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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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.