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Entry tags:
Modern Thedas AU
When Bull arrived at the party last night, he hadn't actually been intending to crash. He didn't even get that tipsy, but by the end of the night he was too tired and too loose to really want to make the trip. Sera let him sleep on the couch and he'd been out like a light.
Still, he has the habit of waking up early. When he does, he puts away the fold-out bed and makes sure the living room looks more or less normal. After that, he shuffles into the kitchen to start poking through the cabinets and fridge. He figures it'll be a while before Sera crawls into the light of day, but he could stand to make some breakfast for whoever happens to be around.
Especially if, like Sera says, her roommate is actually around. Bull hadn't seen anyone new at the party, but then, he hadn't spent a lot of time wandering around. He tended to settle somewhere and let people come to him; it's easier on his knee.
He finds enough in the kitchen to make a sweet bread. He's impressed Sera has yeast and wonders absently if it's from his visit a few weeks ago; he'd come over to bake something for her, he can't remember what now. Doesn't matter. Two hours later, there are two braided loaves cooling on the stove top and the kitchen smells pleasantly of caradamom. Bull starts coffee after that and debates cooking more. He knows how much Sera can put away when she's hung over.
Still, he has the habit of waking up early. When he does, he puts away the fold-out bed and makes sure the living room looks more or less normal. After that, he shuffles into the kitchen to start poking through the cabinets and fridge. He figures it'll be a while before Sera crawls into the light of day, but he could stand to make some breakfast for whoever happens to be around.
Especially if, like Sera says, her roommate is actually around. Bull hadn't seen anyone new at the party, but then, he hadn't spent a lot of time wandering around. He tended to settle somewhere and let people come to him; it's easier on his knee.
He finds enough in the kitchen to make a sweet bread. He's impressed Sera has yeast and wonders absently if it's from his visit a few weeks ago; he'd come over to bake something for her, he can't remember what now. Doesn't matter. Two hours later, there are two braided loaves cooling on the stove top and the kitchen smells pleasantly of caradamom. Bull starts coffee after that and debates cooking more. He knows how much Sera can put away when she's hung over.
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"That is...remarkably thoughtful of you," he admits. "At least I didn't suffer through all that shouting and questionable music without any return at all." He hesitates for only a moment before moving a little closer to Bull in order to grab a mug, anticipating the coffee being ready. He'll drink a cup of that before he eats anything. It's simply how his body functions these days.
"As I'm certain that Sera has been calling me by any number of unflattering nicknames, I'll introduce myself properly. Dorian Pavus." He offers a hand--to be polite, of course, and not because he's deeply curious about what Bull's hands feel like. "I must admit, you were perhaps the last person I expected to find in my kitchen this morning."
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He lets Dorian have at the coffee first, then pours his own cup. He chuckles quietly and leans back against the counter, leaving plenty of room for Dorian to get to the sweet bread, too.
"I think most people would feel that way if they saw a nearly naked guy my size in their kitchen."
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He sips his coffee, leaning back against the counter and looking up (has he ever felt so small next to anyone?) at Bull over the rim of his glasses. "True. I think I'm handling it rather well, actually." He hasn't asked Bull to get dressed yet, anyway.
Once he's had enough coffee, he cuts himself a slice of sweet bread, which he eats with a fork, naturally. The first bite is a pleasant surprise. "This is wonderful," he compliments, meeting Bull's eye. It isn't the first time he notices that he has just the one, but it is the first time he really looks. "Not that I thought it would be less," he adds quickly. "It's just that I hadn't expected I'd eat anything worthwhile for breakfast this morning."
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"I'll leave the loaves here for you two. Consider it my apology and a gesture of good will." It's likely they'll run into each other again and he didn't need to have another Vint side-eyeing him at every opportunity.
"Sera said you're a student. Of what?"
Might as well make conversation while the elf in question remains dead to the world. Bull thinks he should get dressed eventually, but Dorian hasn't complained.
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He hesitates just a moment when asked about his studies. While it is a viable field, the study of magic--and mages themselves--are still stigmatized here in the south, let alone under the Qun. Still, he has no reason to believe that Bull would feel that way, beyond being...well, very large and horned. But if he's figured out that he's Tevinter, he probably already suspects that he's a mage anyway. Most people tend to. And they're still having quite a pleasant conversation, which is a good sign.
"Thaumaturgy," he says, opting for the simplest answer. "My master's thesis involved research of temporal magic. My advisor then was the man who developed it to begin with," he says with evident pride. "Mostly it's quite a lot of writing, when I'm not teaching the basics of entropy magic and introduction to advanced theory, of course." He doesn't resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Most of which we learn as children in our Circles back home."
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Maybe that's not a fair jab, especially when Bull has no particular reason to defend the southern Circles or their practices. But, it is his home, for now. Bull takes a long drink from his mug, glad that the coffee is good, at least. He suspects that's Dorian's influence; Sera has no taste for these things.
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"No, it certainly isn't," Dorian agrees, a little sharply. "Nor do I think that everywhere should be Tevinter. But the south could certainly stand to update a few policies and procedures, so that its treatment of mages might serve to reflect the Age we live in, at the very least. They're still afraid of mages knowing too much here, as though being aware of how to cast a simulacrum will make one more susceptible to possession. Honestly, the southern Chanrty understands so little about how magic actually works it's laughable."
Dorian takes a deep drink of his coffee almost as a second thought. It's clear they've stumbled upon a topic about which he has very strong opinions. "The only system in Thedas that is actually worse for mages is the Qun," he observes, no longer above taking a pass with claws extended. "I assume I need not expand on why."
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Bull shrugs one shoulder.
"But I am neither a mage nor a cleric. My opinion doesn't count for much."
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"Well, at least you know that your approval isn't required," he snips. He drains his cup, eats a few more bites of the sweet bread in silence before he adds, "But you're right, for what it's worth. It's difficult to get most people here to acknowledge even that much."
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"Do you have class? Or are you always an early riser after hiding from a party all night?"
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"And you?" He ventures, a teasing note as his voice softens. He pours himself another cup of coffee. "Do you typically spend the early hours of the morning baking in someone else's kitchen?" It's clear that Bull has quite a bit of experience with baking in general, which Dorian can't help but find surprising, however much it speaks to some internal bias borne of being raised with Tevinter propaganda about Qunari. He's trying to unlearn, but truthfully, there aren't many Qunari this far south either, Tal-Vashoth or otherwise.
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A sly smile curves his scarred mouth and he waits for the joke to hit Dorian as he takes another drink from his mug. He should probably get dressed and see himself out. There's no need to take too much advantage of Dorian's hospitality.
"Now I try to stick to the kitchens of friends and acquaintances."
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But this hasn't been unpleasant. Rather the opposite, for the most part. "How long have you been baking for?" He can't help but wonder. He should be getting ready for class soon, but Bull is deeply intriguing, and he finds he still has a number of things he'd like to talk to him about. He isn't done looking at him just yet, either. "If this is indicative of your other work," a gesture with an open palm toward the loaf of sweet bread, "you're quite skilled."
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“I’ve been dabbling for a few years,” he says, vague but convincing. Bull finishes his coffee and cleans the mug. It’s been a decade now that he’s lived in the south and eight years in his current job.
Reluctantly, Bull finds his clothes to start getting dressed, but he keeps talking.
“How long have you been in the south?”
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He follows the movement of Bull's hands as he dresses and notices for the first time that he is missing half of the last two fingers on his left. He's a deeply interesting man. Dorian thinks that they could as easily spend those few hours engaged in conversations as easily as other activities.
"Not long," he admits. "A little less than six months." Not long enough yet for him to have settled in any meaningful way. "And you?" Much longer, he thinks--that much is obvious. But he's very curious about Bull's history, and feels some kinship with him, despite the obvious reasons as to why he shouldn't. But they are bother former northerners who now find themselves here. Isn't that something relatable enough to begin with?
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"Years, now," he answers. Bull looks over at the mage that's trailed after him, and he can't deny the temptation to touch him. But Dorian's had a good sense of humor about having a massive, unexpected guest. He shouldn't push it.
Instead, Bull finds a scrap of paper and writes a number down - his number.
"Call me sometime," he says as he offers it to Dorian.
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Hearing that Bull's made a home in the south for quite some time doesn't surprise him at all. He's clearly settled in; it has to have been quite a long time since he recieved the scars that cover his body.
It's quite flattering, and more than a little exciting, to be offered a phone number. As Dorian accepts the slip of paper, he allows his fingers to brush Bull's--a touch that lasts only a moment, but feels significant. He's deeply relieved that it hasn't just been him who was enjoying their repartee.
"To what end?" He asks with a coy curl of his lips. "Are you so eager to make breakfast for me again?"
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"It was nice to meet you, Dorian. I'd hide one of those loaves before Sera gets up if you want it to last more than a day."
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He leans against the back of the sofa as Bull laces up his boots--sturdy things made for function over style, though Dorian suspects he has little choice, given his size. If he were to put his foot, or his hand, against Bull's, how small would it seem by comparison? Perhaps he'll have occasion to find out.
"You hardly have to tell me," he laughs. "It wouldn't last past noon." He stands to meet Bull at the door, ostensibly to close it behind him. "It was good to meet you. And thank you for the bread."