More for the fact that it's necessary, that this time, this place, he's not gonna get anywhere clutching onto closely guarded technological secrets as he had back home. Not when the technology isn't really his anymore, not really, transformed and monstrous, and only good for keeping pieces of metal out of his heart and nothing else if he doesn't trust one person.
And the one person he trusted is gone.
Still, he'd known a bit of relief, a bit of old fashioned scientific excitement, imparting this information to Howard, and it wasn't pure daddy issues, okay, because he can feel a glimmer of that when she gets it, and her brain starts racing, and her mouth starts running.
SpEaKiNg Of wHiCh-- ]
Yeah, here's-- alright. [ He places a hand atop paper and pencil as if to still Wysteria's momentum. ] This next part is important, and I need you to say with words that you're not gonna start leaking trade secrets all over the place. Not to your croquet picnic pals, and not to the leadership, and not to anyone in between.
Of course. [Quite emphatic, genuine to the very core of her principles. You can tell because she places a hand steadfastly at the base of her throat and actually takes a moment to breath in before going on.] I would never share the information. The paper you will write should naturally be the first thing anyone sees on the subject. Anything else would be tantamount to theft.
[ The deep incredulity this answer inspires within him renders him mute and staring for a few seconds, but you know what? With her hand to heart and big earnest eyes?
Good enough. ]
Yeah, [ he says, quick agreement, instead of laughing. ] I appreciate it, and I appreciate, uh, that you appreciate the implications. Intellectual plagiarism, definitely--
I can replicate it, [ he says, cutting himself off, starting again, switching track gracelessly but somehow seamlessly. ] You could replicate it -- I mean, theoretically, with the right materials. Its core is lyrium-based, but its a refined form that makes it safe to handle, even if you're not a. Dwarf. The process that brings it from one state to another basically accelerates the rate of decay of whatever energy it puts out that makes people go loony and whatever.
What this thing does is exploit that process of decay in which the outer ring redirects that energy, replenishing it, activating the lyrium core so that it behaves like raw lyrium which, as we all know, acts as kind of a conduit between the real world and the Fade, through which you can draw.
Magic. For lack of a better term. I was thinking like 'Fade-iation', personally, don't know if that'll catch on. It's what I've been calling it in my head.
[Her hand stays put - at first as an afterthought and then as some kind of stabilizing presence.
In the factory districts of Somerset, there are the textile mills with their massive looms and their network of moving parts and threaded tines all running perpetually by great turning wheels. She has seen one still only once, and she thinks of it now— the process of sending it spinning again, and the power it drove and was driven by.
She isn'ta creature bred for homesickness, but maybe this is some cousin to it. He certainly paints a lovely picture.
Wistfully:]
Fade-iation sounds ridiculous. [Sharpening now—] But oh, the rest of it is quite marvelous! What is the ratio of lyrium between the inner core and the outer ring? And then, is the power feeding into a series of traditional runes? If yes, then the modification of the use of that power would be as simple as a cast of new engravings. My Gods, can you imagine the practical implications! You could enchant the whole of Riftwatch down to their shoe nails, given enough material.
Unlike technical terminology like 'magic', you mean.
[ Which is the kind of dig that doesn't work on people who use it thus, but it's still the principle of the thing. There's a half-smile there, anyway, implying he's given at least a little thought to the practical applications.
And seems to relax a little, like the hard part -- whatever that was -- is over, and he crosses a leg over the other. ]
You can look over the specs I got written up next time you're up at the Gallows, but yeah, it feeds into-- [ He makes a circular motion with his hand, the usual delay before he has to say some bullshit. ] --a runic pattern, powering an enchantment. Figured that was in your wheelhouse.
Did you know that the Provost doesn't want us to make weapons, by the way?
[That draws her up very abruptly. She stiffens where she is all but laid across the table alongside him, her pen—since when did she have one?—midway through scratching a furious note at the corner of the piece of paper provided him.]
What? [Pardon. She must not have heard properly. In fact she is quite positive. There is simply no way.] He didn't tell you that.
[The intensity with which she studies him is very sharp indeed. Her examination is fixed, pointed as a rigorously sharpened pencil, and for a split second some latent and habitual suspicion blooms behind the lines of her features. And then Wysteria makes a small, irritated noise and returns to completing her scratching note.]
Then I suppose it's a good thing I haven't spoken a word of my project to him. I would hope that to remain the case. [She shoots him a quick, sidelong glance.] Until it's ready to be produced properly, I mean.
[ He is pleased in a quietly self-satisfied way. With her reaction and also himself for anticipating it, probably, the corner of his mouth turned upwards and amusement stamped into the lines at his eyes. ]
Can't make a pitch without a product, or-- an operable prototype.
[ They also probably can't make an operable prototype without some necessary resources that neither of them can afford, but that's literally never been an insurmountable obstacle for one Tony Stark. And even now, he thinks: someone has money somewhere, always. ]
Got some other ideas, applications, we can jam it out in due course. I'd start moving more operations out this way but this place has the surveillance and security of a finely decorated cardboard box with a ghost in it.
We are in agreement entirely. I believe this place could be an excellent showcase for Riftwatch's talent to the public- diplomats and nobility and that sort of thing -, but it's far too removed to house anything of a particularly delicate nature. Papers and components for this should by all rights live in the Gallows.
I'll inform Monsieur de Foncé of the new development terms - the bit about the Provost, not this. [A tap of her pen on the paper.] He has already been sworn to keep mum on the subject, but it wouldn't do any harm to reinforce— Have I introduced the two of you yet? It's not important. He is truly intolerable. But I gather he has rich friends, or at least has sworn he has the capacity to provide for the project.
[She is chattering along, and changes tack so smoothly that it seems quite natural:] I was at the Battle of Ghislain and have been through the training yards, you know. I have seen gentlemen with their shirts open, if that's what you're concerned over, Mr Stark.
[With a nod and a raise of her eyebrows toward the center of his chest.]
[ he says, after having gone on a journey to do with rich friends and a plan coming together, only to realise that his conversation partner has arrived at a whole other destination, ]
because I left my smelling salts back at the Gallows. That woulda been embarrassing.
[ But he makes a face, anyway, about having not so successfully dodged the actual 'show' moment of the show and tell. Still. He lazily sets about loosening the ties of his shirt, unwilling to straighten up out of his recline.
Doesn't matter, the whole cat is out of the bag and running wild. No need for you, lingering apprehension, get out of here. ]
Honestly, it's a miracle you never asked me to take off my shirt before now. Please keep your hands to yourself, our HR department is an honour system.
[ And once the shirt is opened low enough, he holds fabric aside. Given he hasn't spoken very much about what it actually is, what it's doing in his chest, it might be a little jarring to be confronted with a whole device apparently lodged deep where muscle and bone is supposed to be -- and we don't ask questions around the feasibility of that situation -- rather than something simply resting atop.
It glows a steady blue, very lyrium-y, light trapped in finely worked crystal under which are hazy patterns of some geometric structure that might hold the core he'd described, or contribute in some way to the enchantment -- it's hard to say, without taking the thing apart. ]
Of course, Mr. Stark. I wouldn't dream of it. [Honestly; what does he take her for?
Wysteria doesn't straighten. After all, her particular vantage from leaning across the table to gain access to the paper placed before him makes for a far better angle to observe than from above. And for a long beat after the device is exposed, she is simply very quiet and keen: leaning faintly closer to peer into the clouded depths of the object so that the waxy blue light catches against filaments of her pale hair. As promised, her hands remain obediantly to herself.]
[ At which point Ellis makes his entrance, carrying a box of as yet unnamed pastry tied securely with string.
His steps stall just over the threshold. It's hard to say whether he's caught off guard more by the sight of the finally unveiled contraption embedded in Tony's chest, Tony's shirtlessness, or the strange intimacy of the tableau. His mouth opens, then closes, as if he's thought better of whatever question he was about to pose.
A plate whips by him, narrowly missing his head, to shatter against the doorframe. Ellis finds that aspect of the moment least troubling. ]
Hello.
[ is his final, faintly perplexed greeting. He lifts the box slightly, for lack of anything better to contribute. ]
[ And Tony jerks backwards in his chair, closing his shirt with unnecessary fervor, loose fabric now taut and overlapped as high as his throat. For some reason, this motion paired with a jerky look over at Ellis also causes his right leg to kick out and slam his foot loudly but ineffectually into the leg of the table.
[Wysteria pops up, sudden as a cat with its tail being trod on (complete with startled squawk).
And then she is falling in on Ellis where he has stuttered to a halt just there in the doorway, all fluttering and fussing as she stuffs her pen back into the twist of her hair and rescues the pastry box and its string from his hands.]
There you are. Honestly, sir - you are quite late. Mr. Stark arrived ages ago and us without anything to go along with the chicory. It's rather bitter on its own, you know, but with a bit of cinnamon— oh yes, I see. These are precisely what I was hoping you'd be able to find. Well done, Mr. Ellis. Very well done indeed. You must tell me what I owe you for the favor. But don't just stand there. Pick up the larges pieces of that plate and then come sit down and I'll prepare you a cup.
Now, Mr. Stark. I believe you were explaining the reasoning behind the adjustment of your name, were you not? [A pause. Wysteria squints critically at Ellis around the box.] How well acquainted are you with the Provost?
[ Which of these topics is he meant to address first?
Before he met Wysteria and Tony, he had been fairly adept at triangulating what needed his attention first and foremost, then responding to lesser topics in descending order. Now, he realizes he had been a novice all that time and only just now been launched into a true challenge.
He looks at Tony for a long moment before stooping to collect a few large pieces of shattered china, visibly reconsider his approach and pass them both to collect a broom from the narrow pantry where he'd stowed it upon his last visit. ]
I've never had reason to speak to the Provost, [ Ellis answers, clearly having decided to approach the whole ???? of Tony's chest at a roundabout angle. ] I report to Commander Flint, and Warden von Skraedder. Why?
[ As he speaks, he begins sweeping up the broken plate pieces. It seems important to keep himself occupied and his gaze averted while Tony rearranges himself. ]
[ Only once Ellis gets on with tidying up ghost-related minor disasters does Tony relax the grip on his own shirt, lacing it back up while staring balefully at the two of them, and then when it comes nearer, the box full of baked goods or whatever the hell is happening with that.
He doesn't like it. ]
Oh, I was? [ is full-powered sarcasm in Wysteria's direction, probably overlapping a little with Ellis's response. ] I don't appreciate being ambushed, least of all with weaponised cinnamon snacks. Why are you asking him about the Provost?
[Meanwhile, the moment Ellis is stooped over, Wysteria whips her attention around to make emphatic expressions at Tony. They rely rather a lot on the urgent, perhaps pained, activity of her eyebrows and the jerk of her head in Ellis' direction. Maybe it's meant to be accusing — You didn't tell me your name was a secret and I thought Ellis ought to know, or maybe it is some mortification of the circumstances, or she is already on the verge of betraying her oath and expiring under the pressure of it, or, or, or.]
I'm only curious, [she insists, her voice light and breezy and her look to Tony quite sharp indeed.
The cartoonish face journey ends either as she sets the box on the table or when Ellis straightens, whichever comes first. The box's corners are popped and the whole thing flattened into a make-do serving plate.]
[ Graciously including Wysteria in this minor protest. Rising with a small dust pan full of china, Ellis directs a faintly apprehensive look at her though he can't very well say anything else at the moment. ]
If I interrupted, I'm sorry for it.
[ He should have used the front door. Maybe he'd have had a few more vases thrown at his head, but it seems more easily managed than whatever strange tension he'd broken upon his arrival through the garden.
Instead of sampling the wares he'd ferried, he turns to empty the little dust pan with far more care than is probably necessary into the bin and return both items to their place. Maybe by the time he's done there will be a more clear consensus on what he should do. Ellis has made it a habit not to seek more information than people are willing to give him, and now he knows more of Tony than maybe he ought to. ]
[ His shirt is closed, but he doesn't futz with closing up the jerkin over it, and lyrium light presses hazily through cloth. That Ellis was surely already aware of some kind of mysterious glowing artifact around Tony's heart place was a given, on account of the man having eyeballs.
But it's the principle of the thing.
There's a long pause, before Tony reaches out towards the box to rifle for the best one, and gestures at this hand with his other hand and says, ] This is not-- I don't condone any of what's happening. [ He takes a bite of cinnamon twist, and around it, adds, ] And he's going to have to sign an NDA too.
Happening? What is happening? Nothing is happening, and there is nothing at all to interrupt. Honestly, from the look on both your faces it is as of we all have one of our feet in some secret endeavor, which is not at all the case. Sit down, Mr. Ellis. And have a twist.
[She shoves one into her own mouth and pours a third cup of the chicory coffee for him.]
[ At Wysteria's urging, Ellis finally takes a seat across the table from Tony on the least rickety chair left. There is a long pause as he obligingly lifts a twist and holds it in his hands as if unsure what to do next. ]
What is an NDA? [ Ellis asks, in what he clearly assumes is a conciliatory manner. Going against his own personal decision to ask zero questions and puzzle out most of what Tony says from context clues is an effort to break the ice.
Possibly an effective one. If Tony doesn't answer, Wysteria might, and surely the conversation will carry on from there. ]
[ He looks at Wysteria like does that work in real life but at least doesn't say it this time. Having relaxed, some, since being initially startled, if taking pains to show that he is doing so under duress. ]
Stands for, uh, 'nude dancing-- allowed'. Which you're not, yet, and currently none of us are, not until you, you know--
[ The joke is dropped, and he pivots to Wysteria; ]
I was gonna run it by him, the name thing, but he calls me Tony like we live in real life and not an Austen book. Bumped it down on the to-do list.
[ A momentary squint at Tony, then a quiet chuckle as Ellis breaks off part of the twist in his hands. So clearly not dancing. ]
Even though Ellis isn't my surname?
[ Debating whether or not he cares to try to stop Wysteria from tacking the "mister" onto his name. ]
You don't have to explain anything to me. I know there's many reasons a man may decide to use another name. [ Though Tony being a Rifter cancels about 90% of them out, but Ellis doesn't need to mention that. ] We'll happily call you whatever you please.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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More for the fact that it's necessary, that this time, this place, he's not gonna get anywhere clutching onto closely guarded technological secrets as he had back home. Not when the technology isn't really his anymore, not really, transformed and monstrous, and only good for keeping pieces of metal out of his heart and nothing else if he doesn't trust one person.
And the one person he trusted is gone.
Still, he'd known a bit of relief, a bit of old fashioned scientific excitement, imparting this information to Howard, and it wasn't pure daddy issues, okay, because he can feel a glimmer of that when she gets it, and her brain starts racing, and her mouth starts running.
SpEaKiNg Of wHiCh-- ]
Yeah, here's-- alright. [ He places a hand atop paper and pencil as if to still Wysteria's momentum. ] This next part is important, and I need you to say with words that you're not gonna start leaking trade secrets all over the place. Not to your croquet picnic pals, and not to the leadership, and not to anyone in between.
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Good enough. ]
Yeah, [ he says, quick agreement, instead of laughing. ] I appreciate it, and I appreciate, uh, that you appreciate the implications. Intellectual plagiarism, definitely--
I can replicate it, [ he says, cutting himself off, starting again, switching track gracelessly but somehow seamlessly. ] You could replicate it -- I mean, theoretically, with the right materials. Its core is lyrium-based, but its a refined form that makes it safe to handle, even if you're not a. Dwarf. The process that brings it from one state to another basically accelerates the rate of decay of whatever energy it puts out that makes people go loony and whatever.
What this thing does is exploit that process of decay in which the outer ring redirects that energy, replenishing it, activating the lyrium core so that it behaves like raw lyrium which, as we all know, acts as kind of a conduit between the real world and the Fade, through which you can draw.
Magic. For lack of a better term. I was thinking like 'Fade-iation', personally, don't know if that'll catch on. It's what I've been calling it in my head.
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In the factory districts of Somerset, there are the textile mills with their massive looms and their network of moving parts and threaded tines all running perpetually by great turning wheels. She has seen one still only once, and she thinks of it now— the process of sending it spinning again, and the power it drove and was driven by.
She isn'ta creature bred for homesickness, but maybe this is some cousin to it. He certainly paints a lovely picture.
Wistfully:]
Fade-iation sounds ridiculous. [Sharpening now—] But oh, the rest of it is quite marvelous! What is the ratio of lyrium between the inner core and the outer ring? And then, is the power feeding into a series of traditional runes? If yes, then the modification of the use of that power would be as simple as a cast of new engravings. My Gods, can you imagine the practical implications! You could enchant the whole of Riftwatch down to their shoe nails, given enough material.
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[ Which is the kind of dig that doesn't work on people who use it thus, but it's still the principle of the thing. There's a half-smile there, anyway, implying he's given at least a little thought to the practical applications.
And seems to relax a little, like the hard part -- whatever that was -- is over, and he crosses a leg over the other. ]
You can look over the specs I got written up next time you're up at the Gallows, but yeah, it feeds into-- [ He makes a circular motion with his hand, the usual delay before he has to say some bullshit. ] --a runic pattern, powering an enchantment. Figured that was in your wheelhouse.
Did you know that the Provost doesn't want us to make weapons, by the way?
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What? [Pardon. She must not have heard properly. In fact she is quite positive. There is simply no way.] He didn't tell you that.
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[ --in his best Thranduil voice. ]
Literally. I didn't even pitch any, I just said I used to make 'em. He doesn't want anything that could be used against us by the bad guys.
[ Which is fair. Obviously. But he didn't sign anything, and appears fairly relaxed as he shares this news, watching her all the while. ]
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Then I suppose it's a good thing I haven't spoken a word of my project to him. I would hope that to remain the case. [She shoots him a quick, sidelong glance.] Until it's ready to be produced properly, I mean.
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[ He is pleased in a quietly self-satisfied way. With her reaction and also himself for anticipating it, probably, the corner of his mouth turned upwards and amusement stamped into the lines at his eyes. ]
Can't make a pitch without a product, or-- an operable prototype.
[ They also probably can't make an operable prototype without some necessary resources that neither of them can afford, but that's literally never been an insurmountable obstacle for one Tony Stark. And even now, he thinks: someone has money somewhere, always. ]
Got some other ideas, applications, we can jam it out in due course. I'd start moving more operations out this way but this place has the surveillance and security of a finely decorated cardboard box with a ghost in it.
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I'll inform Monsieur de Foncé of the new development terms - the bit about the Provost, not this. [A tap of her pen on the paper.] He has already been sworn to keep mum on the subject, but it wouldn't do any harm to reinforce— Have I introduced the two of you yet? It's not important. He is truly intolerable. But I gather he has rich friends, or at least has sworn he has the capacity to provide for the project.
[She is chattering along, and changes tack so smoothly that it seems quite natural:] I was at the Battle of Ghislain and have been through the training yards, you know. I have seen gentlemen with their shirts open, if that's what you're concerned over, Mr Stark.
[With a nod and a raise of her eyebrows toward the center of his chest.]
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[ he says, after having gone on a journey to do with rich friends and a plan coming together, only to realise that his conversation partner has arrived at a whole other destination, ]
because I left my smelling salts back at the Gallows. That woulda been embarrassing.
[ But he makes a face, anyway, about having not so successfully dodged the actual 'show' moment of the show and tell. Still. He lazily sets about loosening the ties of his shirt, unwilling to straighten up out of his recline.
Doesn't matter, the whole cat is out of the bag and running wild. No need for you, lingering apprehension, get out of here. ]
Honestly, it's a miracle you never asked me to take off my shirt before now. Please keep your hands to yourself, our HR department is an honour system.
[ And once the shirt is opened low enough, he holds fabric aside. Given he hasn't spoken very much about what it actually is, what it's doing in his chest, it might be a little jarring to be confronted with a whole device apparently lodged deep where muscle and bone is supposed to be -- and we don't ask questions around the feasibility of that situation -- rather than something simply resting atop.
It glows a steady blue, very lyrium-y, light trapped in finely worked crystal under which are hazy patterns of some geometric structure that might hold the core he'd described, or contribute in some way to the enchantment -- it's hard to say, without taking the thing apart. ]
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Wysteria doesn't straighten. After all, her particular vantage from leaning across the table to gain access to the paper placed before him makes for a far better angle to observe than from above. And for a long beat after the device is exposed, she is simply very quiet and keen: leaning faintly closer to peer into the clouded depths of the object so that the waxy blue light catches against filaments of her pale hair. As promised, her hands remain obediantly to herself.]
My. It's very striking, isn't it?
[--Is what she begins to say.]
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His steps stall just over the threshold. It's hard to say whether he's caught off guard more by the sight of the finally unveiled contraption embedded in Tony's chest, Tony's shirtlessness, or the strange intimacy of the tableau. His mouth opens, then closes, as if he's thought better of whatever question he was about to pose.
A plate whips by him, narrowly missing his head, to shatter against the doorframe. Ellis finds that aspect of the moment least troubling. ]
Hello.
[ is his final, faintly perplexed greeting. He lifts the box slightly, for lack of anything better to contribute. ]
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He pretends that doesn't happen, and says; ] Hey.
What are you doing with that box.
[ What. ]
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And then she is falling in on Ellis where he has stuttered to a halt just there in the doorway, all fluttering and fussing as she stuffs her pen back into the twist of her hair and rescues the pastry box and its string from his hands.]
There you are. Honestly, sir - you are quite late. Mr. Stark arrived ages ago and us without anything to go along with the chicory. It's rather bitter on its own, you know, but with a bit of cinnamon— oh yes, I see. These are precisely what I was hoping you'd be able to find. Well done, Mr. Ellis. Very well done indeed. You must tell me what I owe you for the favor. But don't just stand there. Pick up the larges pieces of that plate and then come sit down and I'll prepare you a cup.
Now, Mr. Stark. I believe you were explaining the reasoning behind the adjustment of your name, were you not? [A pause. Wysteria squints critically at Ellis around the box.] How well acquainted are you with the Provost?
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Before he met Wysteria and Tony, he had been fairly adept at triangulating what needed his attention first and foremost, then responding to lesser topics in descending order. Now, he realizes he had been a novice all that time and only just now been launched into a true challenge.
He looks at Tony for a long moment before stooping to collect a few large pieces of shattered china, visibly reconsider his approach and pass them both to collect a broom from the narrow pantry where he'd stowed it upon his last visit. ]
I've never had reason to speak to the Provost, [ Ellis answers, clearly having decided to approach the whole ???? of Tony's chest at a roundabout angle. ] I report to Commander Flint, and Warden von Skraedder. Why?
[ As he speaks, he begins sweeping up the broken plate pieces. It seems important to keep himself occupied and his gaze averted while Tony rearranges himself. ]
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He doesn't like it. ]
Oh, I was? [ is full-powered sarcasm in Wysteria's direction, probably overlapping a little with Ellis's response. ] I don't appreciate being ambushed, least of all with weaponised cinnamon snacks. Why are you asking him about the Provost?
[ >8( ]
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I'm only curious, [she insists, her voice light and breezy and her look to Tony quite sharp indeed.
The cartoonish face journey ends either as she sets the box on the table or when Ellis straightens, whichever comes first. The box's corners are popped and the whole thing flattened into a make-do serving plate.]
Eat a twist, Mr. Stark.
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[ Graciously including Wysteria in this minor protest. Rising with a small dust pan full of china, Ellis directs a faintly apprehensive look at her though he can't very well say anything else at the moment. ]
If I interrupted, I'm sorry for it.
[ He should have used the front door. Maybe he'd have had a few more vases thrown at his head, but it seems more easily managed than whatever strange tension he'd broken upon his arrival through the garden.
Instead of sampling the wares he'd ferried, he turns to empty the little dust pan with far more care than is probably necessary into the bin and return both items to their place. Maybe by the time he's done there will be a more clear consensus on what he should do. Ellis has made it a habit not to seek more information than people are willing to give him, and now he knows more of Tony than maybe he ought to. ]
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But it's the principle of the thing.
There's a long pause, before Tony reaches out towards the box to rifle for the best one, and gestures at this hand with his other hand and says, ] This is not-- I don't condone any of what's happening. [ He takes a bite of cinnamon twist, and around it, adds, ] And he's going to have to sign an NDA too.
[ About what? His chest hair? Doesn't matter. ]
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[She shoves one into her own mouth and pours a third cup of the chicory coffee for him.]
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What is an NDA? [ Ellis asks, in what he clearly assumes is a conciliatory manner. Going against his own personal decision to ask zero questions and puzzle out most of what Tony says from context clues is an effort to break the ice.
Possibly an effective one. If Tony doesn't answer, Wysteria might, and surely the conversation will carry on from there. ]
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Stands for, uh, 'nude dancing-- allowed'. Which you're not, yet, and currently none of us are, not until you, you know--
[ The joke is dropped, and he pivots to Wysteria; ]
I was gonna run it by him, the name thing, but he calls me Tony like we live in real life and not an Austen book. Bumped it down on the to-do list.
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[This, said around the cinnamon twist and from behind her hand.]
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Even though Ellis isn't my surname?
[ Debating whether or not he cares to try to stop Wysteria from tacking the "mister" onto his name. ]
You don't have to explain anything to me. I know there's many reasons a man may decide to use another name. [ Though Tony being a Rifter cancels about 90% of them out, but Ellis doesn't need to mention that. ] We'll happily call you whatever you please.
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sweeps this thread back into my notifs gdi
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