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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“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 subject
"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.