faderift | I'm back where I belong

Entry tags:

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.

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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Now there's a new face- or rather an old face having wandered back after such a time as to be new again. Zevran had seen the Bull wandering about in his earliest days but never truly approached; the Charger was massive and had his hands full in his own affairs- but tonight?

He did not strike Zevran as a man overburdened with urgent purpose. After a set (a rather light hearted one as that seemed to be the mood), Zevran wove his way across to sit opposite the Qunari, bearing the gift of another round. "I was tasked with bringing this over, lest you make the serving girl swoon with your next line."

The Qunari regards him quietly for a moment, that gray eyes searching, before his lips crook upwards. Well now. That's interesting. "Nah. She'd have been fine. If I was interested in getting her off her feet, it wouldn't be with a line," Bull replied, those massive shoulders rolling in a shrug. "Pretty sure she wouldn't have said no, though."

And with that he reached for the drink, tipping it towards the elf. There was hesitation on the initial drink, however. Anyone who takes a swig without pause when given a drink by an assassin is kinda asking for it. No offense to the elf, but he's still mulling over his odds.

"Get tired of staring from the corner, did you?"

"Perhaps I wanted an excuse to be the one to get a line, mm?" He's been watching, been aware of being watched, and had his fun with the observation game. Engaging, now, that is the truly fun part. He lifts his own glass to The Iron Bull and settles back in a lounge that leaves him less sitting and more draped artfully across the chair, head angled so, knees tipped just this far apart, loose and languid and thoroughly inviting.

"There are worse things to stare at, you must admit. And I will have to say I've been thoroughly intrigued."

Whatever he's picked up from Zevran in the past thirty seconds seems to be enough to put him at ease, enough to finally accept that drink in full. Same shit he usually drinks here, but this exchange isn't really about drinks, is it? Not with that honied gaze leveled at him from the elf seated across from him.

One healthy swig later and the tankard clunks against the scrubbed-wood surface of the table. "Yeah. I get that a lot." Not bragging, that tone, just matter-of-fact. "You folks don't see many of us, and fewer that aren't actively looking to bust that pretty skull of yours open."

The smirk broadens. "Don't think that'd scare you off, though. Not right away."

It'd be impolitic to poison someone from the Herald's inner circle. Moreover he isn't crazy- the amount he'd need in the right concentration would be impossible to make undetectable and even then? It might not work. Qunari he has killed in such a way before but never one quite so massive, nor massively gorgeous.

"I am rarely frightened by things that wish to kill me. More often than not I tend to find people that are capable all the more exciting." If they are being honest- and if the rumors of Bull being Ben Hassrath are true? Playing coy isn't likely going to work or be too terribly fun for either of them. And this is about fun, after all. No reason to make things complicated.

A deep chuckle rumbles in the back of his throat. "Kind of figured."

Not crazy, no, but definitely reckless. It's written all over him, that devil-may-care attitude that few men without a death wish carry. Suits that slink he carries himself with. Definitely not hard on the eyes, but few elves are as a general rule. But oh, he reeks of trouble. Question is whether it's the sort of trouble he minds or not.

"That what you came over here hoping to find?" In spirit of continued straightforwardness, Bull crooks an eyebrow, leaning further back into his seat.

"Excitement?"

"Excitement, conversation, a little news of what is beyond Skyhold if you have anything interesting or filthy worth sharing." He's careful to sip his ale slowly, head tipped back to reveal the line of his throat, leaving just the barest glisten of damp on his lips that he licks away once he is certain of Bull's full attention.

Simply because he isn't playing coy doesn't mean he's above teasing, posing. Gauging interest. At this point it is as much habit to him as breathing- it'd be difficult to divorce himself of it.

"Company for the night if you are of a mind." Again, in the interest of honesty. It's been some time since Taas, and the memory of that afternoon leaves him bold. Even with Alistair's future somewhat secure there is an itch under his skin, a restlessness he cannot shake.

If he wants a read out of Bull, he's going to have his work cut out for him. He could sit here and sip his drink all night and not give a single tell, if that were the aim here. But Zevran's at least giving him the courtesy of being mostly transparent about what it is he wants.

He can appreciate that. Things down South tend to have steps, a build-up. There's a dance people feel the need to go through before getting down to business. This just happens to be a very truncated version.

And if he's honest, it wouldn't be the worst way to wind down from that trip to Orlais. That look turns considering as it flickers briefly over Zevran, one hand lifting to prop beneath his chin.

"That so." Bull snorts quietly. "You don't strike me as someone who's usually hard-up for company, yourself." It's not accusatory. Just curious. The elf doesn't know what he's signing up for here, not really, but he might just be game enough if he did.

"The return of the Iron Bull."

It's spoken in faint amusement as Twisted Fate approaches the Qunari. They'd never met face-to-face, but it's a little hard to not know about the Ben-Hassrath as part of the Inquisition. He's seen a few Vashoth and Tal-Vashoth, but to actually meet a Qunari is a rarity indeed.

And one with an easy to remember name.

"Welcome back," Twisted Fate says, tilting his head with a little smile. "Don't suppose I could buy you a round?"

It's something of a pleasant surprise to see the familiar configuration of squareish horns and heavy slabs of muscle take up room in the Skyhold courtyard. There are several people who would make for pleasant surprises upon sight, which is, for Dorian, the most surprising part of this at all, and that one of them might be Iron Bull-- well, that's ridiculous.

But so it goes.

It's a little bit how he feels for much of the old inner circle, for all that the Herald's death has since dispersed it every which way, and he'd put the Iron Bull out of his mind almost completely since his departure. But now, as Dorian walks the battlements and spies the qunari below, finishing up with someone game enough to spar, he leans his elbows against the grey stone and watches from on high, cattish in his interested remove.

By the time Bull has finished, he will hear the slow, lazy clap from several feet above.

"What? No encore?" Dorian asks, affecting disappointment, hands folding back together. "You've not gotten lazy, have you? I would have imagined that match to end at least two seconds earlier than it did."

The difference between a spy and an assassin lies in the details; both call for awareness and observation- assassins for vulnerabilities to be played upon, cracks in the armor to exploit- spies? For information. Future reference or exploitation of an entirely different sort. Some of the Houses in the Crows specialized in such things. Zevran, for the most part, used his observations for the short game- the more immediate concern.

Currently that's whether or not he can prove he's aware of what a quick tumble (or not so quick, depending on what he wishes) with The Iron Bull would entail. For once he's not overly concerned with becoming what Bull would wish him to be- this is about what he wants. Mostly due to the fact that Bull would likely notice something off and refuse on principle.

Zev wouldn't blame him.

"Ah, true enough." He crackles a soft laugh, "But it is rare I can find company like yours. Rare enough that should an opportunity present itself, well. I would be remiss in not making an attempt."

"What, did I go somewhere?"

It's a deflection, humorous as it is. He's got no intent of talking about his trip outside those who need to know, for whatever reason. But no reason to be unfriendly. The offer of a drink gets Bull lifting his boot, pushing the leg of a nearby chair out in offering.

"Don't know what you heard about me, but it takes a lot for me to turn down a free drink."

Which is his way of saying yes and sit all at once.

Dorian. Previously 'the Vint', though not as Vint-y as the rest of them, which stands in his favor. He's actually not that bad a guy, behind the pretense of fangs one needs to survive in the Imperium. Bull's actually glad to see he stuck around, in spite of...well. Everything.

The staff he'd been wielding stabs into the dirt, becoming something of a leaning post as he cocks his head, grinning up at the walkway. "You want more of a show, big guy, you're gonna have to bring me some more volunteers. Think I might have broke the last one."

The jab about finishing up earlier goes unremarked. After all, it's only fair to give his opponent a sporting chance. He'd stepped into the ring knowing he was going to get beaten down, but he'd done it anyway. That gained him a modicum of respect, and a little leeway.

Not much. But more than nothing.

Novelty, then. Not an uncommon motive in the least, and one he's comfortable enough with. Well then. Cards on the table.

Bull makes a noise of acknowledgement before tipping the tankard back again, emptying the contents in a single swig. A fact betrayed by the hollow 'thunk' that follows after setting it down on the table once more. One shoulder rolls with a faint crack before he settles again, that smirk returning.

"Alright. You got somewhere to be in an hour?"

"If you did not, then I'm curious as to where one could hide all of you," he remarks, grinning.

Fortunately, Twisted Fate isn't interested in asking about the mission. If he needed to know, he'd have been informed, and that isn't the case here. Instead, he's sitting down at the chair pushed out for him.

"Then I won't worry about giving you a reason. Please, order whatever you'd like."

"No. My entire evening is open." One does not make plans elsewhere if one intends to bed a Qunari- not if they are of Zevran's size and stature. He'd been blissed out of his mind for a fair while and wobbly for some time more, floating in a pleasant, languid headspace for at last an hour afterward. He hopes to go further than floating and blissed. Something in Bull's demeanor gives him the impression he'd more than manage.

"Not anymore." There's a nod towards the steps leading to the upper levels of the tavern. "I've got a room upstairs."

A generous way of putting it. The room had holes in the stone from attacks past or age or neglect, plant life having already found a way inside. The bed was intact, but precious little else was. But it was suitable warm, and had seen a number of trysts already.

The elf didn't strike him as being that picky, or he might have suggested his quarters, instead.

Sina was back to making her deliveries, however long it took her now that she was recovering from her shard's minute reaction to the abomination. It was the only circumstance under which she'd ever enter the Herald's Rest, which she tended to avoid due to its abundance of drunk people and loud noises.

She was making her way toward the stairs with her basket, humming faintly to herself, when she passed easily the biggest qunari she'd ever seen (and she hadn't seen many). She couldn't help but stop and stare, but caught herself in time and hurried up the stairs. On her way back down she stole another glance, and while making her deliveries seemed to keep making excuses to catch a glimpse of the grim-looking fellow. She clearly found him fascinating, but too intimidating to approach.

"Convenient, I approve." He finishes his mug with a few quick swallows, setting it aside. He could sit and speak for a moment more but- it'd been something of an order and it twists something hot in the pit of his stomach, more than the idea of what might come had already.

"Shall I go ahead so you might enjoy the view?" Stairs led to marvelous opportunities for oogling, after all.

Bull chuckles. "Heh. If you like. I'm planning on having another drink."

There's more to it than that, of course, but Zevran seems to have picked up on that. So Bull's content to stay precisely where he is, to make his way up of his own accord. Less likely anyone will see them together that way, though he's hardly hiding anything.

Just tends to make these things a little more convenient, when they don't have half the keep eyeing them up and wondering.

'Intimidating' was one of the main reasons he made such a successful mercenary. He wasn't exactly shying away from the image, but this was no battlefield. This was as sedate as he was ever likely to be, enjoying his drink and chatting amiably with those nearby.

He'd caught sight of her, alright. The way she scurried away and peered down from the upper levels. But that wasn't all that uncommon a reaction, and you didn't go chasing them down hoping to change their minds about you. His gaze flickered her direction just the once.

Then he'd taken another drink of his ale, and that seemed that.

Oh. It's gonna be like that?

Bull grins a little wider and motions one of the girls over. "My friend here's buying. Two tankards of Maraas-Lok, from the back."

This guy wants to drink with Iron Bull? He's got it. Time to see how he does with it.

Dorian huffs a laugh, sardonic and dry. "So good to have you back with us. I know the Commander simply loves his troops tenderised."

A vein of amusement is bright enough to make the remark more teasing than snooty, but there's plenty of that too. He tips a look up at the wider courtyard, listening a moment to the usual background ambiance of blunt swords striking together, staves clacking, arrows thudding into targets. Iron Bull likely doesn't lack for sparring partners when he wants them, even outside his Chargers, but today, they must be shy.

Or maybe Dorian is casting a shadow, with his voice that carries. Not everyone has worked out he's not that bad a guy. "There's a little project due to begin. Combat training, for Templars and mages. That'll be show enough."

Bull's lips thin slightly, the lines around his face a little harder. "Yeah. Heard you guys had an incident while I was gone. As many untrained mages as we've got, I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner."

There's no smugness or joy in that statement. People are hurt and a kid's dead because of demons. There's no joke to be made out of that. Just deflection.

He cocks his head slightly, a half-smirk waiting there on the edge of his mouth. "You gonna take your turn in the ring, then? Show the kids how it's done back in Tevinter?"

An opportunity to show off and earn some goodwill all at once? Wouldn't be the worst thing he could do for himself.

"Welcome back."

Bruce waits for Bull to be done with his latest training session before saying that. Even from where he was standing at the edge of the training yard Bull was already pretty massive, but to be fair all full grown Qunari were massive. Bull just had a way of making that massiveness... even more noticeable. Maybe it was just how he was.

He only steps closer once he's sure that Bull isn't going to keep swinging that giant weapon of his, glancing up at the Qunari and giving a small smile. "I guess your mission went well, then? Unless of course you're hitting things to blow off steam."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 4

I'm back where I belong

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject