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I'm back where I belong
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.
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.
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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."
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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.