon, or the bakery across the way?"
no subject
Which, presumably, is why the little white dog hasn't accompanied them today. He is being punished for his poor behavior; strictly no adventuring in the city until he leans better than to hork down baked goods.
"Obviously I will make it up to you," she says, attention flitting back to the rows of alchemical components. "I know which cookies you like best and when you're to be stuck on watch."
are we in bow territory
Spends a moment contemplating little Tab's sins as he watches Wysteria stir a finger through a sack of chalky, powdered stone, before answering, "Aye, we could do that."
And it followed swiftly, predictably, by: "There's no need to make anything up to me. I like your visits well enough without anything accompanying them."
🎀-ish
"I'll forgive the lack of modesty in insisting on pointing it out, however. In exchange for helping me to carry a sack of this back to the Gallows, of course," she says, withdrawing her hand from the powdery substance and dusting it from his fingers and onto the hip of her brightly colored skirts.
She punctuates all this with a sidelong look in his direction, overly playful in order to disguise any real tenderness of sentiment. It is good of him to have indulged her in the question; they had been friends, she's certain. He and Mister Dickerson. And what with Ellis having such a practice of saying nothing at all—
Best not to linger over these things overlong, lest he regret being baited into the conversation to begin with.