OPEN STARTER
ellis ward + open.
midday, burnington streets.
The city is slowly rebuilding what it has lost, but it doesn't help much when there's still so much left to fix. It's disheartening to see the community so tense and on edge, but not even Ellis can justify not feeling that way these days. Snow still sits high in uneven drifts where plows had either missed entire stretches of road or given up halfway through, the main streets carved open, enough for traffic and emergency crews. The farther Ellis wandered from the center of Burnington, the more it looked like the storm had simply swallowed whole sections of the city, waiting to spit them back out. People still can't reach their homes and the government has left them to fend for themselves. There's nothing more to be done for the Ink Well as he awaits the government's help to rebuild, and everytime he steps inside, all he can see is damage and loss. So naturally, he puts himself to work.
He'd grabbed a shovel and just started walking. By now he's lost track of whose driveway he's clearing and the path behind him makes it clear where he's been for the last few hours. His skin is slick with cold sweat, skin flushed and nose pink. His breath fogs in front of him, coat hung open despite the cold, long since worked up enough heat to make the winter feel distant. A knit cap sits crooked on his head, curls escaping beneath it, and every so often he pauses only long enough to flex his aching fingers around the shovel handle before returning to work. The snow is still somewhat hardened by ice, the muscles in his arms and torso burning with the force used to dig, but he welcomes it by now. The shovel bites into packed snow with a dull scrape, again, again, again, and eventually he's so consumed by the repetitive motions of the work that he doesn't quite hear or see the person coming up near him. When he finally does, he forces a smile and stands up straight to face the new companion, "One hell of a mess," he greets, as if that explains why he's been out here for the last three hours nonstop, exhaustion creeping in the lines of his face. "But I'm almost done here. Need a hand with somethin'?"
who: ellis ward ( @gravemist )
where: the inkwell, shortly after the weather lockdown ends
❝ here on business. ❞
it's the first thing maximilian says when he pushes open the front door to the print shop, his voice cutting over the chime that signals his entry. it's only half a lie, really, said only so the owner of said business doesn't try to look too deep into the meaning of his appearance. did the east atlantic army send a handful of squads out to assess the storm damage and provide relief in town once the snow blew over and melted enough that their vehicles could make it off the compound? yes. was he assigned to one of these squads on the very real chance they encountered any injured civilians while they were out? also affirmative. but it's very clear from the open sign hanging in the doorway that it's business as usual at the ink well, and that alone should be reason enough for max to know he needn't waste his time here.
he steps inside anyway, kicking the snow from his boots in the doorway and scanning the room until his gaze lands on ellis ward behind one of the counters. ❝ they still haven't dug out city hall yet, so the governance is still at a standstill. community workers anyway. they've got us checking in on businesses and locals. any damage to report? ❞ an unspoken question is hidden in the standard-issue inquiry. are you okay?
He's been frustrated lately. This is unusual for Ellis - he doesn't like dwelling on things, least of all what he cannot control. This weather, for instance, is something he cannot control. The lockdown - more of the same. All he could do was be as present as possible for the people he'd been indoors with, soothe nerves, act as a guiding hand. That becomes rather difficult when bodies start showing up, tension rising and fears tripling. Daily, a single mantra would run through his head: what can I do? What could he do? Not much, reminded daily of what little power he really has anymore, and that is the single most frustrating thing of all.
And the cherry on top: coming out of lockdown to a ruined shop, the roof caved in and melted snow everywhere. Ruined stacks of paper, a multitude of supplies, jobs he's been working on for months - all gone. Hard work done by his employees wasted and nothing to show for it, Ellis worked hard to make the Ink Well what it is today and to say he's devastated over these losses is undercutting it. He hasn't had a good nights sleep in days and he's sure it shows, a subtle five o'clock shadow, hair curling past his ears, his time filled by work and more work. Salvaging what he can and dumping the rest, making piles of what has to be trashed and what could be repaired. He's good on mental notes lately: barter for parts, order new supplies, try to patch the damn roof. He's in the middle of one of these lists when the door opens, cutting him short. He looks up to the younger boy, and on any other day it would be business as usual, check in and try to not so subtly convince him to get the hell away from the EAA, that there are more effective methods to his madness, but not today.
Ellis hadn't reported the damage yet, mostly because the whole purpose of this is to keep a low profile and he most certainly has illegal forgery equipment hidden around here, but it's become clear that the damage is too severe to fix himself. He manages a forced smile in greeting, refuses to let his bad mood affect his interpersonal relationships even if the boy tries to maintain business as usual. His question warrants a slight glance around the store, answered with a "Well," a long inhale followed by a final sigh of defeat, waving a white flag, he needs help. "Yeah, I guess you're the lucky sucker who's gotta report on this." A sympathetic smile, "Sorry, kid. I can report it myself later if you don't want the hassle."
THE WILD & WONDERFUL APPALACHIA WELCOMES…
ellis ward as written by jay ( she / they ).
✱ affiliated with NEUTRAL ( SILVER LINING SUPPORTER )
✱ working as OWNER ( THE INK WELL )
✱ has taken up residence in BURNINGTON
✱ born on FEBRUARY 14 ( 33 )
✱ identifying as CIS MAN ( HE/HIM )
✱ known to be RESOURCEFUL, TACTFUL, STEADFAST, GROUNDED, LOYAL
✱ also know to be AVOIDANT, PERFECTIONIST, OBSTINATE, SELF-SACRIFICING, IMPULSIVE
✱ portrayed by DAVID CORENSWET
WANTED CONNECTIONS.
➥ BROTHER: I may put up a wc for this, as it would require a lot of plotting beforehand, but ellis has resigned himself to his brother being *gone*. I just think it might be fun to pull the rug out from under his feet if his brother turned out to be alive and simply groomed by the hands of afterglow + his mutation.
➥ EAA/EAG: They’d prefer to think he died when he vanished, but in truth, they probably suspect he slipped away, but hunting him down isn’t worth the effort unless he draws too much attention, though i’m sure there are some old *friends* that must remember him even after he changed his name + the fact that its been nearly 12 years since he deserted.
➥ SHAMROCKS/JACKALS/NEUTRALS/SLM: ellis is truly just here to be a hand to those who need it. Whether that’s through the print shop or an every day mundane sort of task, he’s your guy. He screams found family. Give me all of it.
DIGGING DEEPER.
TW: implied child experiments, death
Ellis did not grow up Ellis Ward -- rather, James Vale. He grew up the elder of two boys in a modest family, his real name a forgotten thing, a shed snakeskin from too many years ago. His parents weren’t outright rebels, but they were protective in a world that did not protect you back, skeptical of the intentions of a government that brought the world to ruin. They were known for being warm otherwise, for volunteering to help neighbors in need and those who needed to lie low. Ellis grew up with the same streak of kindness, though his father always warned him that it would be a liability in a crueler world. This was something Ellis learned early on, that protective natures do not always win in a world of horror, especially regarding his younger brother. His brother was born with a mutation – an irregularity in his blood and nervous system that gave him brief bursts of heightened perception and stamina, but at a dangerous cost, like nosebleeds, seizures, blackouts. They knew what would happen if Afterglow found out, so they kept him hidden.
When Ellis was 14, his parents are tracked down and arrested in aiding criminals – people they'd helped, people Ellis hadn't realized were criminals at all – and they weren't, they were merely people trying to get away from Afterglow. His father spoke out, publicly defiant. They executed him in front of the townsfolk, branding him an example and his mother was arrested and sent off somewhere Ellis could never track down. Ellis and his younger brother were both registered into the EAA’s custody and during routine screenings, Afterglow detected the youngest son’s mutation and the two were separated. Ellis was sent to the Military Academy while his brother was transported to an Afterglow research compound – for treatment, they told him.
Ellis clung to that lie longer than he should have. For years he requested updates, filed forms, tried to leverage his standing as a young private to get answers. He even volunteered for tests himself, thinking maybe he could convince them he was mutated too – but nothing about him lit up their machines. Deep down, he knew what Afterglow did with people like his brother. Still, every night he carried the thought: maybe he survived. At 16, he was already patrolling streets in uniform, taught to enforce laws he barely understood. He did his job well, his quiet smile and natural ability to connect with people made him a perfect face for it, dutiful, steady. He rose quickly because people liked him; he had that rare skill of being approachable in uniform. The more years he served, the more he realized the truth; he wasn’t protecting anyone. He was the leash, enforcing the same machine that had eaten his family whole.
He followed orders, but his loyalty frayed each time he saw the Army protect Afterglow’s interests at the expense of citizens. Eventually, when they’d told him that his brother had died in some sort of accident, he’d lost his entire sense of self, his brother's return being the only thing that kept him going. The final straw came during a mission in a small town, when he was ordered to round up suspected mutants – children, terrified and unarmed. He froze, suddenly a boy transported back to 14, as if he were staring right at his brother, and another soldier had to step in and do it instead. Ellis, beaten and bloody after disobeying, put forth every effort he had into leaving.
Officially, he’s listed as “deserted”. Unofficially, the EAA doesn’t waste resources hunting ghosts unless they become a problem. He cut ties with everything that bore his birth name, used stolen papers and built himself a new identity, disappearing into Burnington’s sprawl. Ellis reinvented himself as ordinary, working with ink-stained hands, keeping his head down, and helping people where he can. There, he opened a modest print shop – The Ink Well – publicly a place for newsletters, fliers, and bookbinding, but it became something else in the night. Forged papers, falsified IDs for those who need it, and if you look close enough, you’ll see things in those print runs: coded messages, safehouse directions, counterfeit permits. Nobody can prove it, but plenty of desperate souls know where to go if they need to get on their feet from under Afterglow’s claws, just as his parents had before him, a way to keep them alive.
Ellis never hardened into cruelty. Kindness is his own form of rebellion, he carries with him a deliberate and steady nature, because he knows how easily cruelty is taught. He is an easy man to trust; he smiles easily, listens more than he talks, and offers a hand where he can, but under that is a grief he never outran. The ghosts of his family follow him, every press of ink a small rebellion against the system that stole his family. He’s not a fighter nor a soldier; he’s simply chosen a quieter kind of war.
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