His hands about hers are very secure, gentle but not tentative, and when Wysteria sets her spare hand over top of them it's a quiet thing but not delicate.
"You're welcome. But--" But. Her look is more direct, sharp edged. "I am obligated to say that if you were only more mindful about wearing gloves, you might not have needed them tended in the first place."
She pats the combination of their hands, squeezes whichever of his wrists is most convenient and strictly informs him that, "You should also know that this is the last time I will feed your chickens, Mister Ellis. So unless you mean to pack them up with you, I suggest that we all must simply agree to put our leaving days behind us. It would be easier for everyone, I think. The planning it would take to do otherwise--"
What a welcome thing the turn of her voice to both scolding and stratagem in turn is now. His hands shift, thumb covering over her scar as she briskly turns her attention to the chickens.
"Aye, that's wise," Ellis tells her. He would have gone if she'd asked him, but there's no reason to say as much now. Whatever he intended to say breaks on a short, hitching laugh, Ellis' head ducking as he clears his throat to add, "Especially as I don't think the chickens would be happy anywhere but here."
Her "Hm," is one of those quietly skeptical noise, though as a favor to him she makes no overtly disparaging remarks on the subject of chicken intellect. Wysteria merely rolls her eyes and gives the combination of their hands another firm pat.
"Now, Mister Ellis, if you will excuse me. I have a meeting with some city clerk who has historically refused to see me if I am so much as five minutes beyond what she believes to be our appointment time. I had resolved to bully her, if this conversation went poorly, but as it has not then I may as well save myself the trouble. To say nothing of your own duties, as I assume you have carefully booked your schedule as closely as you're able in an effort to avoid this very chance meeting."
Gently, his hand turns beneath hers to clasp both and bring them briefly to his lips. It's a very tender thing, standing in for everything Ellis wants to say. Whether or not Wysteria gathers all the action carries with it isn't important. The action itself matters. His head lifts, small smile pulling crookedly at his mouth.
"I'll walk you part way," he says, thumbs passing briefly over her knuckles before releasing her hands altogether. "If you haven't tired of my company."
That small smile serves to pluck at the corner of her own mouth, but before it can bloom too near to maturity she flattens it with an inauthentic scoff. When allowed the opportunity, Wysteria slips a hand free and pinches his bristling cheek.
"Only if you promise not to dawdle. You might think, given the great length of your legs, that you would be less easy to outpaced."
Which is as settled at the matter is likely to ever be. And so her mittens and scarf and hat are donned once more and the folio with its prodigious collection of papers is fetched up and stuffed under an arm. In the house's grand tradition of unfinished work, the pot of honey wax is forgotten entirely. It is left where at the center of the table when they go.
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no subject
"You're welcome. But--" But. Her look is more direct, sharp edged. "I am obligated to say that if you were only more mindful about wearing gloves, you might not have needed them tended in the first place."
She pats the combination of their hands, squeezes whichever of his wrists is most convenient and strictly informs him that, "You should also know that this is the last time I will feed your chickens, Mister Ellis. So unless you mean to pack them up with you, I suggest that we all must simply agree to put our leaving days behind us. It would be easier for everyone, I think. The planning it would take to do otherwise--"
Wysteria tsks between her teeth.
no subject
"Aye, that's wise," Ellis tells her. He would have gone if she'd asked him, but there's no reason to say as much now. Whatever he intended to say breaks on a short, hitching laugh, Ellis' head ducking as he clears his throat to add, "Especially as I don't think the chickens would be happy anywhere but here."
no subject
"Now, Mister Ellis, if you will excuse me. I have a meeting with some city clerk who has historically refused to see me if I am so much as five minutes beyond what she believes to be our appointment time. I had resolved to bully her, if this conversation went poorly, but as it has not then I may as well save myself the trouble. To say nothing of your own duties, as I assume you have carefully booked your schedule as closely as you're able in an effort to avoid this very chance meeting."
put a bow on this pls
"I'll walk you part way," he says, thumbs passing briefly over her knuckles before releasing her hands altogether. "If you haven't tired of my company."
no subject
"Only if you promise not to dawdle. You might think, given the great length of your legs, that you would be less easy to outpaced."
Which is as settled at the matter is likely to ever be. And so her mittens and scarf and hat are donned once more and the folio with its prodigious collection of papers is fetched up and stuffed under an arm. In the house's grand tradition of unfinished work, the pot of honey wax is forgotten entirely. It is left where at the center of the table when they go.