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?"
"No," the Bull says - and, considering all the to-do about asking that question in the first place, and the place Dorian's mind instantly went the first time he tried to guess in that particular area, the Bull says it with more than a little satisfaction. "It's down on your lower half."
Dorian lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like an ugh, and he shakes his head. He's not sure what it says about himself that he knew the Iron Bull would've instantly gravitated in that direction. For now, Dorian would prefer to assume that it only means he has a decent idea of how the Bull's mind works – at least where his thoughts about Dorian are concerned.
"Why do I get the strong feeling that your answer is going to make me want to slap you?"
He lets out another exasperated breath before feigning a pensive air.
"Well, that at least narrows things down considerably, I suppose. Eighth question: are you thinking of my legs?"
"Another great option, but no. Why? Was your legs what you were ready to slap me for? I would have thought that was an innocent spot, sort of, unless you guys have some pretty raunchy leg stuff going on in Tevinter that I don't know about." In which case, the Bull's tone says, he wants to know about it asap. Important information.
"They can be," Dorian answers, allowing a bit of amusement to bleed into his voice. Lying about the Tevinter Imperium has quickly become a favored pastime – though the Bull is the one most likely to smell bullshit before any of the others.
"It depends entirely on whether or not one has seen a properly performed Dance of Ten Veils – though it tends to be banned from most respectable places. Too saucy, I suppose. It is quite alluring."
"Then I guess I'd have to see it before I can look at any 'vint's legs the right way. Too bad I don't know anyone who can do it, huh?" His voice is teasing and he takes a moment to grin at Dorian, even though Dorian can't see it, before he goes on. "So, it's not your dick, it's not your nose, it's not your legs. There any other body parts of yours that you'd like me paying special attention to?"
Dorian will never understand how it is that the Bull's use of crude language makes him feel like a scandalized Chantry sister, but somehow, it does. He feels himself flush a little, but he hopes the dim lighting of the hallways hides it well.
"I think it's more of a matter of what I wish you would pay less attention to, quite frankly." He sniffs a little haughtily, though the effect is dulled and muted by his face covering. "I suppose you can hardly be blamed, considering my perfection.
"But if that's the given criteria—" Dorian pauses, thinking it over. "You could stand to focus less on my ass, I suppose."
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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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"Why do I get the strong feeling that your answer is going to make me want to slap you?"
He lets out another exasperated breath before feigning a pensive air.
"Well, that at least narrows things down considerably, I suppose. Eighth question: are you thinking of my legs?"
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"It depends entirely on whether or not one has seen a properly performed Dance of Ten Veils – though it tends to be banned from most respectable places. Too saucy, I suppose. It is quite alluring."
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"I think it's more of a matter of what I wish you would pay less attention to, quite frankly." He sniffs a little haughtily, though the effect is dulled and muted by his face covering. "I suppose you can hardly be blamed, considering my perfection.
"But if that's the given criteria—" Dorian pauses, thinking it over. "You could stand to focus less on my ass, I suppose."
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