"But not you," the Bull says, thoughtful, still not looking away. That's not the kind of definitive answer that would have been cause to celebrate, but it's weirdly easier to take. More in line with the way he had been thinking, takes less work to really take in. Not the good news he'd been trying to open himself to, not the bad news that's been sitting in his head since the whole thing happened. Still keeps Dorian in that same category, though. Dead man walking. Maybe, anyway. Maybe not.
The Bull grabs the cane and tilts his head, looking at the side of Dorian's face that the blood hit. The Bull hadn't even seen it. He'd seen the back of Dorian instead, arms spread out, and then saw him ushered away to the closest healer, and that had been it. He'd seen the blood the darkspawn left on the lift behind it, but he hadn't seen the blood that mattered.
He leans on the cane about as much as he trusts it to hold him, leans on his bad foot enough to take a step, doesn't hurry to put his weight on the other one instead but just lets his jaw tighten, lets his breath out slow, lets it hurt while he leans on that side just enough to study the part of Dorian's face that took the hit.
"With the angle, the blood probably sprayed you at..." He raises his right hand to trace a line in the air down from Dorian's temple to his jaw and the angle's awkward but he doesn't resist moving his hand closer, bumping the backs of his knuckles here and there like accidents against Dorian's skin. Most people outside Par Vollen are weird about touching, like you can't want it just to have it, like you want it cause you want to fuck. The Bull has a lot of fun with that, usually. Gives touching a new dimension, a new power it didn't always have back home. On any normal day, he'd like that just fine.
If the conversation works around to something a little less tense and on-edge - maybe some of that's him, he'll try to keep his eye on it - maybe he'll be able to get away with throwing an arm around Dorian's shoulder. "Hard to say, but it wouldn't be weird if it all missed your eyes, your nose, that whole area. You have a reason you're not as confident as everyone else, or are you just being cautious?"
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The Bull grabs the cane and tilts his head, looking at the side of Dorian's face that the blood hit. The Bull hadn't even seen it. He'd seen the back of Dorian instead, arms spread out, and then saw him ushered away to the closest healer, and that had been it. He'd seen the blood the darkspawn left on the lift behind it, but he hadn't seen the blood that mattered.
He leans on the cane about as much as he trusts it to hold him, leans on his bad foot enough to take a step, doesn't hurry to put his weight on the other one instead but just lets his jaw tighten, lets his breath out slow, lets it hurt while he leans on that side just enough to study the part of Dorian's face that took the hit.
"With the angle, the blood probably sprayed you at..." He raises his right hand to trace a line in the air down from Dorian's temple to his jaw and the angle's awkward but he doesn't resist moving his hand closer, bumping the backs of his knuckles here and there like accidents against Dorian's skin. Most people outside Par Vollen are weird about touching, like you can't want it just to have it, like you want it cause you want to fuck. The Bull has a lot of fun with that, usually. Gives touching a new dimension, a new power it didn't always have back home. On any normal day, he'd like that just fine.
If the conversation works around to something a little less tense and on-edge - maybe some of that's him, he'll try to keep his eye on it - maybe he'll be able to get away with throwing an arm around Dorian's shoulder. "Hard to say, but it wouldn't be weird if it all missed your eyes, your nose, that whole area. You have a reason you're not as confident as everyone else, or are you just being cautious?"