I'm back where I belong

[qunari]

WHO: Iron Bull and YOU
WHAT: Bull returns to Skyhold. Where did he go? Maybe you should find out.
WHEN: 22nd of Haring
WHERE: Tavern, then training yard.
NOTES: Will update as needed.

Skyhold was certainly a welcome sight to return to. More so his corner in the tavern, still left unoccupied and ready to be settled into. Oh, Orlais had its perks. He'd brought back a few things from the capital after his stay there on 'business', in fact. But this place suited him in a way the gilded halls of the masked empire never could.

Bull could be found in the Herald's Rest through most of the day, eased back into the biggest chair the place had to offer, helping himself to enough drinks to down a small regiment of soldiers, occasionally flirting with the serving girl as she comes around for drinks, because why not? There was time enough to take it easy, to gover things with the Chargers to see what had happened in his absence, trading tales with barks of laughter that bounced against the wooden rafters of the tavern with ease.

The drinks definitely helped, where unwinding was concerned. So too did heading out to the ring to knock the boys around some, reminding them that break time was over. Krem still needed to work on blocking that shield bash, after all. And if anyone else wanted a swing at the Bull?

Hey. He wouldn't say no.

Comments

[liberalum]

Dorian would like to think better men than he (an obvious hypothetical -- maybe 'taller' men) might wilt a little at the sight of a creature of Iron Bull's shape and stature coming at them like that with that sort of weapon. His eyes widen, ever so, but it's an instinctual effort to ensure he sees everything coming at him, adrenaline once again a warm thrum in his blood stream.

He blocks the blows smartly, although on the third, the breath is expelled from him under the finger-numbing vibration of Bull's staff connecting with his.

Bull withdraws, Bull swings.

Dorian does block, not rogueish enough to let his feet off the ground, too stubborn to give up territory, and too used to staying rooted when summoning the forces of the Fade. His staff slams down into place, but immediately shifts into attack, the end angled upwards making a quick jab for Iron Bull's chin. That it mirrors the way they began round one is not all the way deliberate, but it does make him smile.

Regardless as to outcome, he steps back, and in again, maybe a minor flourish as he switches gears back into attack, focused on swatting Iron Bull's defense out of the way to make an opening of his own design.

[qunari]

It's a miss, but only just. He feels the air whistle past his nose as he tips his head back to avoid the blow, but even he can appreciate the irony. Dorian's grin turns out to be infectious, and a smirk crosses his lips.

But Dorian's on the offensive now, and Bull allows him to strike out, admiring the finesse with which he moves. If magic wasn't his suit, he could see the man as a duelist, quick and precise, distracting, seizing the moments that he's left open, and that jab at his open defenses finally scores a hit along Bull's side, a heavy 'thump' against the leather of his belt.

But that opening lets him swing upwards, the staff smacking him against Dorian's shoulder in turn. It's too close to be a satisfactory win for either of them, so he draws back, head lowered, and gathers for another series of high blows for Dorian to try and fend off.

[liberalum]

The strike to his shoulder garners a huffed sound, slows him a moment long enough for Bull to claim back the upperhand, and put him on the backfoot. Concentration is bright in his eyes, intent to avoid and dodge and block each one, satisfied that for all he might not match the other man in strength, he can give him a run for his sovereigns in speed.

"You know," he says, somehow conversational in the midst of defense, but there's nothing else about him that implies the fight should slow for a chat, "we keep this up," he pushes his reaction time to meet the next blow in the middle, pushing in hard to fend it back rather than let it glance aside, "we might trigger an international incident."

A hitch in breathing gives away a different application of strength as he attempts to twist and lock Bull's weapon with his. In men with smaller hands, it could knock the staff right out of them.

[qunari]

It's a banter he's used to having with his men during training. Fights on the field often come with their own distractions, with orders coming from any direction, difficult terrain, or more than one opponent. There's an ease in the back-and-forth they manage that he can appreciate.

"That so?"

He intends to keep Dorian on the defensive this time until he works for it, gets the ground back under his feet and really pushes back. He doesn't have long to wait. That little twist is felt even in the iron grip he has on the staff, twisting away and down but not out of his hands just yet.

It does temporarily put them at eye-level, shoulder muscles taut and holding, and Bull's smirk broadens as he holds position. Locked together like this, Dorian can't pull away easily, either.

"Well we've got the audience. I could think of a couple of better ways to cause some scandal."

[liberalum]

"Vishante kaffas, Bull--"

This is becoming a pattern; not just today, but also in the microcosm of this interaction, and Dorian can't help but fluster every time. So used to being the one who's inappropriate and then there's the Iron Bull, all of a sudden. The jury is out about whether he should feel mocked or flattered.

Neither of those are feelings one should have when duelling with staves, and his teeth flash as he pits his strength against Iron Bull's, but locked down like this, he hasn't a chance. Withdrawing cleanly isn't an option, either, and so his mouth twists, and grey eyes flash with renewed mischief.

This had gone badly when he'd done it to Krem, but Krem is young, and Iron Bull is seasoned. The shock of electricity is only enough to startle and sting as it dances sudden across the qunari's closed fingers, and Dorian acts quickly after that, once again putting his back into disarming Bull -- it leaves Dorian vulnerable to getting knocked back, off-balance completely, so it's down to a matter of moments.

[qunari]

That little jolt smarts, because of course it does. Part of him's a little surprised Dorian hasn't resorted to magic before now, though that could largely be attributed to some sense of pride, if he was guessing. Regardless, the shock does take him by surprise, and he grunts as the staff is nearly yanked out of his fingers.

Except he isn't going to let him win by cheating. So if that's how he wants to play, all bets are off.

Grip regained, he shoves in the direction Dorian had been pulling, far too much force for him to compensate for quickly. He follows behind, one hand loosening its grip and the other driving the staff upwards to smack against his chest.

Someone needs a little more dirt on their robes.

[liberalum]

So close, and yet--

The thump of staff to chest is too high to drive all the air from his lungs, but there is a hollow sounding huff in lieu of cursing as it tips the balance, sending Dorian backwards. He doesn't trip so much as land squarely on his behind, spine curled to absorb his own fall. One hand loosened off his staff, the other stubbornly holds on, held up at a hover even as he lets his head fall back against the packed earth beneath him in an affect of defeat. As much as for the fact he definitely has dirt in his robes now, as the duel itself.

He raises a hand in a loose, wandery gesture. "I suppose I see what all the fuss is about. How good to know your muscles aren't only there for aesthetic." Like he didn't already know better, firsthand.

[qunari]

One large hand extends, lowering to help pull him up to his feet should he so require it. "They're there for that too, if it makes you feel any better."

This might have been the perfect opportunity to hover over him and rub it in, taunt him a little, but there was hardly a point to that. He wanted a chance to kick his ass again, after all. Fair and square. And an ego could only be bruised so often before he'd find reasons not to come around anymore.

And this fight had been his idea. Bull hadn't forgotten that.

[liberalum]

Dorian certainly isn't too proud for a hand up -- or he might be, in another circumstance, but this isn't that. His hand claps into Iron Bull's offered one, using it and his staff to get to his feet and not get the fine surface dust of the training yard ground all over his hands. All the better to clap it out of his robes in a negligent swipe.

There are twinges and bruises he will feel tomorrow, but overall, Dorian is rather satisfied with his performance, even if the perfectionist in him is already thinking over better means of getting past Iron Bull's defenses. You know, for when they do this again.

"The constant lack of shirts suggested as much," he adds, wryly. "And armor, for that matter. Is that your strategy? Become too big of a strikeable target and confuse your opponent?"

This, added over a shoulder, as he slots the staff back into the weapons rack.

[qunari]

"You don't want to fight a Qunari in armor. Trust me."

Bull huffs as he dusts himself off with a brush of his fingers, waiting for Dorian to shelve his weapon before doing the same. He's been at this for a while now, and it's about time for a break.

Not an actual break. He'll still be keeping eyes and ears on everything that passes by, even if he seems not to be. Never not at work. But it's more enjoyable with a drink in his hand and some good company, so it's not the worst job in the world.

One eyebrow cocks at the mage. "The Beresaad in full armor means war. And that you should be running in the opposite direction."

[liberalum]

"You say that as though you people mean much else," Dorian dismisses. "But have it your way. I'll bet you didn't earn those scars whilst in full armor, though."

And he's setting off in the direction of the tavern, having decided he has earned his ale, probably on Iron Bull's tab. He probably should not himself disparage people's lack of shirts when a good slice of skin is exposed elbow to inner deltoid, smooth brown and free of scars. He can hold his own in a duel of staves, but more often that not, he's at the back of the group, setting people on fire from a distance.

[qunari]

"You think these spats we've been having are what war looks like?" Bull huffs, shaking his head. The Qunari are about a lot more, but it's not as though the outsiders get to see much beyond whatever scouts get sent out on a given day. Any ignorance on their part is to be expected, maybe even encouraged depending on who you asked.

But he's not her to talk politics, and it's as sure a method as any to get Dorian riled up. Nationalist pride and all that, practically runs in their blood. That, and copious amounts of alcohol...which appears to be their next stop. Fine by him.

"Besides, wouldn't want to deprive you of the view."

Bull smirks, and it's pretty obvious the stretch of his dominant arm isn't just meant to work out the kinks as they walk.

[liberalum]

"Please," is the customary, particularly unwitty response to Bull's posturing and prodding, and never somehow sounds like denial, and made all the more cross for it. But they are en route to have a beer, and Dorian loves beer.

More than he loves flouncing off to make Bull think about what he's done, which has never worked before. "If it weren't for your fondness towards garish, retina-burning stripes, you might have something there.

"Now do stop flexing; you owe me an ale."

[qunari]

It's not denial. It's never actually denial, or he'd stop. As it is, it's enough to have Dorian's grudging acceptance when he prods at him so, and that's definitely worth buying the mage a drink for being a sport about it. Wouldn't have expected a 'Vint to be that gracious, but then he's not much like his kinsmen.

Well. Not too much, anyway.

"Hadn't forgotten, big guy."

One hand claps Dorian on the back with a chuckle as they make their way inside.