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."
"No doubt she will. They were lower nobles, nothing influential but nobles tend not to want to cause a fuss over their embarrassing predicaments. Particularly not ones acted in revenge."
And Varric gets prettiest when it is revenge. Who doesn't, really? Vivienne's put on a show and offered to kill someone for her revenge by making it seem as if it wasn't even about her. Satisfying all the same.
"Though I also wouldn't be surprised if behind those closed doors of our dear war room that our advisors didn't have their own laugh about it. Something to relieve the tension through this war."
"Yeah." He shifts his weight again, half wanting to relax and not worry about why Vivienne's sitting here doing small talk with him about something Varric did and half reminding himself to resist the impulse, knowing how he might start thinking if he relaxes into letting her guide things just now, knowing that's not the kind of thing anyone out here is prepared for. It's his own job to keep himself on a short leash; they wouldn't have sent him out here if they didn't know that he could do it. Doesn't matter if it's hard.
"Yeah, I guess that's pretty important right now," he says, bringing himself back to the conversation. "Even if it pisses a couple nobles off."
Though Vivienne makes the comment so offhandedly it would be easy to assume that she wasn't referring to him, to not simply his physical injuries but his distance, the lack of his usual jokes and humour, the thing that felt off about him. But it's a lead in, Vivienne choosing her words very carefully to gently touch at it, to not have him simply pull back.
"It's easier to focus on the tasks we're given, the war, Corypheus and the hole in the sky really does demand a lot of attention. But a clear mind helps to see those tasks through."
Okay. There we go. When it comes to Vivienne, no assumption is too complicated; if you think something feels a little too pointed, like she's making a point about you without actually saying the words, then she probably is.
Means she's picked up that something's up with him, which means he's not keeping it under wraps as well as he wants to. But that doesn't mean he's doing a bad job, either. Just because the Chargers noticed, and now Vivienne noticed--
Worry about it later. Once he's on top of his own stuff again, then he can try and split his focus. Right now, he needs to be thinking about this.
"Yeah," he says real slow, giving himself more time to think about it. Should he have figured out this is where she was going with this earlier? Not important. Focus.
He lets out a slow and audible sigh. Focusing is a pain in the ass, and Vivienne is in control of this whole conversation anyway. Not a comfortable thought -- or maybe too comfortable a thought right now, sitting on the floor in front of her, back turned so he hears her voice behind him but he's not allowed to look back and see, those two things feel like the same -- but it's true. She is. And maybe he doesn't have the patience to try and play around her manoeuvring. Just come out and say it.
"I'm going to get there, ma'am," he says, just explaining, not taking any offence. He's going to have to get his head on straight if he wants to be any help to anyone here, and he knows that, but if it's obvious enough that she noticed then there's nothing wrong with getting a little reminder. From her, anyway. The thought of anyone else giving him that little nudge, that little get your shit together, that might get his back up right now. But not from her.
Don't think about that too hard, either. He rubs his hands slowly over his knees, feels the fabric of his pants under his fingers, tries thinking about that. It is what it is.
"Just got some stupid crap I've got to get out of my system first," he says, staring at the room in front of him. "By the next time we move out I'll be ready. Not going to make a habit of it."
"It's not your habits that are a concern." And it isn't strictly him either but whatever did this to him or whatever has helped turn something different in him. Bull has told her that the injuries were caused by his escapade -- was this part of it as well?
"We all wear masks, an Orlesian knows that better than anyone. The mask you present as the Leader of the Chargers is different to the one you show to Krem after a mission, or even someone privately." She's talked about masks before to anyone that has asked -- it's a system that really the whole world uses but is something physically represented in Orlais. Everyone has walls, some prefer to protect than to let others know them. She knows what having high walls is like after all.
"A mask keeps people away when we don't want someone to see us. Even if we need them to. And taking off that mask is difficult even if the situation is safe."
Her meaning is plain even if Vivienne would never word it so simply. There are people around him that would help him if he let them. And currently, in the privacy of her closed door, where gossip doesn't leave, this is a safe space. She needs it to be at the end of the day and now she's letting it be for him. If he'd let it.
The Bull's quiet for a little bit. Then he takes in a slow breath. Lets it out in a long, tense sigh. Straightforward, then. He's going to have to explain. Which sucks, but she's being... He isn't going to be an asshole about it. Even if the urge to get annoyed is prickling under his skin, making him roll his shoulders like he can work that urge out of him if he just works that tension out of his muscles. She's helping, and she's got her way of doing that, even if right now he really wishes her way was more casual or to the point or something and less like he's talking to a tamassran, less framed in those big, grand sounding statements like she's teaching him lessons.
"It isn't about safe, ma'am, it's... Okay. Usually I'm used to the way things are out here, right? Par Vollen does things one way, the rest of the world does it differently. I get that. But sometimes I uh, a part of me starts looking for something people out here aren't equipped to give. Then you let that expectation out when it's not what the other person's there for, and things just start sucking for everybody. It's kind of like getting homesick, a little bit, I guess. It's fine, just got to let it run its course. I uh, I see what you're trying to do, though. Appreciate it. Really."
Vivenne's quiet for a little moment, walking the fine line of how he feels, how she's able to talk about it and even really how she talks about it. Someone else would likely be better in their straightforward manner but would he talk to them? She counts it as good that he's talking at all to her.
"And with your friend you wanted something else?"
Her hands finish up on the first horn, reaching again for more of the paste to work down his other horn, to give an excuse to keep him sitting there to talk.
"What was it that you wanted? And you won't offend me."
It wasn't her typical talk but she was giving that permission first for him to be freer in what he said, hoping really he would be.
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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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And Varric gets prettiest when it is revenge. Who doesn't, really? Vivienne's put on a show and offered to kill someone for her revenge by making it seem as if it wasn't even about her. Satisfying all the same.
"Though I also wouldn't be surprised if behind those closed doors of our dear war room that our advisors didn't have their own laugh about it. Something to relieve the tension through this war."
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"Yeah, I guess that's pretty important right now," he says, bringing himself back to the conversation. "Even if it pisses a couple nobles off."
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Though Vivienne makes the comment so offhandedly it would be easy to assume that she wasn't referring to him, to not simply his physical injuries but his distance, the lack of his usual jokes and humour, the thing that felt off about him. But it's a lead in, Vivienne choosing her words very carefully to gently touch at it, to not have him simply pull back.
"It's easier to focus on the tasks we're given, the war, Corypheus and the hole in the sky really does demand a lot of attention. But a clear mind helps to see those tasks through."
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Means she's picked up that something's up with him, which means he's not keeping it under wraps as well as he wants to. But that doesn't mean he's doing a bad job, either. Just because the Chargers noticed, and now Vivienne noticed--
Worry about it later. Once he's on top of his own stuff again, then he can try and split his focus. Right now, he needs to be thinking about this.
"Yeah," he says real slow, giving himself more time to think about it. Should he have figured out this is where she was going with this earlier? Not important. Focus.
He lets out a slow and audible sigh. Focusing is a pain in the ass, and Vivienne is in control of this whole conversation anyway. Not a comfortable thought -- or maybe too comfortable a thought right now, sitting on the floor in front of her, back turned so he hears her voice behind him but he's not allowed to look back and see, those two things feel like the same -- but it's true. She is. And maybe he doesn't have the patience to try and play around her manoeuvring. Just come out and say it.
"I'm going to get there, ma'am," he says, just explaining, not taking any offence. He's going to have to get his head on straight if he wants to be any help to anyone here, and he knows that, but if it's obvious enough that she noticed then there's nothing wrong with getting a little reminder. From her, anyway. The thought of anyone else giving him that little nudge, that little get your shit together, that might get his back up right now. But not from her.
Don't think about that too hard, either. He rubs his hands slowly over his knees, feels the fabric of his pants under his fingers, tries thinking about that. It is what it is.
"Just got some stupid crap I've got to get out of my system first," he says, staring at the room in front of him. "By the next time we move out I'll be ready. Not going to make a habit of it."
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"We all wear masks, an Orlesian knows that better than anyone. The mask you present as the Leader of the Chargers is different to the one you show to Krem after a mission, or even someone privately." She's talked about masks before to anyone that has asked -- it's a system that really the whole world uses but is something physically represented in Orlais. Everyone has walls, some prefer to protect than to let others know them. She knows what having high walls is like after all.
"A mask keeps people away when we don't want someone to see us. Even if we need them to. And taking off that mask is difficult even if the situation is safe."
Her meaning is plain even if Vivienne would never word it so simply. There are people around him that would help him if he let them. And currently, in the privacy of her closed door, where gossip doesn't leave, this is a safe space. She needs it to be at the end of the day and now she's letting it be for him. If he'd let it.
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"It isn't about safe, ma'am, it's... Okay. Usually I'm used to the way things are out here, right? Par Vollen does things one way, the rest of the world does it differently. I get that. But sometimes I uh, a part of me starts looking for something people out here aren't equipped to give. Then you let that expectation out when it's not what the other person's there for, and things just start sucking for everybody. It's kind of like getting homesick, a little bit, I guess. It's fine, just got to let it run its course. I uh, I see what you're trying to do, though. Appreciate it. Really."
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"And with your friend you wanted something else?"
Her hands finish up on the first horn, reaching again for more of the paste to work down his other horn, to give an excuse to keep him sitting there to talk.
"What was it that you wanted? And you won't offend me."
It wasn't her typical talk but she was giving that permission first for him to be freer in what he said, hoping really he would be.
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