inachinashop | psl post

"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."

"There you go." While his voice isn't exactly as enthusiastic as it normally would be, it is appreciative. This particular go at winding Dorian up was more distracting than he'd expected it to be, and while it's a shame that it's over, it pretty much did its job. "I thought you were going to get that one sooner. You really think I should focus less on your ass, though, huh - so what part should I be focusing on instead? Pick one out for me to start out on and I can cycle through them."

"You could focus on my astounding intellect, perhaps. Or my awe-inspiring use of magic."

He sniffs again, lifting his chin in that self-arrogant way that tends to make Cassandra roll her eyes.

"As 'statuesque' as my physical form may be, I feel the need to remind you that I am staggeringly impressive beyond that."

"Sure, sure. I can add that in to the roster if you like. So, does this mean that it's my turn to start guessing which one of your features you want me thinking about, or would you rather keep telling me how you want to stagger me with that massive intellect of yours, just throbbing with all that magical know-how?"

"Kaffas," he groans. He tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling, as if offering a quick word of prayer to the Maker for patience. "It's impossible to speak with you."

Of course, Dorian says that, but he's done nothing to move away from the Bull, and neither does he seem inclined to do so. The Inquisitor may have asked the two of them along for their company, but her natural curiosity and eagerness to learn, to solve problems, fully has her attention. And she asked them along to protect her, and Dorian is confident that the two of them are tense enough to spring into action when necessary.

He adjusts his mask again – the thick material makes it a little difficult to breathe, but not impossibly so. Despite the discomfort, Dorian hasn't complained about it even once.

"How many of your waking moments are spent thinking about me? Or is it only when you're in my presence that you remember how sublime I am? Those pretty barmaids of yours would surely seethe with jealous, if they knew."

"Nah," the Bull says easily. Dorian might not have thought a lot about that comment but the part of the Bull's mind that's still trying to work like normal around all the other crap thinks he might as well make it something useful, a just in case thing to make sure Dorian's clear on how things are. Not that Dorian's ever going to necessarily take the Bull up on all those offers, but sometimes it pays off to take those early opportunities when you find them.

"They know better than to get like that about me. That's one of the first things I had to learn coming down here, how to nip that stuff in the bud before people get the wrong idea. They get possessive, they start lashing out at the people around them and then maybe morale among the people working in the tavern takes a hit, maybe that one barmaid can't get anything out of it any more because now she's all in her head about the whole thing - either way, there wouldn't be a point in spending that kind of time together if people were going to come out worse off than when they started. So, don't worry, the barmaids know better - you can give me a few more 'sublime' parts to think about without anyone wanting to, I don't know, start spitting in your ale for it or whatever."

He's startled that the Bull decides to explain himself – mostly because a part of him expected the Bull to continue to mercilessly tease him. Dorian still has no idea how to take the Bull's interest, nor does he know how to process how open the other man is with it. Southerners tend to care less about these things, he knows, if they even care in the first place, but the Bull takes things a step or two further.

So the Bull flirts with Dorian. The man also flirts with everyone, and Dorian is almost certain he's overheard the man making a few offers to Cassandra. As often as Dorian enjoys flattering himself, he feels he shouldn't assume he and the Bull have anything out of the ordinary, as far as the Bull was concerned.

"How remarkably fair of you," Dorian replies a little absently – mostly for lack of anything better to say.

He's quiet for a few moments, chewing over the Bull's explanation, before he frowns. He should leave it alone, but his curiosity gets the better of him.

"But surely you can't control how everyone might feel. Telling them not to get attached is all well and good, but I can't imagine it does much for actually preventing it. What happens if a pretty little barmaid with sparkling eyes and a shapely figure tells you one day that she wants more?"

"Ah..." The Bull starts thoughtfully, tilting his head one way and then the other while he thinks over it. "A lot of the time people are just in it for the thrill, so that doesn't really happen that much. When it does you can kind of see it coming, though, and a lot of that time you can nudge them into realising that you're not going to be what they need. When it's the romance itself that's the thrill that's not really that hard - when they want the whole, you know, 'wearing tights and making speeches in the moonlight, throwing love tokens off balconies' sort of thing, you can usually help them come to a conclusion on their own. Sometimes you do have to sit down and just talk to someone, though. That's always a little rough, but it's better to get it done one way or the other before the Chargers move on.

"Not that it usually comes to that. If it did I guess I'd have to start spending a whole lot more on prostitutes." He shrugs. "It's worked for me so far. That something you're worried about for your own sake? Because down south it's not that big a deal to just talk about things. The other person might not always like what you've got to say, but unless you're with some noble type that likes chopping heads off when they get mad, you can still say it. I can give you some pointers, if you ever need them."

As they're trailing after the Inquisitor, as the Bull talks about it all like it's so remarkably easy, for all that it's absolutely not, Dorian turns to stare at him. His eyes might be a touch too wide, his mouth just a little open beneath his mask.

Romance. What a trite, childish thing. Completely alien in Tevinter, of course; the most romantic stories one could hope for was trashy smut imported from the south for the express purpose of ridiculing it. Or if it were something endemic, it always ended in tragedy.

Dorian learned a long time ago that romance was a thing that happened to other people. Of course, that never seemed to stop him from secretly spiraling, from falling hard and fast for any man that offered him even the smallest kindness.

And the Iron Bull has been—

Dorian shakes himself refocuses on the path ahead of them. The dwarven ruins are winding, narrow things. He should be more interested in the architecture, he thinks, in the beautiful lyrium-infused lamps set into the columns – still working after all these years.

"I apologize for the lapse," he says briskly, and he applauds himself for sounding so nonchalant. "I was briefly waylaid by the thought of you in Orlesian frippery.

The Bull nods, smiling a little because his expression, even if Dorian can't see most of it, is going to help him come off casual, like he believes it. It's the whole topic, maybe, getting to be a little too much for Dorian and making him want to change the subject. Yeah there probably are certain times and certain places where Dorian can talk about sex pretty easily but the topic, the personal side of it with all its emotional little details and considerations, that's probably stuff Dorian isn't used to being able to just come out and say like this. The Bull's known that since he started flirting with the guy in the first place. It's at least a little part of the reason that the flirting worked so well. If that's all getting to be a little much for Dorian, having to confront the fact that all that can just be normal here, the Bull doesn't mind rolling with it and letting Dorian move the conversation some place else.

"Pretty distracting thought, I know. Probably works better as a fantasy, though. They don't exactly make tights in my size and that fancy Orlesian stuff always tears if you even look at it wrong, it's just a mess all around. Got high hopes for that shirt you said you'll design for me, though. It will be nice to have something I can wear two, maybe even three times before it gives up on me."

"You ought to consider adding some jewelry for your horns, you know," he replies easily – because fashion is always a safe topic, in Dorian's mind. "Certainly, having a fashionable shirt would help you fit in if you ever have reason to hobnob with the elite, but a bit of a bit of ostentation will show that you're successful, that you've done well enough for yourself that you've money to burn on ornamentation."

Dorian turns to look at him a little more fully – and even if their current kits don't reveal much, Dorian's seen enough of the man to have a decent mental picture as it is.

"Gold, perhaps. Or perhaps silverite or bloodstone?"

"Ah, I don't know," says the Bull, who always tries to stick with the kinds of disguises that he actually fits into. You have to navigate the fancy stuff sometimes but he's never done it as someone who's actually trying to blend in - even if that did fit who the Iron Bull is as a person, it wouldn't work. The only way it works if you embrace the fact that it doesn't, make a thing out of that instead. If this is what Dorian needs to talk about right now to get away from that other stuff that's still fine with the Bull, but the idea of trying to do himself up and actually be that kind of serious about it is kind of weird to think about.

"What kind of jewellery are you thinking? Anything that dangles too much would probably get in the way if I had to fight, and the kind of people who organise those kinds of fancy parties probably wouldn't even notice a pair of horn caps, even if it wasn't a pain to get them fitted. What kind of look do you want me to go for?"

"Honestly, Bull, that's the point – you only wear something delicate so that when you enter and end a fight with all your fragile jewelry completely intact, you come away looking untouchable."

Or at least, that's how it's done in Tevinter. Dorian, for instance, left behind a chest full of delicate necklaces, bracelets, and earrings that he only wore to balls and duels.

"You ought to have at least one fitted cuff, perhaps – something to replace the leather to which you attach your eye patch. You'd need a patch to match, of course. And maybe a thin, gold chain wound around the other horn, with a pendant with your Charger's emblem hanging from it?"

"A pendant with horns on it hanging off my horns? That's kind of fun. I'm not exactly the type to come out of a fight without everything coming out broken, though. It's kind of my thing. Be a shame if you put all this thought into something and then it got wrecked the first time out. That something you do a lot of back home? Because it sounds like the kind of show I'd love to see. Maybe you and Vivienne could get something going; that kind of power play sounds like you guys' whole thing."

Not that Dorian has any to wear, that the Bull's ever seen. Which makes sense. Unless you've got a whole caravan of people to travel with you, moving with that kind of obvious money on you is usually a bad idea. Still, he can imagine it, Dorian swaggering out of a fight all smug and fancy in something maybe made of gold, probably kind of snakey. Feels like it would be a good look.

Dorian laughs a little wistfully.

"Yes, I expect Vivienne would be quite impressive in a duel – though I can't imagine there's much artistry for southern mages. I expect there's a frenetic display of power, and then abrupt cowering, once a templar catches wind of the situation and puts a stop to it. I can't imagine it lasts longer than a spell or two.

"But you're not wrong – it is my thing, or it once was, at least. I was an absolute terror, in my youth. My parents were equal parts vexed with and thrilled by how often I was challenged and how often I won." Dorian is quiet for a second, feeling an inexplicable wave of homesickness, before he shakes his head.

"In any case, I left that all behind me. I've a regrettable dearth of dangling earrings and fragile chains, these days."

"That's too bad," the Bull says, wishing a little that they were somewhere they could take all this cloth off their faces but because of Dorian's expression, this time. There's something a little unsettling about it, being so used to reading people's faces and then not getting anything there at all. It's not like body language is gone, he still has that, and maybe if he was anywhere else that would be enough, but-

Ah, nevermind. There's no point in hammering those kinds of thoughts deeper into his mind than they've already gone. The wistful tone to Dorian's laugh there is what the Bull has right now, and that will be enough until they make it out of here.

"Bet you looked great in them. What kind did you used to wear? The same kind of stuff you want me in, minus the eyepatch?"

"Imagining me again?" Dorian asks with a laugh. He glances over, and while his smile isn't fully visible, there's still a hint of it at the corners of his eyes. He quirks an eyebrow. "Careful, Bull. You're making a habit of that.

"It was all horribly impractical and showy, as I'm sure you can tell. A duel in Tevinter was as much a battle as it was a performance. I doubt you would have approved of my sartorial choices or my accessories. I'm sure you'd tell me they were far too perilous to wear, were I to face an enemy in close quarters combat. I had this decorative earpiece in the shape of a snake that would curl around my ear, and I'm sure you'd remind me that an foe could yank it right out."

He traces the shell of his ear with his fingertip, tapping against the lobe.

"I was rather fond of my old necklaces, though. I would layer them together, and they were the perfect length so that my family's birthright would hang above them all."

And here, his hand falls to his sternum, just beneath the dip between his clavicles. He pauses, briefly wishing that Ponchard de Lieux might fall and expire in a ditch somewhere, before letting out a breath.

"I would look magnificent, though that goes without saying. I can only hope I inspired some budding artist to commit the image of me to canvas."

There we go - snakey, just like he'd thought. The Bull watches Dorian imagining it, Dorian's hand on his sternum where the necklace isn't. Then Dorian finishes, and the Bull makes an amused noise. "Would be a crime if they didn't," he says. "I wouldn't get onto you for it like that, though; yeah your fighting style's pretty showy but you know the difference between what we do out here and what you did in those duels. It would be weird to see one, though. You're still trying to kill each other, right, one on one? It's just that you're trying to look good doing it, have the flashiest magic, all that? If it weren't a magic duel I'd say that sounds like it's all about agility, so you make sure you never look ruffled or anything. Is it the same thing with a magic one, or does that change the game at all?"

"You have the right of it," he says, letting his hand drop to his side. "It was a matter of agility, both physically and magically. Can you cast a Barrier in time? Can you inject enough power into it to absorb his next few spells? How quickly can you dispel your opponent's mines while he's actively menacing you? Can you cast two spells to your opponents one? How quickly can you end this to meet your companions for celebratory drinks?

"The rules were established at the start, and appointed intermediaries would ensure those rules were followed. Generally, no one ever wanted to fight to the death – the duelists would decide that the victor might be the first to draw blood, or the first to force the other to yield. But there's no accounting for accidents, or 'accidents.'" And Dorian places a bit of irony into the latter.

"'Oops, so sorry. I didn't hear his screams to surrender. I was far too busy setting him on fire, you see. Goodness, look at all these scorch marks. Shall I pay for the repairs?'"

"I bet. Pretty good way to deal with anyone who's giving you trouble. You do a lot of that, or were you just in it for the thrill?" He doesn't sound like he's judging, because he's not. Tevinter is what it is. It's not the kind of thing Dorian would do here, away from all that, and that's what matters to the Bull. It's interesting though, Dorian's time there, who he was in Tevinter versus who he is here. It's not a part of Dorian that the Bull needs to know, exactly, but there's no harm in being curious.

"Did I do a lot of which, duels in general or killing?"

He asks the question without hesitation, and neither does he ask it with any particular inflection. A clarifying question, and little more.

"If you mean the former – well. I excelled in my magical studies at quite a young age, and I was a lethal combination of opinionated and stubborn. Perhaps that wouldn't have been any cause for friction, but I also had a sharp tongue, and had trouble determining the best time to keep my mouth shut. I incited quite a few fights and never had the wisdom to know when to bend.

"If you mean the latter, then no. I was never out to actually kill anyone, only to prove my superiority. I always adhered to the terms of the duel, but if my opponent broke the terms – say, continued the assault after they had clearly lost – then I did what was necessary to defend myself."

"Makes sense. Sounds like you were a terror when you were a kid, huh?" He grins, sounding admiring. "I can see it."

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