"My word," he says dryly, "you're right. We're completely spoiled for choices."
The Inquisitor has jogged ahead, the dwarves and Cassandra not too far behind. Evidently they're hunting strange gears made of foreign metals – Dorian hasn't been paying them much attention. He probably should, he realizes a little guiltily.
But he and the Iron Bull are something like kindred spirits, in this case. Evelyn seems in decent mood, though understandably wary, and Cassandra is— well. Cassandra, and thus, she's fine. He's not entirely sure why the Bull seems so uncomfortable, but he's exuding a vaguely anxious air, nevertheless. And meanwhile, a portion of Dorian's mind is currently dedicating itself to imagining them being overrun by darkspawn. If pressed, would he be able to remember the tinctures and tonics he and Alexius created to keep Felix alive? Would he be able to acquire the necessary ingredients in time to give any of them more time?
"All right, I'll humor you." He waves a hand imperiously. "And I'll allow you to start off, besides."
The Bull grunts and looks around. He doesn't expect to find anything - the plan's to just keep listing off synonyms for rock until Dorian loses his patience with him, but even the gesture of looking around like he's actually spotting something makes him feel uneasy. It's this armour. The boss did good, whoever designed it did as good a job as they could with the visibility, but when what you need to do is keep a bunch of tainted blood out of your eyes visibility is going to take a little hit. The Bull had said that that was fine. He'd said the way he fights, he can just wade in and start hitting anyway, and that doesn't need him to see well enough for detail work. Which is pretty much the truth.
He has to twist his neck even more than he's used to to see the same thing. His narrow range of vision is a little narrower. Hasn't gotten used to that yet.
He stops looking around.
The conversation happening up ahead is too much, though - what he should be helping the boss with up there has enough people on it that it doesn't need him that much, and the conversation happening along with it is too detailed, all history and the background of this place, for him to really focus on in the way he needs to. But he still needs something.
"Alright," the Bull mutters, trying to channel his urge to grumble into something that, in this context, might sound like a joke, as if he'll admit that Dorian was right but won't be happy about it. "So maybe there are just rocks. You got a better suggestion? I probably know more drinking games than you but that's not the kind of thing we're going to get a lot of use out of down here."
Dorian lets out a quiet, triumphant laugh – something that says I told you so, but without uttering the words aloud.
"Let's see," he says, a hand going to his chin. His gloved finger taps against the treated cloth covering his mouth. "Well, when I was a small boy on long trips, my parents would quiz me on our family tree, or have me name every Archon in chronological order. I doubt either of those would be very interesting for you."
Evidently Dorian's parents used long trips as opportunities to reinforce his education, rather than entertain him. He hums quietly, trying to think of the inoffensive games his nannies would play with him to keep him amused.
"There's twenty questions, I suppose. You think of something, and I ask yes or no questions to narrow down the possibilities. Or word association? I think of a word, and you offer the first word that comes to mind, then we keep trading words until one of us grows bored or we have to stop the game when someone says something entirely outlandish."
The Bull grunts, thinking about it, trying to get himself into the right mindset. He isn't going to totally shed this feeling, even though the Deep Roads haven't turned out to be as small or narrow as a part of him had expected; the unease that had built on the way down here, that long, slow trip down with not a lot to do but imagine what it might be like, is still sticking with him. Maybe it's the fact that he was already on edge before he got here. It's building on other stuff. Not a lot to do about it now, anyway - but he can try to operate on that level anyway, play some version of the guy who could carry on a back-and-forth with Dorian like things are normal. A little more to concentrate on might help.
"Twenty questions sounds good to me," he says, and thinks over the kinds of something the Iron Bull who was on the surface with nothing really on his mind would want Dorian to ask about. Try to make it something where, maybe, he might manage to have a little fun. "I have something in mind already, if you want to start. You want any hints?"
Ahead of them, the Inquisitor struggles to put her recently acquired gears into the mechanism of a door. They manage to fit them together well enough to push the door open, and they press on.
"No hints. That rather defeats the purpose of the questions. I will say, though, if you have to start any of your answers with 'technically', I'm going to call an early end to the game."
Dorian crosses one arm over his chest to prop up an elbow, and he continues to tap against the cloth over his lips in thought. "Let's see. Is it an object?"
"Uh..." The Bull tilts his head one way, then the other. Maybe Dorian knows him pretty well; the first thing he sort of wants to say isn't exactly 'technically', but it's close. "Sort of? It's a part of something that's not an object. That within the rules, or are you going to make me think of something else?"
The way Dorian says that makes the Bull crack a smile, and the expression actually feels genuine. Yeah, doing this was a good idea. Doing this with Dorian was a good idea. Yeah he can get exasperation from other people, but no one he travels with these days sounds less like they're playing along than Dorian does.
"Hey, you don't want me to go there, you've got to specify that right off," he says, a little bit of the smile creeping into his voice. "And you've still got to guess what and whose, unless you're giving up this early."
Dorian lets out a disgusted noise that makes Cassandra perk up a little, turning back to frown at them – though it's only discernible by the way her eyebrows knit together. Dorian waves her off, and while she watches the two of them for a heartbeat longer, her attention is redirected when the Inquisitor manages to open the door.
"There's a 'whose' involved, now. Lovely." His tone conveys the exact opposite of that sentiment, however. Normally, he'd break off from this conversation and forge ahead to see what the Inquisitor was up to, but he hears what sounds like genuine amusement in the Bull's voice – a marked change from the strain from only moments ago.
For now, he'll suffer through it, if only because the Bull seems to be feeling a little more like himself with it.
"Nah," the Bull says, the hint of cheer still lingering in his tone. What else would he usually follow up something like that with? Oh, yeah. That part should come naturally; it almost does. "I mean, if you want to keep thinking about my body go right ahead. But it's not going to win you the game just yet. Going to guess what it is too, or do you just want to do one at a time?"
"Yep," he says, and spares a moment to aim his narrow field of view at Dorian, giving him a quick smile before before he looks back at the path ahead again. This probably isn't going to be a hard one to guess, since Dorian knows him - but he wasn't aiming to stump him, really. Considering what he'd needed this to be, it's going pretty well so far. "Wonder who."
Dorian can make a couple of guesses, and given the Bull's inexplicable fondness for making Dorian distinctly uncomfortable, they go like this:
The Bull is most likely thinking of Dorian's body, and at that point, the options are narrowed down considerably.
Otherwise, the Bull is thinking of something entirely inoffensive and dropping all these hints in an attempt to bait Dorian into saying something lewd.
For all that this isn't chess, it almost feels like Dorian's been placed in check.
Dorian flushes a little, and rather than continue on with this game, he continues on with one of his own – that being, turning the Bull's sentiments back on him.
"Thinking about my body, are we? That isn't a question, obviously. Of course you're thinking about my body. It's exquisite."
"Since it wasn't a question," the Bull says, watching the boss ahead of them, "I guess I can't answer. But for the record-" He pauses, glances over at Dorian, then gives him a wink before he looks away again. "Exquisite is a pretty good word. What do you think about 'statuesque'? That's a good one too."
As good as it is sometimes to get Dorian squirming, it's good to turn around and roll with something like this, too. Maybe reinforce the message behind the flirting, if Dorian's expecting pushback and doesn't get any. And it feels kind of nice anyway, building Dorian up with the kind of compliment the guy's actually okay with getting. "I can think of a few other adjectives that would do the job too but they would probably give the game away, so that might have to wait until you finish guessing."
Was that a wink? It's so difficult to tell with the Bull, sometimes, but Dorian is relatively certain it was meant to be one. Ridiculous.
If Dorian's face warms a little, it's only because of the uncomfortable mask covering his nose and mouth, and because of the unfamiliar structure of his armor, covering him up and trapping in heat.
"I see we're still continuing the game," and he says it with a sigh. Absently, he adjusts his face covering, settling it a little more comfortably over his nose.
"I almost shudder to ask, but above or below the waist?"
"I thought it was only yes or no questions," the Bull says, not afraid to get pedantic in the service of winding Dorian up. "Am I allowed to answer that one? Also, what's wrong with something below the waist? It's just your body, Dorian. Being able to talk about it openly is a beautiful thing. Healthy. Good for you."
Dorian doesn't flush, especially not when the Bull catches that slip up. Dorian is distracted, obviously – but mostly by the environment, by the Inquisitor wandering to and fro through the ancient dwarven halls.
"You're impossible," is what he decides on. "I should have known this game would have devolved into a mess when we started."
"You've seen my mess plenty of times, though," he says, managing to get a little further into the swing of this kind of needling the further they go into familiar territory. 'You're impossible' is a very familiar one by now - usually means Dorian's got no idea how to respond, which always feels like a little bit of a win. "So I would think you would be used to it by now. So it sounds a lot like you're giving up. Weird - I thought you were more stubborn than that."
Dorian is, in fact, quite stubborn and competitive, when the situation calls for it, which is why he heaves out another sigh, ignoring the warmth of his cheeks. Dorian is hardly a prude, but somehow, the Bull makes him feel like one.
"Fine." There's a touch of resignation in his voice when he utters the word. He pauses for a second, apparently judging that the Inquisitor and the rest of their party has wandered far enough ahead that they won't overhear Dorian's conversation with the Bull. Still, he quiets a little, just to avoid further involvement.
"I'm going to guess you're thinking of my staff." The answer is dripping with as much sarcasm as he can muster.
"Your staff?" the Bull says, voice getting proportionally as loud as Dorian's got quiet. It's a shame he can't see Dorian's face right now - keeping their faces covered is too important to take any of that cloth off even for a second, but still, he bets Dorian's expression right now would do a lot to settle - or at least distract - the Bull's mind. "Yeah, I bet that is pretty exquisite, huh? Not what I'm thinking of, but still, pretty good guess. It's good to hear you have that healthy self image going after all. Good for you, big guy. So, you want to keep going? What other parts of you do you think fit that description?"
Edited (thought of something bull could say that would wind dorian up more) 2021-02-16 02:50 (UTC)
Dorian shoots the Bull a look of alarm as his voice raises, and his gaze quickly darts to the rest of their party. He's not sure if they overheard, or if they even understand this conversation, but once again, Cassandra only glares at them while the Inquisitor discusses more history with Renn and Valta.
For a second, Dorian wishes the ground might open up and swallow him whole. There are certainly enough of those strange quakes that it might actually happen.
"I hate you," he quickly mumbles. Dorian feels he should call an end to the game now, but the Bull seems to be feeling better, and it would be immature of him, he thinks. Rather like a small boy bursting into tears and announcing he was taking his ball and going home when he doesn't get his way.
"You do have a pretty great nose," the Bull says, even if he can't see it right now. Better to be imagining that than thinking about all the other stuff a part of him wants to focus on. "Statuesque, I think, is the word for that one. But nah. Not your nose either. You want to go through your body parts one at a time and figure it out? Because if so, we might be doing this for a while."
"Come on, Dorian," the Bull says, and it's a lot easier to hear the amusement in his voice than the strain, now. That's nice. Maybe he should have started this earlier. He hadn't really thought about it. Too in his head, took a while to occur to him. "You think I'd sink that low? You've only guessed two body parts so far, what's your criteria?"
With as much as Dorian is sighing, one might worry he might be in danger of deflating entirely. Better to keep this going, better to keep the Bull distracted from whatever it was he was wrapped up in earlier.
And even if a portion of Dorian's mind is still dedicated to running through the old potions and glyphs he and Alexius had created on Felix's behalf, it's at least not an active concern.
"I believe this will be my seventh question, then. Is it above the waist?"
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"My word," he says dryly, "you're right. We're completely spoiled for choices."
The Inquisitor has jogged ahead, the dwarves and Cassandra not too far behind. Evidently they're hunting strange gears made of foreign metals – Dorian hasn't been paying them much attention. He probably should, he realizes a little guiltily.
But he and the Iron Bull are something like kindred spirits, in this case. Evelyn seems in decent mood, though understandably wary, and Cassandra is— well. Cassandra, and thus, she's fine. He's not entirely sure why the Bull seems so uncomfortable, but he's exuding a vaguely anxious air, nevertheless. And meanwhile, a portion of Dorian's mind is currently dedicating itself to imagining them being overrun by darkspawn. If pressed, would he be able to remember the tinctures and tonics he and Alexius created to keep Felix alive? Would he be able to acquire the necessary ingredients in time to give any of them more time?
"All right, I'll humor you." He waves a hand imperiously. "And I'll allow you to start off, besides."
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He has to twist his neck even more than he's used to to see the same thing. His narrow range of vision is a little narrower. Hasn't gotten used to that yet.
He stops looking around.
The conversation happening up ahead is too much, though - what he should be helping the boss with up there has enough people on it that it doesn't need him that much, and the conversation happening along with it is too detailed, all history and the background of this place, for him to really focus on in the way he needs to. But he still needs something.
"Alright," the Bull mutters, trying to channel his urge to grumble into something that, in this context, might sound like a joke, as if he'll admit that Dorian was right but won't be happy about it. "So maybe there are just rocks. You got a better suggestion? I probably know more drinking games than you but that's not the kind of thing we're going to get a lot of use out of down here."
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"Let's see," he says, a hand going to his chin. His gloved finger taps against the treated cloth covering his mouth. "Well, when I was a small boy on long trips, my parents would quiz me on our family tree, or have me name every Archon in chronological order. I doubt either of those would be very interesting for you."
Evidently Dorian's parents used long trips as opportunities to reinforce his education, rather than entertain him. He hums quietly, trying to think of the inoffensive games his nannies would play with him to keep him amused.
"There's twenty questions, I suppose. You think of something, and I ask yes or no questions to narrow down the possibilities. Or word association? I think of a word, and you offer the first word that comes to mind, then we keep trading words until one of us grows bored or we have to stop the game when someone says something entirely outlandish."
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"Twenty questions sounds good to me," he says, and thinks over the kinds of something the Iron Bull who was on the surface with nothing really on his mind would want Dorian to ask about. Try to make it something where, maybe, he might manage to have a little fun. "I have something in mind already, if you want to start. You want any hints?"
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"No hints. That rather defeats the purpose of the questions. I will say, though, if you have to start any of your answers with 'technically', I'm going to call an early end to the game."
Dorian crosses one arm over his chest to prop up an elbow, and he continues to tap against the cloth over his lips in thought. "Let's see. Is it an object?"
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Then, he heaves out a sigh. With the most despairing tone in the world, he asks, "Is it a body part, Bull?"
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"Hey, you don't want me to go there, you've got to specify that right off," he says, a little bit of the smile creeping into his voice. "And you've still got to guess what and whose, unless you're giving up this early."
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"There's a 'whose' involved, now. Lovely." His tone conveys the exact opposite of that sentiment, however. Normally, he'd break off from this conversation and forge ahead to see what the Inquisitor was up to, but he hears what sounds like genuine amusement in the Bull's voice – a marked change from the strain from only moments ago.
For now, he'll suffer through it, if only because the Bull seems to be feeling a little more like himself with it.
"Fine, fine. Does it belong to you?"
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"I'm only meant to questions that can be answered with yes or no. I can't very well guess the who and what and expect a solid answer from you."
Not that Dorian is above cheating, but it's harder to manage without the Bull offering more information than he intends to offer.
"Does it belong to anyone here?"
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The Bull is most likely thinking of Dorian's body, and at that point, the options are narrowed down considerably.
Otherwise, the Bull is thinking of something entirely inoffensive and dropping all these hints in an attempt to bait Dorian into saying something lewd.
For all that this isn't chess, it almost feels like Dorian's been placed in check.
Dorian flushes a little, and rather than continue on with this game, he continues on with one of his own – that being, turning the Bull's sentiments back on him.
"Thinking about my body, are we? That isn't a question, obviously. Of course you're thinking about my body. It's exquisite."
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As good as it is sometimes to get Dorian squirming, it's good to turn around and roll with something like this, too. Maybe reinforce the message behind the flirting, if Dorian's expecting pushback and doesn't get any. And it feels kind of nice anyway, building Dorian up with the kind of compliment the guy's actually okay with getting. "I can think of a few other adjectives that would do the job too but they would probably give the game away, so that might have to wait until you finish guessing."
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If Dorian's face warms a little, it's only because of the uncomfortable mask covering his nose and mouth, and because of the unfamiliar structure of his armor, covering him up and trapping in heat.
"I see we're still continuing the game," and he says it with a sigh. Absently, he adjusts his face covering, settling it a little more comfortably over his nose.
"I almost shudder to ask, but above or below the waist?"
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"You're impossible," is what he decides on. "I should have known this game would have devolved into a mess when we started."
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"Fine." There's a touch of resignation in his voice when he utters the word. He pauses for a second, apparently judging that the Inquisitor and the rest of their party has wandered far enough ahead that they won't overhear Dorian's conversation with the Bull. Still, he quiets a little, just to avoid further involvement.
"I'm going to guess you're thinking of my staff." The answer is dripping with as much sarcasm as he can muster.
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Dorian shoots the Bull a look of alarm as his voice raises, and his gaze quickly darts to the rest of their party. He's not sure if they overheard, or if they even understand this conversation, but once again, Cassandra only glares at them while the Inquisitor discusses more history with Renn and Valta.
For a second, Dorian wishes the ground might open up and swallow him whole. There are certainly enough of those strange quakes that it might actually happen.
"I hate you," he quickly mumbles. Dorian feels he should call an end to the game now, but the Bull seems to be feeling better, and it would be immature of him, he thinks. Rather like a small boy bursting into tears and announcing he was taking his ball and going home when he doesn't get his way.
"I don't know. Is it my nose?"
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He glances up at the Bull, eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion.
"I'm beginning to wonder if you even have anything in mind, or if you're just changing your answer as I come close to it."
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And even if a portion of Dorian's mind is still dedicated to running through the old potions and glyphs he and Alexius had created on Felix's behalf, it's at least not an active concern.
"I believe this will be my seventh question, then. Is it above the waist?"
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