Dorian needs the Bull to acknowledge he understands that so he does, grunts. Lets his eye move over and away from what's ahead. From what isn't ahead. Doesn't think too much about anything. He holds himself quiet, holds himself inside a moment that feels like it stretches. He keeps himself still. He needs his thoughts pressed flat and formless inside his mind, keep them like that long enough to shut them away. For a while - as long as he needs to - he can pretend he doesn't hear all those things shut up all silent in his head hurling themselves against the doors.
Hold himself still. Everything inside him now needs to be flat and still, pressed far enough away to make it easier to manage.
Yeah. Like that.
He knew this was a possibility. The feelings, the thoughts he'd been having about that possibility just a few seconds ago don't matter; he knows what he needs to do. Dorian's offer to make them a way out was just meant to make him feel better. Too big, too loud to follow through on. The Bull couldn't afford to pay much attention to the offer then, and he can't now. There's only one way out. Getting there is simple.
"Give me a minute. Not a lot of room for-" Making his head go quiet, or quiet enough, helped his voice out too, until he was stupid enough to say the problem out loud. He picks his voice back up where it dropped out from under him, makes sure the second half of the sentence comes out as flat as the first half did. 'Flat' isn't really ideal. Takes him, if anything, further away from sounding any kind of casual. It's what he can do. "-moving around that quickly. Gonna take a minute."
The walls scrape at his shoulders. To turn around, he's going to have to sit up. He finds himself doing it in inches, then pausing, expecting to meet the ceiling too early, taking in a sharp breath to brace himself, letting it out slow while he does the whole thing again. And again. One more time. Don't keep track. Don't count anything. Keep going.
When he does meet the ceiling his horns make that scraping sound again, the one he can feel inside his bones. Stupid that that stops him. They're going to do the same thing again when he turns. After one second, or maybe the second after that, he makes his breaths harder and sharper to stop them from shaking.
It's not that much of a production. It doesn't have to be. He's just turning around. The walls pressing against all of him are stable. The rest of it doesn't matter. What happens afterward, still pressed inside here in the dark, that doesn't matter right now either. Turn around.
(ooc: if Bull needs to do/say something else before Dorian would say something or react, let me know and I can edit)
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Hold himself still. Everything inside him now needs to be flat and still, pressed far enough away to make it easier to manage.
Yeah. Like that.
He knew this was a possibility. The feelings, the thoughts he'd been having about that possibility just a few seconds ago don't matter; he knows what he needs to do. Dorian's offer to make them a way out was just meant to make him feel better. Too big, too loud to follow through on. The Bull couldn't afford to pay much attention to the offer then, and he can't now. There's only one way out. Getting there is simple.
"Give me a minute. Not a lot of room for-" Making his head go quiet, or quiet enough, helped his voice out too, until he was stupid enough to say the problem out loud. He picks his voice back up where it dropped out from under him, makes sure the second half of the sentence comes out as flat as the first half did. 'Flat' isn't really ideal. Takes him, if anything, further away from sounding any kind of casual. It's what he can do. "-moving around that quickly. Gonna take a minute."
The walls scrape at his shoulders. To turn around, he's going to have to sit up. He finds himself doing it in inches, then pausing, expecting to meet the ceiling too early, taking in a sharp breath to brace himself, letting it out slow while he does the whole thing again. And again. One more time. Don't keep track. Don't count anything. Keep going.
When he does meet the ceiling his horns make that scraping sound again, the one he can feel inside his bones. Stupid that that stops him. They're going to do the same thing again when he turns. After one second, or maybe the second after that, he makes his breaths harder and sharper to stop them from shaking.
It's not that much of a production. It doesn't have to be. He's just turning around. The walls pressing against all of him are stable. The rest of it doesn't matter. What happens afterward, still pressed inside here in the dark, that doesn't matter right now either. Turn around.
(ooc: if Bull needs to do/say something else before Dorian would say something or react, let me know and I can edit)