"You're looking pretty official now," he notes, walking a little into the room, in the space Aden made for him. Doors that move by themselves, still creepy. Still that weird metallic smell everywhere. Crates of something on the floor. Vials of something else. Mostly stuff he doesn't know enough about to even think about using. Knives though, at least. Almost weird to see something familiar. Makes sense that Aden would only have rogue weapons here, in what seems like his private... his private something. Whatever this place is. Not a house, because it isn't placed like a house. Hard not to try and figure it out and start thinking about flying shitting Fade-carriages.
Better not to think too hard about it.
"So, how'd that happen?" His eye darts over the knives that he can see, sorting them out in his head. Not the ones that are made to work with poison, that's never been his thing. Might be better to use something unremarkable anyway, something Aden won't mind losing. Just in case. If Aden ends up wanting him to take one at all, that is. The fact that Aden didn't actually tell him out loud whether he wants the Bull with a weapon or not is actually bugging him a little. There's a good chance the guy's never seen a Qunari before this; maybe he doesn't know how important it is, making sure the Bull's not as dangerous right now as he could be. His mind works over that, while his eye works over the knives. "Sounds like something out of one of-- Uh."
Varric. The easy certainty that there's no one anywhere who hasn't at least heard of the guy even if they haven't read his stuff, the way he can just say something like that and anyone's going to know what he means. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
"You know," he starts again, tone perfectly steady, steadier than it was a moment before, gaze fixed down somewhere in the direction of the knives while his hand hovers over them like he's still assessing. "One of those books, the romance ones. 'Star crossed lovers on opposite sides of a war, will they 'spy' the love in each other's hearts' or, you know, something like that. When did you stop wanting to kill each other?"
The question of how exactly that happened caused a very slight twitch in Aden's expression- on a more expressive person it might very well have been several stages of grief passing in a single moment. He was glad to have married Theron, but the road to get there had been some of the most insanity packed years of Aden's life- and everyone else's, too. He didn't always like thinking back on it all for fear of becoming the next insanity for everyone else to rally against himself.
So he just made a soft little noise at the mention of those sorts of books, while also noting the steadier tone- saying nothing, but noting it all the same, "I think a couple of my sisters used to read those for me as a bedtime story when I was a child. Back before they realized I could actually understand what they were reading to me."
That point in his life had come a bit sooner than his sisters would have liked, Aden thought. He didn't think he'd grasped the ideas and implications quite the same way that adults did, nor been able to imagine everything with the accuracy of the experience that came with age, but his sisters had started reading more age appropriate books once they realized that he understood more than they'd thought he did.
"To make a long story short about me and Theron- attraction first regardless of instinctive hatred of the other side, followed by an unimaginable amount of shit that included one arrogant wannabe-Chosen one, one wannabe-God threatening to consume every life in the world to fuel his own immortality, a couple of doomsday cults, and a couple of tyrants that made us realize that life's too short to want to kill each other based on which nation's flag we happen to prefer to use as tacky interior décor."
He smiled a little, and shrugged a shoulder, "As for when we stopped wanting to kill each other, it's debatable. He took a whack at it pretty recently after years of not even thinking about it."
Based on his tone, it was likely that that was at least partially a joke.
He nodded toward a knife on the wall- a bit larger than most of the blades on display and a bit on the fancy-looking side too, "I think that one could be useful. I've always found it a bit too heavy for my particular use, but for you it might feel a bit more balanced."
Despite not getting much use of it himself, he'd still kept it though- he was a collector, after all.
"Once we get back we'll get around to getting you something... Less pint-sized."
His gaze follows Aden's nod and he goes ahead and heads toward the knife, something easing in his chest. Aden expects him to take it, and so that's one less question the Bull needs to figure out how to answer. He takes the knife down off the wall, hefts it. The size is okay in his hand. Not quite as big as the short swords he's used to keeping with him, but closer than anything else he sees here.
Once we get back. Bull's gaze flicks over to Aden when he says it, expression very still. Then he looks away. His fingers flex over the handle of the knife, the metal bare, ready to be used.
He opens his mouth. He closes it again.
"It going to take us too long to get there? I might need something to keep this in."
Much like the tone, the expression was also noted. Aden was observant- had to be, in his line of work. It's more difficult here though, because with everyone else, Aden had some reference for what to look for- even if it was an unfamiliar species, he usually knew enough about their culture to be able to easily sort through what their expressions or tones of voice meant.
But despite similarities with some other species, the Iron Bull was entirely unfamiliar to him, and thus it was harder to slot expressions and tone neatly into one category or the other. Time and familiarity would solve that, of course, but he was somewhat resentful that the train had thrown the poor guy into his world alongside a man tragically incapable of putting someone at ease unless he was lulling them into a false sense of security before a strike.
At the moment, Aden would have liked to have a word with the train.
There were many unanswered questions regardless, of course. About the train itself. About the void. About the worlds, and the chosen heroes. But really, it seemed unusually cruel that Aden was sent home, and the Bull was sent here. Not to mention he wanted to know why- surely there had to be others who'd gone to their respective homes who would have been better candidates for support if the Bull's home world was truly inaccessible at the moment.
"Since we're walking, it'll take a little while. So probably best if you have something to keep it in, yeah."
He moved away to open a crate where he'd very neatly stored all the sheaths that his knives had come with- they were labeled and everything- going through them until he found the correct one, and then moving back and holding it out for the other man to take. Having that crate with its neatly kept and labeled sheaths for each and every knife probably said a lot about Aden as a person, really.
He watches Aden go through his sheaths, thinking appreciatively about the kind of organization you need to keep track of all that the right way and trying to pretend his mind is empty, that that's the only thing going through his head right now. Then he takes the sheath, and it's almost a relief to put the blade of the knife away, and the Bull wonders why. Doesn't need another question crowding up his head, dismisses it, and looks for a place to put the knife instead. No belt to attach it to -- didn't come with the weird-ass Fade prisoner uniform -- so he hooks the sheath's strap onto one of the loops on his shorts and watches the weight of the thing start tugging at the shorts like it's going to pull them down.
He sighs.
"Damn thing," he mutters. "Well, lead the way, I guess, unless you want to grab anything else. What kind of walk are we talking about?"
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Better not to think too hard about it.
"So, how'd that happen?" His eye darts over the knives that he can see, sorting them out in his head. Not the ones that are made to work with poison, that's never been his thing. Might be better to use something unremarkable anyway, something Aden won't mind losing. Just in case. If Aden ends up wanting him to take one at all, that is. The fact that Aden didn't actually tell him out loud whether he wants the Bull with a weapon or not is actually bugging him a little. There's a good chance the guy's never seen a Qunari before this; maybe he doesn't know how important it is, making sure the Bull's not as dangerous right now as he could be. His mind works over that, while his eye works over the knives. "Sounds like something out of one of-- Uh."
Varric. The easy certainty that there's no one anywhere who hasn't at least heard of the guy even if they haven't read his stuff, the way he can just say something like that and anyone's going to know what he means. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
"You know," he starts again, tone perfectly steady, steadier than it was a moment before, gaze fixed down somewhere in the direction of the knives while his hand hovers over them like he's still assessing. "One of those books, the romance ones. 'Star crossed lovers on opposite sides of a war, will they 'spy' the love in each other's hearts' or, you know, something like that. When did you stop wanting to kill each other?"
no subject
So he just made a soft little noise at the mention of those sorts of books, while also noting the steadier tone- saying nothing, but noting it all the same, "I think a couple of my sisters used to read those for me as a bedtime story when I was a child. Back before they realized I could actually understand what they were reading to me."
That point in his life had come a bit sooner than his sisters would have liked, Aden thought. He didn't think he'd grasped the ideas and implications quite the same way that adults did, nor been able to imagine everything with the accuracy of the experience that came with age, but his sisters had started reading more age appropriate books once they realized that he understood more than they'd thought he did.
"To make a long story short about me and Theron- attraction first regardless of instinctive hatred of the other side, followed by an unimaginable amount of shit that included one arrogant wannabe-Chosen one, one wannabe-God threatening to consume every life in the world to fuel his own immortality, a couple of doomsday cults, and a couple of tyrants that made us realize that life's too short to want to kill each other based on which nation's flag we happen to prefer to use as tacky interior décor."
He smiled a little, and shrugged a shoulder, "As for when we stopped wanting to kill each other, it's debatable. He took a whack at it pretty recently after years of not even thinking about it."
Based on his tone, it was likely that that was at least partially a joke.
He nodded toward a knife on the wall- a bit larger than most of the blades on display and a bit on the fancy-looking side too, "I think that one could be useful. I've always found it a bit too heavy for my particular use, but for you it might feel a bit more balanced."
Despite not getting much use of it himself, he'd still kept it though- he was a collector, after all.
"Once we get back we'll get around to getting you something... Less pint-sized."
no subject
Once we get back. Bull's gaze flicks over to Aden when he says it, expression very still. Then he looks away. His fingers flex over the handle of the knife, the metal bare, ready to be used.
He opens his mouth. He closes it again.
"It going to take us too long to get there? I might need something to keep this in."
no subject
But despite similarities with some other species, the Iron Bull was entirely unfamiliar to him, and thus it was harder to slot expressions and tone neatly into one category or the other. Time and familiarity would solve that, of course, but he was somewhat resentful that the train had thrown the poor guy into his world alongside a man tragically incapable of putting someone at ease unless he was lulling them into a false sense of security before a strike.
At the moment, Aden would have liked to have a word with the train.
There were many unanswered questions regardless, of course. About the train itself. About the void. About the worlds, and the chosen heroes. But really, it seemed unusually cruel that Aden was sent home, and the Bull was sent here. Not to mention he wanted to know why- surely there had to be others who'd gone to their respective homes who would have been better candidates for support if the Bull's home world was truly inaccessible at the moment.
"Since we're walking, it'll take a little while. So probably best if you have something to keep it in, yeah."
He moved away to open a crate where he'd very neatly stored all the sheaths that his knives had come with- they were labeled and everything- going through them until he found the correct one, and then moving back and holding it out for the other man to take. Having that crate with its neatly kept and labeled sheaths for each and every knife probably said a lot about Aden as a person, really.
"Here."
no subject
He sighs.
"Damn thing," he mutters. "Well, lead the way, I guess, unless you want to grab anything else. What kind of walk are we talking about?"