It would all be very believable, had Ellis not come across Bastien beneath a tree in a courtyard and sat alongside him quietly there.
But Ellis had seen him there. And he does not believe Bastien when he says this is an easy thing Ellis has asked of him.
His hand catches Bastien's elbow, holds on for a moment to stall their movements while Whiskey goes snuffling on ahead of them. His grip flexes there, sturdy and firm without bruising pressure. Ellis should say something. A better apology. A promise to return. Something.
But no. All he has to offer is the expression on his face, intent, creased with worry, as he says, "Thank you, then. For holding them both for me. I'll try to see to it that you needn't carry them for very long."
"Pas de problème," Bastien says, with apparent sincerity that is still somehow distant—if only by contrast, in a way that would be unnoticeable to people who had never seen him come any genuinely closer and couldn't tell the difference.
(It isn't, to be fair, entirely down to Ellis. Of the three people Bastien has let closest since he came here, one recently and willfully fucked off without an explanation or good-bye; another, less willfully and more recently, was presumed dead for several weeks. Ellis merely has the misfortune of being the first caught on the threshold, where Bastien believes he can push him back out and bar the door behind him.)
He pats Ellis' hand on his elbow, not too breezily, not with condescension. It lingers a little, before he steps aside in a way that will pull his arm free unless Ellis is stubborn about it.
"I do expect you to bring me something, though," he says. "From the north. An interesting leaf, at least. That is my fee."
What a familiar urge, to claw back what he has given away and with it whatever harm has been rendered. It visits him often, these days.
"There are not many leaves, where I am going," Ellis says. His hand loosens. Bastien is free to draw away, and retreat. Ellis remains where he is stood, watching him. "But I'll try to locate one, for you."
He does not say again Thank you. He does not say I'm sorry. Instead, he leaves Bastien with this. A promise of something, to be delivered upon his return.
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no subject
But Ellis had seen him there. And he does not believe Bastien when he says this is an easy thing Ellis has asked of him.
His hand catches Bastien's elbow, holds on for a moment to stall their movements while Whiskey goes snuffling on ahead of them. His grip flexes there, sturdy and firm without bruising pressure. Ellis should say something. A better apology. A promise to return. Something.
But no. All he has to offer is the expression on his face, intent, creased with worry, as he says, "Thank you, then. For holding them both for me. I'll try to see to it that you needn't carry them for very long."
no subject
(It isn't, to be fair, entirely down to Ellis. Of the three people Bastien has let closest since he came here, one recently and willfully fucked off without an explanation or good-bye; another, less willfully and more recently, was presumed dead for several weeks. Ellis merely has the misfortune of being the first caught on the threshold, where Bastien believes he can push him back out and bar the door behind him.)
He pats Ellis' hand on his elbow, not too breezily, not with condescension. It lingers a little, before he steps aside in a way that will pull his arm free unless Ellis is stubborn about it.
"I do expect you to bring me something, though," he says. "From the north. An interesting leaf, at least. That is my fee."
put a bow on this y/n
What a familiar urge, to claw back what he has given away and with it whatever harm has been rendered. It visits him often, these days.
"There are not many leaves, where I am going," Ellis says. His hand loosens. Bastien is free to draw away, and retreat. Ellis remains where he is stood, watching him. "But I'll try to locate one, for you."
He does not say again Thank you. He does not say I'm sorry. Instead, he leaves Bastien with this. A promise of something, to be delivered upon his return.