"Embarrassing will do I should thing, society will manage to take it from there." Killing someone usually ended up being the more merciful option to Orlais compared to the societal ruin you could face and how you would be shunned.
"I can't thank you enough for this, dear Bull. I'll leave all of the details for you." And really, it'd be interesting to see the kind of job he could pull with this. For Orlesian work she certainly wouldn't usually ask him but this would be an insight.
"I'll get on it, ma'am," he says, letting the vague ideas, plans, memories of similar jobs the Chargers have done that he might be able to pull from take up the space in his head where the other, dumber crap's been lurking and he shifts around, and gets up. A little colour draws his eye--
"Shit," he murmurs in a low, almost angry tone, those new thoughts quieted almost as soon as they got there by the little line of red on the back of the chair. It's not that much at all, and even if it was one of her usual chairs the stain's only on the cover she put over the top of it to make it match the colour scheme, but it's Vivienne. Vivienne, who keeps her space controlled and perfect and just so, who trusts the Bull even so much as she does because she trusts his control enough to treat him like knows how to respect hers.
He reaches out like he's going to try to rub the stain off or pull the cover down to take with him or something, then says "Shit," again, vehemently now, because adding bloodied half-finger prints onto the whole stupid thing just makes him look worse, and he should have known the stupid crap like rubbing at that spot on the base of his horn, rolling his shoulder like that, that it was going to break a couple of the scabs back there open again, the boys have been teasing him about the scratches all morning. But he hasn't been in a big fight lately and it's so rare that anything barehanded is enough to break through qunari skin, and he was thinking about getting in the right headspace to meet up here with Vivienne and he just forgot.
The Bull feels himself taking a slow, automatic breath in through his nose, so he follows it up by holding that breath -- just for a couple seconds, usually not a long enough time that anyone not already looking closely at him is going to notice -- and then he lets it out through his mouth.
Okay. This is probably not as big a deal as it feels like. Or maybe it is. It's hard to tell, and he has a good idea just why it's hard to tell, and he doesn't have the time or the privacy to stop and try to figure it out right now.
"Sorry ma'am," he says, tone a little subdued but casual now, neutral, and he shakes his head. "I'll get this cleaned up the right way and get it back to you. Wasn't thinking."
Two shits in quick succession are certainly enough to get Vivienne's attention, though saying that would be pretending that she hadn't already been aware that something was off with him, that his head wasn't quite right. Sat where she is she can't immediately see what he's reacting to, though his words draw further concern from her and make her stand, moving closer until he turns.
It's easy to note the blood on the cloth, it distinct against the white fabric, though she hasn't yet seen where it's come from on him. But that's the second task. His tone, his manner whilst courteous as always is quieter and she doesn't like it. They all need him
"Oh, darling, it's a simple sheet, there's nothing to it." And whilst her tone could sound every bit convincing to someone that knows Vivienne knows that any simple sheet she put on something wouldn't be cheap. But in the greater scheme of things her concern is over him and not a slightly bloodied sheet that is better to replace if it can't be cleaned. Though in the Inquisition they've had plenty of practice at getting blood out of things.
"But if you're injured that should be taken care of." She steps closer as she speaks, better catching sight of some of the scratches adorning him. "Would you let me see? I may be able to heal it up."
"Uh..." He grimaces a little, not exactly dismayed. Something like it, though. Put out, maybe. "It's not really--"
But he's not going to say no to her, is he. Not when she just offered to help. You don't wave something like that away, not from someone like her. It might not be worth noticing but she already noticed, because he brought it to her attention because he didn't think, and he just has to deal with that.
"It's not a big deal or anything," he says, even as he turns around, tilting his head so some of the scabs at the base of his horns are easier to see. It's there mostly, there and at the top of one of his shoulders, a couple sets of three close, parallel scratches, narrow and moving down under his pauldron. That's been annoying, the way the leather rubs them back open when he moves around too much, but the real distraction's been coming from the raised, uneven edges of that skin growing over his horns, where it's apparently not that hard to claw a bunch of little chunks away. It's all at the back so she probably would have seen it when he went to walk away anyway, but would she still have stopped him about it? Who knows. It still just feels stupid, like he made this whole big show just because he was frustrated and made it all seem a lot more important than it is.
"Probably kind of hard for you to reach anyway, nothing that can't heal on its own. I'll just uh, try not to sit on anything else that fancy in the mean time."
It's a rarer tone that Vivienne's voice adopts, unmasking ever so slightly. Because whilst Vivienne does care about her friends in her own way, some of them knowing so, even in the safety of Skyhold's walls does she rarely unmask.
"Nonsense."
Her hand reaches up to the scratches and though she can't reach them she wasn't wanting to touch them, reaching for magic to see whether they were magically caused or physically. No magic ends up detected, a small hum as she takes a step back from him, giving him some slight space.
"You'll need to sit down." Vivienne could ask but she can't get too far away from her usual speech. "And remove your armour."
He may have said it could heal on its own but really, as small as it was it felt as if it would help. More than just little scratches.
His eye darts to her, head turning, and he turns the rest of him a little more toward her to cover the sudden movement. His mouth is open, ready with an answer; he closes it. How does he say 'that's a little close to home right now' without making the whole thing sound like he's coming onto her? It wasn't about the sex anyway, not by the end, and not in a way anyone outside the Qun really gets, so...
So he doesn't say it, he guesses. He lets his gaze drift to the hall below them instead; if making it about sex is the only part of it that's going to come off like it makes sense then make it about that, in one way or another. It's not like he thinks there's a huge chance that's going to put Vivienne off something she's decided to do, not if he really thinks about it. But he isn't really thinking about it, and it feels kind of like he has to try.
"What, here?" he says, looking back from all the nobles below, instead of What you need to understand is, and, "People are gonna talk," instead of, What doing that sounds like right now, to me-- See, I know we joke about it, but you really do remind me of--
And then let the faint grin fade out, give her something more serious for a, "Not that I mind putting that kind of dent in your reputation if that's what you want, but it doesn't feel like a great idea right now." You never know, she might agree with him. It's not like it's even wrong, considering all the threats, even if it's so far from what the rest of him is thinking there's almost no room left over in his head for it. He has to try.
"Iron Bull, there won't be enough of your armour even removed for a scandal. Healing magic is nothing new in this place."
Maybe not frequently occurring in Vivienne's little sanctuary but she has paid a visit down to some of the more gravely wounded before -- she knows a battlefield, knows injuries. Knight Enchanters have many skills and her backing as a First Enchanter also helps that, puts aside some of the concerns if not all of them.
But this has a different concern to it and Vivienne can't quite pin down what it is. Is it simply concern for her reputation, is it because of the ruse she'd used to get him here with the threats or was it because of what was affecting him? Any of those three options meant that a different tact was needed.
"Though perhaps somewhere without eyes would be safer?"
And that could be any unoccupied and hidden room in this fortress.
It would be smarter to agree right away. Hesitate, and it lets them know you're not on board.
His eye moves back down to the crowd below.
"Sure," he says, after a quiet second or two. "If no one's going to miss you, I guess. This kind of thing only takes a couple minutes, right?" He looks at her, then the doorways. One, down to the main hall and out to the library. The other, out to the wing where all the fancy guests stay. She might take him there, if she's got a room out that way. Might be worse than doing it here. But it might be better, if he ends up getting weird about it.
He won't. It's only going to take a couple minutes, and then he can... He doesn't know. Find someone who wants to spar, maybe. Somebody who won't mind a couple bruises.
It's a slight gesture that she gives before leading him down that corridor to the other wing. Several doors are passed before Vivienne stops at one, a snap of her fingers removing the wards she has over her door -- because no one simpler walks into the enchanter's room uninvited.
The interior is exactly as you'd expect from Vivienne if you'd spent any time with her, so completely overwhelmingly her, more so than her balcony. Her bedroom is tucked off in another room to the side but there's a desk, several couches, a few various other items of furniture that she'd had to make do with but had furnished to make hers. It's all about the small touches.
"You're right that this won't take long, though even healed I wouldn't strain yourself further." A very gentle piece of advice to not immediately get injured again -- don't undo her work, Bull.
He follows without a word and stops just inside, taking the room in at a quick glance while the atmosphere sinks into him. It's always weird, the way the nobility they have out here and everyone who rubs elbows with them get their own little private spaces all to themselves. He's recreated the effect pretty well with that little room above the tavern, and it is kind of nice to have a place where, mostly, no one's going to care how loud you fuck. But there's still always something weird about the way people out here take a place over in every little way once it's theirs. There's still always something private and intimate about being in it with them, the door shut behind him, in a way he'd never felt until he started living out here.
Maybe that's just the mood he's in.
"Yeah," he murmurs, a vague agreement more just to have an answer for her and to keep the peace, because he's pretty sure they both know he's not going to slow down training with the Chargers over something like this. His gaze and the rest of his attention, the better part of it, is still lingering over the furniture. Trying to decide if anything in here's sturdy enough to trust his weight on it is automatic; thinking about having to sit on the floor in front of her isn't.
"So," he starts, gaze darting up to her and then going back to categorizing everything else, fingers hesitating on the buckle of the strap across his chest. "Scratches don't go that far under the armour, so I guess I could just loosen this up and slide it over until you can get at them, right?"
Acting as if it's because she doesn't want to push his injury by making him undo the full armour rather than because she's wondering what else may be causing him any issue.
"I'm not going to ask what did this." Because scratches by themselves weren't usually a battlefield injury unless something with claws had gotten to Bull. And things didn't usually get the chance to get so close. And as far as Vivienne was aware his Chargers didn't have claws.
His gaze finally settles on her then, looking surprised. Hadn't thought she'd let him get away with that.
Not a tamassran. Don't be a dumb shit, not twice in one week. She's not here to keep you in line.
Yeah. Yeah. He takes a slow breath in through his nose, loosens up the buckle over his chest, and slides the strap a couple notches over. "It's not, uh, a big secret or anything," he says while he does it. Don't want anyone to start thinking he's the kind of guy who keeps secrets. "Just not the kind of story you tell in polite company."
Easy enough to send a grin sliding onto his face as he says it. The grin's at least sort of real, so maybe mostly looks it; the idea of scandalizing people talking about sex is genuinely fun, as long as he doesn't focus on the details.
"My dear, for something to leave a mark on you... there aren't many things I've seen do that."
A particularly nasty demon had taken its opportunity before, some combat, but scratches like this? Particularly in the context that Bull's insinuating?
She's taken a few steps away whilst he'd been sorting his armour, reaching into one of her drawers for something that would be a base to start, magic in its own way. The lid of the jar is removed, the scent of the poultice she has perhaps a little relaxing.
"It must have been quite the endeavour." A small acknowledgement that skirts the edge of it, the paste that Vivienne applies a little cool to touch, gently and smoothly worked across the scratches.
"This is just one part of the process. I know that some have an appreciation for scars but with where these sit it would be more uncomfortable than any appeal may give them." A poultice to soothe, the first part of healing before magic does the rest. Each tool had a purpose.
"Uh, yeah," he agrees, feeling her hands over his back, trying to focus on the smell. Smells different from a lot of the stuff Stitches has but it's different from anything he'd smell in any of the other rooms his mind's trying to send him into, too, with all the expectations that he'd find inside them. So he hangs onto the detail.
Talking, too. Talking would be different. Making conversation. Not as easy right now as it usually is, though; it would feel a little weird to just ask about her day, or something little and unimportant like that. Like it'd come out sounding unnatural. What else had she said that he could maybe answer her on? Quite the endeavour, yeah.
"She got pretty wild for a minute. Lots of endeavouring all around." And then: "Is this, uh, alright?" he finds himself asking. "You can reach everything okay?"
(ooc: ugh, sorry, I thought dreamwidth was logging me in but I guess it was not. Feel free to reply to this comment instead of that one so I can still get the notification.)
"For now, though for your horn I'll need you to sit down."
Vivienne may have been tall and had an appreciation for heels but there were parts of him that she couldn't reach. And she wasn't stepping up onto something, that wasn't her style.
She works the poultice into him for another minute or so before she sets the lid back on it, sitting it onto the nearby table. Healing magic, though something Vivenne is familiar with isn't something that she practices that often or rather has a need to practice. In the field there had been times her skills had been required, demons were awfully sneaky at times, bringing it a more recently used skill.
Her hands return to his back, though this time Vivienne doesn't lay her hands onto him, magic knitting across the scratches, its own faint not really there touch. Until her spell is complete.
"I'll need you to sit carefully, to not strain it even healed."
For now. Okay. He'll worry about sitting with her standing over him, how that's going to feel, when it happens. For now he's focusing on now, which is kind of a mixed bag; the quiet makes the poultice thing kind of meditative, which is the opposite of the path he wants to go down -- not what she brought him in here for -- but he's only just started shifting his weight, consciously trying to get in the way of that urge to stand completely still and let his mind go into that peaceful, quiet place when she changes things up. It's the first time outside a fight that he's actually glad about the magic thing. Not that he's enjoying it, but that unnatural feeling of something healing up in a way it shouldn't be is enough to wake him up a little.
It's not enough to make all this start feeling less weird, though. The Bull shifts his weight again.
"It's... not that big a deal, ma'am," he says, trying to twist to look at his back like he has to double check. He has to move his shoulder around a little bit to do it. "I mean, I appreciate it, but it isn't as bad as all that."
"Iron Bull, it may be able to heal on its own but you seem to enjoy picking at it."
A slightly stern poke herself, Vivienne having no issue laying down the facts with no room to wiggle around about it. They were here because he'd picked at his horns, though the leather rubbing at the other scratches also hadn't helped.
He straightens up, quiet for a second while he stares at her. Right. Sure you aren't a little bit tamassran, ma'am, and then she puts him in his place and it's a fun game until it isn't.
"Sorry ma-- Vivienne. I'll, uh." He pauses again, shifting his weight but looking forward again, instead of behind him. "I'll wait."
"Uh-" He glances at her, then around at the room, like he needs time to decide on the right spot. Here it is, that moment he's been waiting for. And it's fine. It's not going to be a big deal. Lots of stuff's felt like a bigger deal than it actually is the past couple days, and he knows that, and this isn't any different. He takes a slow breath, and it comes out in an audible sigh.
"Right," he says, and starts lowering himself carefully to the ground in front of one of her chairs. Change up the pose from what a part of him expects, one leg bent, knee up, the other one stretched out. He flexes his foot. Getting as close to stretching his leg as the brace will let him, that at least gives him something else to focus on. It doesn't occur to him until he's done all that that he should have maybe said something about his dignity. A joke or something.
"Nice of you to worry, m-- but I think my dignity's pretty tarnished already. How else are you going to have any fun?" And he aims a grin at her, little fainter than his usual, but fine. That one wasn't exactly a gut-buster anyway.
"Darling, it's only my enemy's dignity I truly have fun with."
And at least out of their merry little band she really is the least likely to purposely poke at someone. Not without them doing something to themselves first, though this is a case she won't touch, not with the not-really-there smiles and that feeling bubbling underneath.
She collects the pot again, a careful perch on her chair behind him. And even though Vivienne had said she'd only be a few seconds to heal his horns she was lying -- they're both magnificent and delicate, and something much more unknown to her than skin and human injuries. It makes her touch as she spreads the paste across it lighter, gently and slowly applying it.
"Besides if you really wanted some gossip Varric brought back a rather curious tale just this morning."
"Oh yeah?" His head doesn't do more than twitch, deep habit keeping him still. A second later he turns his head anyway before he can have second thoughts about it. Better to break those old habits, remind himself. "Like what? He doesn't usually talk about the kind of stuff you're interested in."
"It wasn't me he told about it, and our dear Varric should really know better about gossip in the open halls."
Though Vivienne also doubts that Varric really cared if it was overheard -- it wasn't a scandal about him anyway, something amusing he'd found and passed on.
"The last group of visitors that we had to Skyhold were ones that he'd apparently had the misfortune of encountering before. Naturally, some scheming took place, it wouldn't have been hard for him to whisper in the right ears, and when they woke this morning they were found to be missing several important things. Important to their pride, anyway."
Her hands work just on the one horn for the moment, paste rubbed in, working down the rest of the horn just in case there's any other lumps and bumps she hadn't yet noticed. And maybe a sort-of-massage with the gossip would be good for him.
"Huh. Well, that's... good?" he says, sounding baffled, a little mystified by what, from her, sounds a lot like small talk. Or it would, if small talk was something Vivienne did. Maybe she's leading up to something, about to make some kind of point, but it's hard to think what. He shifts around, trying to find something else to focus on so he won't be trying to understand her, anticipate her, understand what she wants from him. That's not the headspace she wants him falling into here, anyway.
He's got the urge to lean against her chair to try and mess with the scabs on his back; he resists it.
"Guess Josephine's going to get onto him though, right? I mean, depending on the guests."
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"I can't thank you enough for this, dear Bull. I'll leave all of the details for you." And really, it'd be interesting to see the kind of job he could pull with this. For Orlesian work she certainly wouldn't usually ask him but this would be an insight.
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"Shit," he murmurs in a low, almost angry tone, those new thoughts quieted almost as soon as they got there by the little line of red on the back of the chair. It's not that much at all, and even if it was one of her usual chairs the stain's only on the cover she put over the top of it to make it match the colour scheme, but it's Vivienne. Vivienne, who keeps her space controlled and perfect and just so, who trusts the Bull even so much as she does because she trusts his control enough to treat him like knows how to respect hers.
He reaches out like he's going to try to rub the stain off or pull the cover down to take with him or something, then says "Shit," again, vehemently now, because adding bloodied half-finger prints onto the whole stupid thing just makes him look worse, and he should have known the stupid crap like rubbing at that spot on the base of his horn, rolling his shoulder like that, that it was going to break a couple of the scabs back there open again, the boys have been teasing him about the scratches all morning. But he hasn't been in a big fight lately and it's so rare that anything barehanded is enough to break through qunari skin, and he was thinking about getting in the right headspace to meet up here with Vivienne and he just forgot.
The Bull feels himself taking a slow, automatic breath in through his nose, so he follows it up by holding that breath -- just for a couple seconds, usually not a long enough time that anyone not already looking closely at him is going to notice -- and then he lets it out through his mouth.
Okay. This is probably not as big a deal as it feels like. Or maybe it is. It's hard to tell, and he has a good idea just why it's hard to tell, and he doesn't have the time or the privacy to stop and try to figure it out right now.
"Sorry ma'am," he says, tone a little subdued but casual now, neutral, and he shakes his head. "I'll get this cleaned up the right way and get it back to you. Wasn't thinking."
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It's easy to note the blood on the cloth, it distinct against the white fabric, though she hasn't yet seen where it's come from on him. But that's the second task. His tone, his manner whilst courteous as always is quieter and she doesn't like it. They all need him
"Oh, darling, it's a simple sheet, there's nothing to it." And whilst her tone could sound every bit convincing to someone that knows Vivienne knows that any simple sheet she put on something wouldn't be cheap. But in the greater scheme of things her concern is over him and not a slightly bloodied sheet that is better to replace if it can't be cleaned. Though in the Inquisition they've had plenty of practice at getting blood out of things.
"But if you're injured that should be taken care of." She steps closer as she speaks, better catching sight of some of the scratches adorning him. "Would you let me see? I may be able to heal it up."
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But he's not going to say no to her, is he. Not when she just offered to help. You don't wave something like that away, not from someone like her. It might not be worth noticing but she already noticed, because he brought it to her attention because he didn't think, and he just has to deal with that.
"It's not a big deal or anything," he says, even as he turns around, tilting his head so some of the scabs at the base of his horns are easier to see. It's there mostly, there and at the top of one of his shoulders, a couple sets of three close, parallel scratches, narrow and moving down under his pauldron. That's been annoying, the way the leather rubs them back open when he moves around too much, but the real distraction's been coming from the raised, uneven edges of that skin growing over his horns, where it's apparently not that hard to claw a bunch of little chunks away. It's all at the back so she probably would have seen it when he went to walk away anyway, but would she still have stopped him about it? Who knows. It still just feels stupid, like he made this whole big show just because he was frustrated and made it all seem a lot more important than it is.
"Probably kind of hard for you to reach anyway, nothing that can't heal on its own. I'll just uh, try not to sit on anything else that fancy in the mean time."
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"Nonsense."
Her hand reaches up to the scratches and though she can't reach them she wasn't wanting to touch them, reaching for magic to see whether they were magically caused or physically. No magic ends up detected, a small hum as she takes a step back from him, giving him some slight space.
"You'll need to sit down." Vivienne could ask but she can't get too far away from her usual speech. "And remove your armour."
He may have said it could heal on its own but really, as small as it was it felt as if it would help. More than just little scratches.
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So he doesn't say it, he guesses. He lets his gaze drift to the hall below them instead; if making it about sex is the only part of it that's going to come off like it makes sense then make it about that, in one way or another. It's not like he thinks there's a huge chance that's going to put Vivienne off something she's decided to do, not if he really thinks about it. But he isn't really thinking about it, and it feels kind of like he has to try.
"What, here?" he says, looking back from all the nobles below, instead of What you need to understand is, and, "People are gonna talk," instead of, What doing that sounds like right now, to me-- See, I know we joke about it, but you really do remind me of--
And then let the faint grin fade out, give her something more serious for a, "Not that I mind putting that kind of dent in your reputation if that's what you want, but it doesn't feel like a great idea right now." You never know, she might agree with him. It's not like it's even wrong, considering all the threats, even if it's so far from what the rest of him is thinking there's almost no room left over in his head for it. He has to try.
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Maybe not frequently occurring in Vivienne's little sanctuary but she has paid a visit down to some of the more gravely wounded before -- she knows a battlefield, knows injuries. Knight Enchanters have many skills and her backing as a First Enchanter also helps that, puts aside some of the concerns if not all of them.
But this has a different concern to it and Vivienne can't quite pin down what it is. Is it simply concern for her reputation, is it because of the ruse she'd used to get him here with the threats or was it because of what was affecting him? Any of those three options meant that a different tact was needed.
"Though perhaps somewhere without eyes would be safer?"
And that could be any unoccupied and hidden room in this fortress.
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His eye moves back down to the crowd below.
"Sure," he says, after a quiet second or two. "If no one's going to miss you, I guess. This kind of thing only takes a couple minutes, right?" He looks at her, then the doorways. One, down to the main hall and out to the library. The other, out to the wing where all the fancy guests stay. She might take him there, if she's got a room out that way. Might be worse than doing it here. But it might be better, if he ends up getting weird about it.
He won't. It's only going to take a couple minutes, and then he can... He doesn't know. Find someone who wants to spar, maybe. Somebody who won't mind a couple bruises.
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The interior is exactly as you'd expect from Vivienne if you'd spent any time with her, so completely overwhelmingly her, more so than her balcony. Her bedroom is tucked off in another room to the side but there's a desk, several couches, a few various other items of furniture that she'd had to make do with but had furnished to make hers. It's all about the small touches.
"You're right that this won't take long, though even healed I wouldn't strain yourself further." A very gentle piece of advice to not immediately get injured again -- don't undo her work, Bull.
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Maybe that's just the mood he's in.
"Yeah," he murmurs, a vague agreement more just to have an answer for her and to keep the peace, because he's pretty sure they both know he's not going to slow down training with the Chargers over something like this. His gaze and the rest of his attention, the better part of it, is still lingering over the furniture. Trying to decide if anything in here's sturdy enough to trust his weight on it is automatic; thinking about having to sit on the floor in front of her isn't.
"So," he starts, gaze darting up to her and then going back to categorizing everything else, fingers hesitating on the buckle of the strap across his chest. "Scratches don't go that far under the armour, so I guess I could just loosen this up and slide it over until you can get at them, right?"
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Acting as if it's because she doesn't want to push his injury by making him undo the full armour rather than because she's wondering what else may be causing him any issue.
"I'm not going to ask what did this." Because scratches by themselves weren't usually a battlefield injury unless something with claws had gotten to Bull. And things didn't usually get the chance to get so close. And as far as Vivienne was aware his Chargers didn't have claws.
"Just get you healed."
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Not a tamassran. Don't be a dumb shit, not twice in one week. She's not here to keep you in line.
Yeah. Yeah. He takes a slow breath in through his nose, loosens up the buckle over his chest, and slides the strap a couple notches over. "It's not, uh, a big secret or anything," he says while he does it. Don't want anyone to start thinking he's the kind of guy who keeps secrets. "Just not the kind of story you tell in polite company."
Easy enough to send a grin sliding onto his face as he says it. The grin's at least sort of real, so maybe mostly looks it; the idea of scandalizing people talking about sex is genuinely fun, as long as he doesn't focus on the details.
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A particularly nasty demon had taken its opportunity before, some combat, but scratches like this? Particularly in the context that Bull's insinuating?
She's taken a few steps away whilst he'd been sorting his armour, reaching into one of her drawers for something that would be a base to start, magic in its own way. The lid of the jar is removed, the scent of the poultice she has perhaps a little relaxing.
"It must have been quite the endeavour." A small acknowledgement that skirts the edge of it, the paste that Vivienne applies a little cool to touch, gently and smoothly worked across the scratches.
"This is just one part of the process. I know that some have an appreciation for scars but with where these sit it would be more uncomfortable than any appeal may give them." A poultice to soothe, the first part of healing before magic does the rest. Each tool had a purpose.
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(Anonymous) 2021-11-12 05:27 pm (UTC)(link)Talking, too. Talking would be different. Making conversation. Not as easy right now as it usually is, though; it would feel a little weird to just ask about her day, or something little and unimportant like that. Like it'd come out sounding unnatural. What else had she said that he could maybe answer her on? Quite the endeavour, yeah.
"She got pretty wild for a minute. Lots of endeavouring all around." And then: "Is this, uh, alright?" he finds himself asking. "You can reach everything okay?"
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💖
Vivienne may have been tall and had an appreciation for heels but there were parts of him that she couldn't reach. And she wasn't stepping up onto something, that wasn't her style.
She works the poultice into him for another minute or so before she sets the lid back on it, sitting it onto the nearby table. Healing magic, though something Vivenne is familiar with isn't something that she practices that often or rather has a need to practice. In the field there had been times her skills had been required, demons were awfully sneaky at times, bringing it a more recently used skill.
Her hands return to his back, though this time Vivienne doesn't lay her hands onto him, magic knitting across the scratches, its own faint not really there touch. Until her spell is complete.
"I'll need you to sit carefully, to not strain it even healed."
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It's not enough to make all this start feeling less weird, though. The Bull shifts his weight again.
"It's... not that big a deal, ma'am," he says, trying to twist to look at his back like he has to double check. He has to move his shoulder around a little bit to do it. "I mean, I appreciate it, but it isn't as bad as all that."
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A slightly stern poke herself, Vivienne having no issue laying down the facts with no room to wiggle around about it. They were here because he'd picked at his horns, though the leather rubbing at the other scratches also hadn't helped.
"Seconds, Bull. To save your irritation."
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"Sorry ma-- Vivienne. I'll, uh." He pauses again, shifting his weight but looking forward again, instead of behind him. "I'll wait."
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Because she won't be spreading gossip that he kneeled or sat on the floor for her. What happens in a lady's room stays in a lady's room.
"But if you could be a dear and sit down so that I can finish the job."
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"Right," he says, and starts lowering himself carefully to the ground in front of one of her chairs. Change up the pose from what a part of him expects, one leg bent, knee up, the other one stretched out. He flexes his foot. Getting as close to stretching his leg as the brace will let him, that at least gives him something else to focus on. It doesn't occur to him until he's done all that that he should have maybe said something about his dignity. A joke or something.
"Nice of you to worry, m-- but I think my dignity's pretty tarnished already. How else are you going to have any fun?" And he aims a grin at her, little fainter than his usual, but fine. That one wasn't exactly a gut-buster anyway.
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And at least out of their merry little band she really is the least likely to purposely poke at someone. Not without them doing something to themselves first, though this is a case she won't touch, not with the not-really-there smiles and that feeling bubbling underneath.
She collects the pot again, a careful perch on her chair behind him. And even though Vivienne had said she'd only be a few seconds to heal his horns she was lying -- they're both magnificent and delicate, and something much more unknown to her than skin and human injuries. It makes her touch as she spreads the paste across it lighter, gently and slowly applying it.
"Besides if you really wanted some gossip Varric brought back a rather curious tale just this morning."
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Though Vivienne also doubts that Varric really cared if it was overheard -- it wasn't a scandal about him anyway, something amusing he'd found and passed on.
"The last group of visitors that we had to Skyhold were ones that he'd apparently had the misfortune of encountering before. Naturally, some scheming took place, it wouldn't have been hard for him to whisper in the right ears, and when they woke this morning they were found to be missing several important things. Important to their pride, anyway."
Her hands work just on the one horn for the moment, paste rubbed in, working down the rest of the horn just in case there's any other lumps and bumps she hadn't yet noticed. And maybe a sort-of-massage with the gossip would be good for him.
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He's got the urge to lean against her chair to try and mess with the scabs on his back; he resists it.
"Guess Josephine's going to get onto him though, right? I mean, depending on the guests."
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