inachinashop | psl post

"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."

Dorian breathes out a laugh, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "Some might tell you I'm still a terror now."

And Dorian would feign offense only for a moment or two before quietly agreeing.

For a few seconds, Dorian allows them to walk in silence before he slowly ventures, "And I'm sure you were an absolute sweetheart as a young boy."

A statement, rather than a question. Dorian isn't entirely sure if it's by design that the Bull was so quiet about his past, or if it was simply a matter of no one bothering to ask. In any case, Dorian admits to some curiosity, but he phrases his prompt in such a way to let the Bull drop the thread of conversation, should he choose.

The Bull makes an amused noise, happy enough to answer a direct prompt from a friend like that, even if there's a faint edge of distraction in his voice as part of his mind starts pulling back toward the view in front of them, thinking more about just where they are.

"If you like kids who think they know better than you do, sure. That's a lot of kids I guess, but in our group I was always the one who thought the tamassrans needed me to tell them how to handle all the others, finding loopholes in the rules, figuring out ways to get out of doing stuff I was supposed to and getting involved in stuff I wasn't. Tamassrans aren't strict with their kids in the same way people are out here so we weren't all supposed to be 'seen and not heard' or whatever, but I didn't always make it easy. How about you? If I know you, I'd say you were probably as much of a terror to the authorities as you were to the other kids. Hopefully with fewer duels involved, though."

"Ah, so you were a delight." His tone is teasing, at least. It's difficult to see the Bull as anything but the Bull, but Dorian manages to conjure the image of a small, pudgy little child with little bumps where the horns should be. "You haven't outgrown the habit of sticking your nose into things, I see."

Especially now, with the Bull involving himself in all of Dorian's affairs. A consummate problem solver, this one.

"Aside from my various squabbles with the other children, my instructors and tutors would say I was a joy to teach. 'So attentive, is young Lord Pavus. So intelligent! So diligent! If only he could apply himself more evenly, he would be a wonder!' At least, that's what they would say to my parents. Otherwise, I'm certain they would have said I was an insufferable little braggart and were only too happy to see me shipped off to a new Circle, if they hadn't feared my father's influence."

Well yeah, the Bull could have told him. There's a reason they didn't put me into the antaam, and made it my whole job to stick my nose into other people's business. Everything in its place, especially if there's a way to use it.

"So, you were kind of a terror to them too. Or was it just trying to make sure they all knew how great you are? It doesn't sound like either of us have changed all that much. Put a bunch of fancy jewellery on you and set some 'vint asshole in front of you, you think you'd be right back to duelling?"

"That depends," he says, feigning a moment of thought. He taps his chin over the face covering again, head tipped back so he can regard the rough, stone ceiling.

"How much of an asshole are they, and how fancy is this jewelry?"

"Really fancy." The Bull glances at him. "Why? That make you want to fight more? Let's say you're about as done up as you can get, but the other guy is - I don't know, at whatever level of asshole is normal for Tevinter. He's not anything special, but you look like a walking fortune. That going to make you more likely to pick a fight?"

"Would it surprise you to hear that would make me less likely to start a fight?" Dorian laughs again, a little self-deprecatingly. "Ah, I'm getting old. Doubtless Felix would be cackling at me for becoming so reasonable with age.

"It would be like if you arrived fully kitted, armed with your favorite battleaxe, and started picking fights with anyone who managed to breathe offensively in your general direction. Meanwhile, your opponent is armed with only a rusted pitchfork missing half a handle. There's no way for you to come out of that fight favorably. Best case scenario, you're no better than a cackling villain, liable to snatch sweets from blubbering babies. Worst case scenario, you're trounced by a plebeian.

"No, the good jewelry is reserved for the special types of assholes. The ones that, say, claim to have entered the Golden City and wish to rip open the Fade to instate themselves as a new god."

The Bull notes the part about Felix. Not because of what Dorian's saying about him, particularly, but because he's saying it at all. If Dorian's mentioned anyone else from Tevinter, it's never been like that - fond, and warm. Someone who actually looked out for him. The Bull isn't going to pry about the guy, but is going to notice it now whenever Dorian mentions him.

"So," the Bull says. "The Inquisition's going to have to find you the good stuff soon, then, unless there's more than one of those kind of guys wandering around for you to get yourself all dressed up for. It seems like a shame to make yourself look that good for such a shithead, though."

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