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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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“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."