A beat of stillness, Ellis' eyebrows raising at the appearance of Bastien. He'd folded scrambled eggs into a piece of toast, but now seems to hesitate over raising it to his mouth.
"I do," he answers. The toast hovers, and then returns to his plate, before Ellis continues, "Did you like the pamphlet?"
Bastien doesn't look at the toast, interrupted; he only nods with slightly-sleepy-eyed enthusiasm and begins recounting his favorite parts. This amounts in practice to an abbreviated retelling of the entire story, with a few Orlesian mispronunciations of Fereldan names and places along the way.
"—and I am glad Angus came out of it with the gold," he says at the end. "When the other two tried to trade him to the pirates behind his back? Poor fellow, not even knowing how terrible his friends are."
He's been gesturing, in a subdued sort of way, with a spoonful of porridge. When he touches it to his mouth, the waving-around has made that lump predictably cold, so he recoils a little and drops it back into the bowl.
"Do you know if it is an old story someone copied down? Or something new?"
There's some commonality between Bastien's approach here and the way Wysteria enters a conversation that Ellis will find a little funny after the fact. And, mispronunciations aside, Ellis is quietly pleased that Bastien enjoyed the story. The book had felt like a gamble, and so had the pamphlet. It had been difficult to tell if Bastien cared very much for books at all.
"It's new to me," Ellis answers, turning his plate to silently offer the second, untouched piece of toast to Bastien. Possibly also cooled by now, but potentially less objectionable than cool porridge. "I haven't spent enough time in Fereldan towns to know exactly what's being recited these days."
The urge to ask isn't there someone else you'd rather eat breakfast with? hasn't fully passed, but it strikes Ellis as rude enough that he refrains from asking.
Instead, diplomatically: "How does it compare to the stories that come out of Orlais?"
How strange and entirely accidental, that Bastien’s approach might somehow echo that of a known successful Ellis-befriender.
He considers the toast for a moment, so tempted he leans forward a few degrees in preparation for moving his arm to take it. But then he shakes his head. A fellow with Ellis’ shoulders surely needs all of his own food. And once Bastien swaps his cooled spoonful for porridge fresh from the bowl, it isn’t so cold.
“I think... in Orlais the same story would have been written so the Cetus was not a freak accident. Someone would have insulted it first, so it dragged them away on purpose, or one of them would have wanted to hitch a ride to see where it lived. We do not have many popular stories about things happening to people just because sometimes things happen—unless someone has set out to make that point, and then they have to make it five times in the same story to make sure we notice.“
He hasn’t eaten his new slightly-warmer spoonful of breakfast yet, and he isn’t actually trying to go hungry for a comedy bit, so he does that now.
A minor delay in Ellis' answer, as he did not time his two bites of toast properly. This is more or less the scenario he was trying to avoid, even without a real grasp on whether or not Bastien cares very much about etiquette during a meal.
"If you ever come across a good example of it, I'd like to read it," is the reply Ellis offers up after chewing and swallowing. It's not much of an answer, but the interest is sincere, even if Ellis follows it with—
"You don't need to feel obligated to do this. Spend your breakfast with me."
Bastien’s eyebrows go up first, like he needs a moment to process that, and then a smile follows behind while he swallows his mouthful.
“Reparations for the occupation,” he suggests in a thickened accent. Somehow his face looks more Orlesian too—the angle of his head, a tension in his eyebrows. It falls away when he shakes his head. “No. I’m grateful, but if I felt obliged, I would just buy you a nice candleholder. But if I’m bothering you—?”
"No," is truthful, even amidst lingering, prickling anxiety. This conversation is a little like trying to navigate in the dark, but Ellis hasn't felt the need to escape it. Though that might not carry as much weight as it should, considering Ellis' near infinite patience.
"This is better than a candleholder. I wouldn't know what to do with one."
A small quirk of Ellis' mouth, almost a smile. Some unspoken joke about Ferelden is lingering in the space at the end of that sentence.
"I'd like to read something you enjoyed. If you have a favorite."
Bastien nods, spoons up more porridge, contemplates Ellis' face for a moment, and says, "Pick a number between one and five." The porridge is nearly to his mouth before he amends, "Including one or five. Not only the numbers between them."
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"I do," he answers. The toast hovers, and then returns to his plate, before Ellis continues, "Did you like the pamphlet?"
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"—and I am glad Angus came out of it with the gold," he says at the end. "When the other two tried to trade him to the pirates behind his back? Poor fellow, not even knowing how terrible his friends are."
He's been gesturing, in a subdued sort of way, with a spoonful of porridge. When he touches it to his mouth, the waving-around has made that lump predictably cold, so he recoils a little and drops it back into the bowl.
"Do you know if it is an old story someone copied down? Or something new?"
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"It's new to me," Ellis answers, turning his plate to silently offer the second, untouched piece of toast to Bastien. Possibly also cooled by now, but potentially less objectionable than cool porridge. "I haven't spent enough time in Fereldan towns to know exactly what's being recited these days."
The urge to ask isn't there someone else you'd rather eat breakfast with? hasn't fully passed, but it strikes Ellis as rude enough that he refrains from asking.
Instead, diplomatically: "How does it compare to the stories that come out of Orlais?"
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He considers the toast for a moment, so tempted he leans forward a few degrees in preparation for moving his arm to take it. But then he shakes his head. A fellow with Ellis’ shoulders surely needs all of his own food. And once Bastien swaps his cooled spoonful for porridge fresh from the bowl, it isn’t so cold.
“I think... in Orlais the same story would have been written so the Cetus was not a freak accident. Someone would have insulted it first, so it dragged them away on purpose, or one of them would have wanted to hitch a ride to see where it lived. We do not have many popular stories about things happening to people just because sometimes things happen—unless someone has set out to make that point, and then they have to make it five times in the same story to make sure we notice.“
He hasn’t eaten his new slightly-warmer spoonful of breakfast yet, and he isn’t actually trying to go hungry for a comedy bit, so he does that now.
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"If you ever come across a good example of it, I'd like to read it," is the reply Ellis offers up after chewing and swallowing. It's not much of an answer, but the interest is sincere, even if Ellis follows it with—
"You don't need to feel obligated to do this. Spend your breakfast with me."
Just in case Bastien feels somehow beholden.
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“Reparations for the occupation,” he suggests in a thickened accent. Somehow his face looks more Orlesian too—the angle of his head, a tension in his eyebrows. It falls away when he shakes his head. “No. I’m grateful, but if I felt obliged, I would just buy you a nice candleholder. But if I’m bothering you—?”
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"This is better than a candleholder. I wouldn't know what to do with one."
A small quirk of Ellis' mouth, almost a smile. Some unspoken joke about Ferelden is lingering in the space at the end of that sentence.
"I'd like to read something you enjoyed. If you have a favorite."
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Then the porridge goes in.
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"Three."
Whatever that shakes out to mean.