This is the second of Val's surprises. Whatever he expected Ellis' request to be, it did not involve receiving his compiled research for safekeeping. Prior to this moment, he was not even aware that the man had research to be entrusted.
(Perhaps he should. He has critiqued Warden Ellis' handwriting often enough, and Mister Ellis' twice as often, and he has heard in passing of someone whose name begins with an E, and who might lend a hand or an ear to a problem that requires, yes, research.)
He does not accept immediately, but spares a glance to the door that leads back to Wysteria's room. A faint frown passes over his face, more thoughtful than annoyed.
"You would have prefered to have asked the mademoiselle?"
This is not untrue. He would have much rather have given over everything to Wysteria to be tucked away somewhere. Perhaps in the Hightown house. Perhaps in her workshop. Perhaps even at the bottom of the great hole she was having dug into the earth for whatever purpose.
But Ellis cannot ask anything of Wysteria now, because she is meant to be resting, not arguing with Ellis over his pursuits and his theories and the risk he is about to undertake.
Maybe he would not have wanted to have that argument regardless. But it doesn't matter know. What might have been is not what will be, and so Ellis must make different arrangements.
"You'll not be able to tell her about them, or about the research. Not yet," follows after, just as serious. "I'll explain it all to her when I return."
"Of course I will tell her whatever I wish, whenever I wish."
The counter is delivered as a pronouncement, immediate and crisp. But he does not actually mean it. Or rather, he means it thirty percent. Yet it must be said. One does not entertain orders. And now, if he does decide not to tell Wysteria about anything, it will be because he has chosen not to do so.
Abruptly, Val thrusts his hand toward Ellis, expectant of a gentlemen's handshake and not the immediate delivery of these papers. Surely the man is not carrying them on his person.
"I accept the charge of your research. It may be entrusted to me."
And he will, despite everything, take it quite seriously. And look through it. But surely that is to be expected.
No, Ellis is not carrying any of his research on his person.
But still, there is a beat of scrutiny. The prickle of frustration comes and goes, slipping away without finding any purchase. Whatever Ellis needs from this man, he will receive only parts and pieces. What had he expected? Val is Orlesian and he is nobility. There is a gulf between them. (It is not forgotten, the way Val had looked at him.) Ellis doesn't know how to reach across it and draw out the reassurance he needs.
"I'd ask that you tell no one. As a favor to me," is said in the same exact moment as Ellis takes Val's hand. His grip is firm. "I know you've kept her secrets. Please keep mine, until I return."
It is the sort of appeal made without any hope of return. But still, Ellis puts it forth. He knows Val to be capable of this, at least. Wysteria wouldn't have chosen him for their gambit if he were incapable of keeping things to himself.
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no subject
(Perhaps he should. He has critiqued Warden Ellis' handwriting often enough, and Mister Ellis' twice as often, and he has heard in passing of someone whose name begins with an E, and who might lend a hand or an ear to a problem that requires, yes, research.)
He does not accept immediately, but spares a glance to the door that leads back to Wysteria's room. A faint frown passes over his face, more thoughtful than annoyed.
"You would have prefered to have asked the mademoiselle?"
no subject
This is not untrue. He would have much rather have given over everything to Wysteria to be tucked away somewhere. Perhaps in the Hightown house. Perhaps in her workshop. Perhaps even at the bottom of the great hole she was having dug into the earth for whatever purpose.
But Ellis cannot ask anything of Wysteria now, because she is meant to be resting, not arguing with Ellis over his pursuits and his theories and the risk he is about to undertake.
Maybe he would not have wanted to have that argument regardless. But it doesn't matter know. What might have been is not what will be, and so Ellis must make different arrangements.
"You'll not be able to tell her about them, or about the research. Not yet," follows after, just as serious. "I'll explain it all to her when I return."
no subject
The counter is delivered as a pronouncement, immediate and crisp. But he does not actually mean it. Or rather, he means it thirty percent. Yet it must be said. One does not entertain orders. And now, if he does decide not to tell Wysteria about anything, it will be because he has chosen not to do so.
Abruptly, Val thrusts his hand toward Ellis, expectant of a gentlemen's handshake and not the immediate delivery of these papers. Surely the man is not carrying them on his person.
"I accept the charge of your research. It may be entrusted to me."
And he will, despite everything, take it quite seriously. And look through it. But surely that is to be expected.
no subject
But still, there is a beat of scrutiny. The prickle of frustration comes and goes, slipping away without finding any purchase. Whatever Ellis needs from this man, he will receive only parts and pieces. What had he expected? Val is Orlesian and he is nobility. There is a gulf between them. (It is not forgotten, the way Val had looked at him.) Ellis doesn't know how to reach across it and draw out the reassurance he needs.
"I'd ask that you tell no one. As a favor to me," is said in the same exact moment as Ellis takes Val's hand. His grip is firm. "I know you've kept her secrets. Please keep mine, until I return."
It is the sort of appeal made without any hope of return. But still, Ellis puts it forth. He knows Val to be capable of this, at least. Wysteria wouldn't have chosen him for their gambit if he were incapable of keeping things to himself.