it takes strength to live this way
WHO: Iron Bull and OPEN
WHAT: General summary of events during the end of the month. Drinking, fighting, more drinking, maybe a little flirting.
WHEN: Mid-to-late Wintermarch
WHERE: All over the damn place. Mostly the tavern and sparring ring, though.
NOTES: n/a
WHAT: General summary of events during the end of the month. Drinking, fighting, more drinking, maybe a little flirting.
WHEN: Mid-to-late Wintermarch
WHERE: All over the damn place. Mostly the tavern and sparring ring, though.
NOTES: n/a
He was starting to feel a little restless. By now, the boss would have taken them all out on some exploit or another, and even if he was glad to be at Skyhold again? Sitting idle could grate on the nerves a bit.
The best way to counter that seemed to be throwing down in the training ring just outside the tavern, taking on all comers as well as training those that seemed of a mind to ask. Cullen had most of his people following their own regime, but if they wanted a swing at something else? He wouldn’t refuse them. Not everyone fought like a templar.
The rest of the time, Bull made himself easy to find. Easy to avoid, too, if that was the preference of some. And he knew it was, from the glimpsed he’d gotten of the Vashoth inside the keep. But it was no hardship holding court inside the comfort of the tavern, indulging heavily in drinks and working his way down the menu of available meals and snacks.
It was business as usual, for the most part. Even if he did feel a little more restless than usual. Had to find a way to get out, hit something that really had it coming.
Or find someone to pass the evening with. That might help.

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"Arvaarads are akin to our templars, yes?" But more diligent. The ones that held the leash. But some of that training might have merit, something in what the Qunari did had to be relevant to her current area of study. "...those that fall short are killed, aren't they."
It wasn't a question. That was, in the most round about way possible, how such things were handled in the south.
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She was taking it better stride than he'd thought. But she wasn't a fool, this one. She'd known what she was asking for. Might as well be frank with her, then.
"There's a collar they get put on them that nullifies spells. Bit like what your templars can do, but quick. Efficient. Doesn't miss."
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A mage's magic was only half of what made them dangerous. The more dramatic and exciting half, yes, but-
That did not help her. The collar. Even if something similar might be crafted for mages that are not yet able to control their powers...
How difficult would it be to replicate? To even explain it as some manner of safegard for the young until they learned better?
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Taming the savage. That's what the Qun existed to do. It had brought peace to his own mind, after all. Maybe the system seemed harsh, but when the results kept everyone safe? Hard to argue with it.
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She lists forward to rest her elbows on her knees- not terribly ladylike but interested none the less- and winces at the pull in her back. Or sitting up and leaning back in the chair- that. That might be the better idea. "Something to nullify magic of the untrained or unstable, education to prevent possession- not entirely different from what we are attempting-" She snorts. "Now but...Mm."
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Bull nods at her shoulders, his gaze flicking over her posture briefly. She looks like she's barely keeping upright, at this point. "Too many nights hunched over a desk. That sound about right?" he suggests wryly, as though he didn't already know the answer.
And it's not a reason to stop talking about Qunari mages, don't be silly.
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Winces.
Shrugging was a poor choice, noted.
"I have a great deal of work that needs tending and most of it involves research or writing." Hence, desk hunching.
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Woman like that was too used to taking care of everyone else, not paying nearly as much attention to herself. Which was a shame. Putting herself out of commission wouldn't do the people she was helping much good, in the long run.
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She reaches up to exactly where he mentioned- the base of her skull- and it is knotted and tender. Perhaps she should have taken better advantage of Vivienne's spa day- but the idea of foreign hands on her a the time had been more than she could stand.
Now?
Less so.
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There's only an implication there if she wants there to be. He's careful about tone, phrasing, even the way he sits when it's offered, leaned back and giving her her space while still smiling at her in a way that could definitely count as flirting.
"Or you could opt for the healers, if you wanted. Got a few potions that make you go boneless like jelly. Taste like shit, though. Not nearly as much fun."
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Compartmentalization is on occasion a wonderful thing.
She does need help, she is not going to waste potions on her own self inflicted injuries nor is she about to use Compassion's power to mend what her own foolishness has wrought. Careful and considering, she murmurs. "...I have been told I ought to have more...fun."
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Bull shrugs, carrying right along even when she fails to look at all thrilled about the prospect. Hey, if it just means helping her out, he's fine with that too. No need to make it weird if that would, in fact, make it weird.
"You just let me know when you've got a minute. I'm not heading out for a while."
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Well, there's the pink tinge to her cheeks. "I have time now, if you do as well."
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And the goal is in fact to make sure that Adelaide is very, very comfortable. Of course, that means respecting her boundaries, keeping an eye on how she's feeling in one regard or the other. And when it comes down to it? Ladies really don't want an offer of a massage that comes coupled with expectations for more. It's just rude, really.
So he'll mind himself unless she gives inclination of wanting more. Simple as that.
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Late afternoon and early evening are when she gives them time to simply...be. To talk and play safely with other mages of their age- or even those that are not from the circles or magical families. Building roots as all growing things should.
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One hand gestures broadly in the direction of the door, before the chair scrapes and Bull rises to his feet. A few coins are left on the table for the waitress, a particularly plucky looking girl that he's been trying to figure out for a few days now.
Ah well. This might prove just as pleasant a way to spend the afternoon.
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Tucked off to one side far from where the visiting nobility might keep their rooms. It honestly isn't meant for how many live there but as they are rarely all in attendance save for sleeping? It works out. Adelaide unlocks it and snorts a faint laugh as she holds the door open for Bull. "Apparently they saw fit to clean after lessons. I'll have to thank them."
The usual sprawl of books, scrolls, shoes, cloaks, and other personal effects have been stacked and tucked neatly along the wall- the crate Bull had helped open set up as a storage/seating area with roughly stitched cushions on top and braced along the wall. To the far end? An actual bed- modest but comfortable enough, and a desk overflowing with papers and books. Henri's mouse was even in it's little wooden cage, fast asleep.
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Everything else seems to match what he'd have expected. Piles of paperwork, books and scrolls, a little chunk of the tower resettled in another stone enclosure. You could take the mage out of the Circle...
Consequentially, he doesn't do a lot of poking around, even if there's the odd curious look at one thing or another. He's here for a reason, after all. "Don't suppose you have any oil? Might make it easier," he queries after a moment, lifting one hand and wiggling calloused fingers in her direction.
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Oil, though- she frowns for a moment before moving to a shelf, fingers trailing along vials and bottles and jars she uses most often for poultices or salves. Someone's been putting things up in the wrong place, she mutters under her breath in Orlesian before she tracks down the bottle in question. "Here, will this suffice?"
Right. Oil for the skin. She considers her options for a moment before setting aside her concerns and unlacing her kirtle. Any hesitance is more on trying to find somewhere to fold it for the moment than any real trepidation.
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He stays at arm's length while she peels herself out of her layers, gaze sweeping over the multitude of things just lying out and about. Magical crap, most of it. Not much use to anyone save a mage, though he's less wary of magic now than he had once been. At least in theory.
But he's not offering this to a mage. He's offering a little comfort to a hard-working woman sorely in need of it. His gaze drops to the bottle, turning it over in his hands before uncorking it.
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Not the only cause.
She stretches out on her stomach on the bed, head tucked to one side to watch him curiously. Potions, poultices, magical crap, the odd arcane tome, and a myriad of essays on the nature of magic.
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But warm? Yeah. That first press of warm palms to the middle of her back ought to ease some of that tension, before he starts working his way up. A lot of tension knots back here around her shoulders and just below. Seems a good place to start.
"Orlesian Circles come with massage therapy? I might have guessed you'd had this done before," he rumbles, faintly amused.
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Too many nights hunched over a desk.
"Anything that involved mages in various states of undress around one another was either strictly chaperoned by the templars- or not permitted. You can imagine how relaxing this might be with a templar hovering in the far corner, glaring, one hand on their sword all the while." Not terribly relaxing at all. Far from the moment now- there's a slight hiss as he digs into something giving under that first press before she sighs into her arms.
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"Wouldn't be off-putting for some. But you don't really strike me as an exhibitionist." Even if she is clearly comfortable in her own skin, or just comfortable with him. Some degree of one and the other combined, likely.
The heel of his palm turned to rub along either side of her spine, rolling along the curve of her back, as Adelaide starts to unwind a fraction at a time.
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That hasn't been relevant for the better part of two years. Everyone too stressed, too afraid, too tense. Adelaide hisses softly under the press of Bull's hands, knots slowly winding down into nothing.
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