"Probably," says Bull, reaching up a hand to run gingerly along his horns, skipping over a new chip with a wince until he finds where the skin of his head has been opened. Hisses, then examines his fingers for blood. "Don't think it needs stitches. Head wounds are bleeders. You got a secret stash of potions I don't know about?"
Astarion crosses his arms, glancing off to look at a little figurine of what appears to be a winged cat in flight. This Gale fellow has some strange knick-knacks.
"I was merely"—trying to ask if Bull is okay, but he doesn't know how to actually do that, and now he feels a little stupid for even trying—"curious if you'd sustained any brain damage, that's all."
A sigh, and he sticks his nose a little further in the air. "I suppose we'll find out tomorrow. Have a good... whatever."
Saying his name in that long-suffering tone again. He dials it back and tries again. "Astarion. You good?" A stupid question, they just walked out of a shitshow. He isn't gonna unhear the desperate way Astarion had decried knowing them, unsee that fucked up room, any time soon. And now the realities of a new world are upon him. Probably he's not good. But Bull doesn't know how to ask what he wants to ask, either.
"What a ridiculous question. Of course I'm good," he says automatically, tone almost defensive, like being suspected of not 'being good' is a horrible accusation. Historically, showing even the slightest hint of authentic emotion has been like bleeding into a pool filled with sharks. Honesty is just another word for weakness.
But he does feel very much not-good: he'd been certain he was going to die or worse not fifteen minutes ago, and despite the relief he feels at having clipped his leash, he now has to contend with the fact that he's been dropped into a world he knows very little about. So, he admits, still defensive as if he expects to be mocked, "I'm adjusting."
He picks at a loose thread at the elbow of his shirt. Maybe there's a town nearby where he can purchase a needle and thread. "Tonight was quite... thrilling." To put it lightly.
"Tonight was a shitshow." Even he knows that, and his baseline is kinda warped.
There's still an overenthusiastic Unseen Servant or two lingering, one holding hot water and towels, another with a plate of pastries. A third is biding its time trying to give Astarion a full tea set.
Bull ignores them. "But we're here. We did it. That guy," dropping the your boss, he's pretty sure that was some Tevinter Magisterium slavery crap, "Is gonna find out we cleared his vault and he won't be able to do shit about it."
Astarion's mouth twitches like he's trying not to smile. "He'll be furious." And entirely powerless to reach Astarion here. He can feel it—or not feel it as the case may be, a constant tugging in the back of his brain that isn't there anymore. Like he's had someone poking and prodding at him for centuries, and they've only just relented.
"It was very..." Astarion waffles for a moment, scratching his jaw. Heroic? Maybe. Dumb? Certainly. "...unexpected for you to come."
It could have made everything a thousand times worse had they not managed to escape like that, and the thought of that rankles—but he can't deny that he likes it, too, the feeling of having had someone in his corner, even if it was probably only out of some misplaced sense of owing him for the coin.
"Very dashing, really, but let's try to avoid any more courageous battles from here on out."
Dashing makes Bull snort softly, skeptical and pleased. "Wasn't gonna leave you behind," he says, quiet but intense about it. It's not solely personal principle: he's also aware that they were waiting in his rooms, that Szarr was asking about him; Astarion could have fucked him over and didn't.
But this is getting too much like talking about feelings which he'd personally prefer to do never. He leans forward, pushes himself up out of the chair slowly, groaning, careful on his feet like he's still a little dizzy. "Okay. You think these freaky fuckers can find a bath in my size?" They scatter like excited birds, already popping soap in little shapes out of nowhere, and Bull nods. Flatly: "Great. What can't magic do."
"Good," Astarion comments primly, "you could use one." Can't be too nice.
He takes a step back toward the stairs, sidestepping another Unseen Servant that attempts to offer him a spot of tea. Not really his drink. "Make sure to scrub behind the ears." He should probably say a lot more—this is the kind of situation in which people offer gratitude, he thinks—but he has no practice in that sort of thing, and the thought of trying is too humiliating. So:
"I'll see you tomorrow, then. Dark and late." As opposed to bright and early.
He pauses in the doorway, like he's thinking of saying something else, but he ends up changing his mind and muttering, "Avenge me if one of these invisible guys drowns me."
They don't, obviously - he does fall asleep in the tub and very nearly drowns himself, but ends up making it to the irritatingly comfortable bed, gets the most sleep he's had in weeks.
Gale's up first — Astarion can either corner him alone or walk into Bull explaining a brief history of the Fereldan Mage Circles to an increasingly horrified wizard.
Astarion's trance is not restful, exactly, but it is significantly less torturous than usual. Given that he needs to rest for less time than the others need to sleep, he spends the rest of the time skulking around the pop-up mansion, snooping on Gale's belongings and ordering the Unseen Servants to do stupid things just because he can.
At least, until he hears the sound of Gale and Bull's voices carry, and then he practically runs into the room.
"You're boring the wizard," he says despite having no idea what they're talking about. Please, not his vampirism. "I'm sure he's ready to go by now! After all, he's so very important; he must have lots of obligations back home, yes?"
"I cannot deny," Gale says, "That I would like to be on my way — a Weave without Mystra's presence in its essence unnerves me, and I wish to return and seek her counsel. We have been searching, you see, for the last parts of her after the Spellplague, and I had hoped that this unknown realm might provide a new clue as to any magics not yet returned to her bosom."
"Right," says Bull, scratching beside his nose. "Mystra's bosom." Gale clears his throat.
"Not that I intend to rush you!" he adds. "You are both welcome guests. But if you're hoping to travel by night," and here a meaningful glance at Astarion, "Then I'm afraid it's time we say our farewells."
Astarion gives Gale a meaningful glance, too, one that says keep your mouth shut or I'll crush your crystal balls. A moment of hostility, and then he smiles, pleasant. Even waves. "Farewell!"
The moment Gale is gone—and they're unfortunately back out into, ugh, nature—he relaxes, tension seeping out of him. "I thought he'd never leave." On top of the whole 'figured out Astarion's horrible secret' thing, he's just sort of irritating.
"But! Now that he has." Astarion looks into the distance with his darkvision, squinting. "How far would you say that lovely fortress of yours is? An hour?" Hopefully: "Half hour?"
"Gotta find out where the fuck we are, first," says Bull. He can't see in the dark, so he's walking quickly while it's still twilight, following the field's fence, hoping to find the farmhouse of whoever owns the druffalo and steal a light. He looks a lot better than he did yesterday, confident and alert.
"Still, I'd adjust your expectations. You know how to ride a horse?" He knows Astarion is a city boy, and is now a little more aware of his complicated situation, but he acts like the kind of guy whose family owns a stable.
Astarion has no idea if he knows how to ride a horse. To say so would be embarrassing, so instead he says, "I don't care for horses. Temperamental beasts." Like looking in a mirror. "I thought I'd just ride on your back instead."
"Well," Astarion says with a sniff, "I'm certainly sizeable where it counts." Heh. But he definitely doesn't want to actually end up piggybacking across the country, so— "Perhaps horses in this realm are more gentle and well-behaved. I guess I can offer them a second chance."
Dick jokes are unfortunately the way to Bull's heart. "If you change your mind, there's a riding crop with your name on it." 50/50 on whether that's a joke, he's a freak. But they're coming up on the house now, so he hushes Astarion.
"Take ten," he says, "I'm just gonna knock, have a chat. Fereldens can be weird about thinking elves are gonna use them in some ritual sacrifice." Probably won't love the idea of a qunari this far south amd snooping around either but Bull can handle that.
Um, he does not appreciate being hushed. Especially because Bull was the one yapping about riding crops!!! But he keeps silent anyway, because this is a new and unknown territory, and he'd rather not get staked in the chest before he can really live. It works out, anyway. He's far too weak from malnourishment to really make any meaningful travel, but while Bull talks, he can go searching for some farm animal no one will miss.
There is one teeny, tiny little rock in his shoe, though: "You neglected to mention anti-elf sentiment when you were describing this place," he hisses. The broader racism he doesn't particularly care about—he feels no kinship with his fellow elves—but the individual effects are certainly unpleasant.
Bull pauses a moment. "It's not everywhere. The co-ruler of the country west of here is an elf. The Inquisitor is an elf. Plenty of people don't give a crap."
Then he sighs, spreads his hands, admits: "But some places in the South get weird about elves and theor elf gods. Probably think I'm think I'm gonna rape all their daughters and pillage their gold for the Qun. I cam teach you the right shit to lie about while we walk."
Astarion furrows his brow and gives Bull a Look™. He has no idea what an Inquisitor is, aside from an elf. Someone who goes around Inquiring, apparently. He also hasn't the foggiest idea what a Qun is, but all of this will have to wait.
"Fine. I'm just going to... take a walk around the property while you convince whichever hicks live here that we aren't interested in defiling or ritually sacrificing their daughters."
"Sure." Bull doesn't believe him but doesn't ask. "Don't get caught, feel like kicking this all off with another fight would be kinda... inauspicious."
He hesitates one moment longer about leaving Astarion to his own devices, then decides, fuck it. Whatever happens is what happens. He goes to knock on the door.
Turns out they're on the outskirts of the Hinterlands, in the Redcliffe farming region, which is a lucky break because Bull's been out this way a few times, and he knows where to find people who'll know him, safe passage up the mountains. The farmer doesn't know of Bull specifically, but respects the Inquisitor — not because of her status as Andraste's Chosen, or the magic hand that closes the breaches in the Fade, or even kicking the Venatori out of Redcliffe village a few leagues west. It's because she's kind to druffalo, apparently, and brought a lost one back to his neighbour. Usually Bull finds Lavellan's determination to undertake every minor errand personally kind of a character flaw, but today he's grateful for it.
When he heads back out of the house to meet Astarion, he's got a pack with some food and water, rope, a small compass, and a lantern.
Astarion is a bit more rumpled than he was before, has the beginnings of a bruise on his temple and horn scratches on his cheek. Fucking creature—some sort of bovine, he's not sure. He'd barely managed to get any blood out of it before it fought back, and now he has fur in his teeth. Note to self: slit their throats first next time.
He's smoothing down his hair when Bull comes back out. With a quick glance at the supplies— "What in the hells is the rope for?"
At first it's too dark to see Astarion's beat face, Bull still lighting the lantern while he walks. "Tying up the horses we're gonna buy," Bull says, and then, with a hint of a smile, "But I'm open to other suggestions." Yeah.
Once he has light, though, he glances over at Astarion, the red marks on his cheek. "You run into something out there?" he asks, because if it was a demon that's concerning and if it was an animal that's funny. "Or just get slapped by the farmer's daughter?"
Usually, a joke like that would garner—at best—a forceful exhale approximating humor. Now, Astarion laughs like it's sooo funny. He's starting to realize that the power dynamics here aren't in his favor; before, Bull had to include him because of his access to coin, but now there's nothing stopping him if he finds Astarion too annoying and wants to abandon him on the side of the road.
So, obsequious laughter, and a sidestep of how he really got injured.
"I... tried to pet one of those... cows." Not a cow, but he's not sure what else to call it. "Nasty little thing attacked me unprovoked."
Eager to get off that particular subject: "Go on, then. Which way to civilization?"
Bull's still thinking about that laugh. It's not the first time one of them has made a dirty joke, or Bull's said something flirty just to keep his hand in. It's the first time Astarion's acted friendly, though, and he can't tell if it's residual mania or he thinks Bull expects gratitude. Hm.
Either way, he pays so much attention to that he doesn't think much about Astarion petting druffalo.
"This way," he says, already walking. "We'll requisition mounts at Redcliffe, ride to Haven, I'll send word ahead so we have an escort up the mountain. Not gonna be a half hour stroll, but if we'd come out in Par Vollen we would have had a month's sea journey ahead of us, so the mage got us pretty close."
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Astarion crosses his arms, glancing off to look at a little figurine of what appears to be a winged cat in flight. This Gale fellow has some strange knick-knacks.
"I was merely"—trying to ask if Bull is okay, but he doesn't know how to actually do that, and now he feels a little stupid for even trying—"curious if you'd sustained any brain damage, that's all."
A sigh, and he sticks his nose a little further in the air. "I suppose we'll find out tomorrow. Have a good... whatever."
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Saying his name in that long-suffering tone again. He dials it back and tries again. "Astarion. You good?" A stupid question, they just walked out of a shitshow. He isn't gonna unhear the desperate way Astarion had decried knowing them, unsee that fucked up room, any time soon. And now the realities of a new world are upon him. Probably he's not good. But Bull doesn't know how to ask what he wants to ask, either.
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But he does feel very much not-good: he'd been certain he was going to die or worse not fifteen minutes ago, and despite the relief he feels at having clipped his leash, he now has to contend with the fact that he's been dropped into a world he knows very little about. So, he admits, still defensive as if he expects to be mocked, "I'm adjusting."
He picks at a loose thread at the elbow of his shirt. Maybe there's a town nearby where he can purchase a needle and thread. "Tonight was quite... thrilling." To put it lightly.
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There's still an overenthusiastic Unseen Servant or two lingering, one holding hot water and towels, another with a plate of pastries. A third is biding its time trying to give Astarion a full tea set.
Bull ignores them. "But we're here. We did it. That guy," dropping the your boss, he's pretty sure that was some Tevinter Magisterium slavery crap, "Is gonna find out we cleared his vault and he won't be able to do shit about it."
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"It was very..." Astarion waffles for a moment, scratching his jaw. Heroic? Maybe. Dumb? Certainly. "...unexpected for you to come."
It could have made everything a thousand times worse had they not managed to escape like that, and the thought of that rankles—but he can't deny that he likes it, too, the feeling of having had someone in his corner, even if it was probably only out of some misplaced sense of owing him for the coin.
"Very dashing, really, but let's try to avoid any more courageous battles from here on out."
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But this is getting too much like talking about feelings which he'd personally prefer to do never. He leans forward, pushes himself up out of the chair slowly, groaning, careful on his feet like he's still a little dizzy. "Okay. You think these freaky fuckers can find a bath in my size?" They scatter like excited birds, already popping soap in little shapes out of nowhere, and Bull nods. Flatly: "Great. What can't magic do."
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He takes a step back toward the stairs, sidestepping another Unseen Servant that attempts to offer him a spot of tea. Not really his drink. "Make sure to scrub behind the ears." He should probably say a lot more—this is the kind of situation in which people offer gratitude, he thinks—but he has no practice in that sort of thing, and the thought of trying is too humiliating. So:
"I'll see you tomorrow, then. Dark and late." As opposed to bright and early.
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He pauses in the doorway, like he's thinking of saying something else, but he ends up changing his mind and muttering, "Avenge me if one of these invisible guys drowns me."
They don't, obviously - he does fall asleep in the tub and very nearly drowns himself, but ends up making it to the irritatingly comfortable bed, gets the most sleep he's had in weeks.
Gale's up first — Astarion can either corner him alone or walk into Bull explaining a brief history of the Fereldan Mage Circles to an increasingly horrified wizard.
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At least, until he hears the sound of Gale and Bull's voices carry, and then he practically runs into the room.
"You're boring the wizard," he says despite having no idea what they're talking about. Please, not his vampirism. "I'm sure he's ready to go by now! After all, he's so very important; he must have lots of obligations back home, yes?"
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"Right," says Bull, scratching beside his nose. "Mystra's bosom." Gale clears his throat.
"Not that I intend to rush you!" he adds. "You are both welcome guests. But if you're hoping to travel by night," and here a meaningful glance at Astarion, "Then I'm afraid it's time we say our farewells."
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The moment Gale is gone—and they're unfortunately back out into, ugh, nature—he relaxes, tension seeping out of him. "I thought he'd never leave." On top of the whole 'figured out Astarion's horrible secret' thing, he's just sort of irritating.
"But! Now that he has." Astarion looks into the distance with his darkvision, squinting. "How far would you say that lovely fortress of yours is? An hour?" Hopefully: "Half hour?"
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"Still, I'd adjust your expectations. You know how to ride a horse?" He knows Astarion is a city boy, and is now a little more aware of his complicated situation, but he acts like the kind of guy whose family owns a stable.
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"Take ten," he says, "I'm just gonna knock, have a chat. Fereldens can be weird about thinking elves are gonna use them in some ritual sacrifice." Probably won't love the idea of a qunari this far south amd snooping around either but Bull can handle that.
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There is one teeny, tiny little rock in his shoe, though: "You neglected to mention anti-elf sentiment when you were describing this place," he hisses. The broader racism he doesn't particularly care about—he feels no kinship with his fellow elves—but the individual effects are certainly unpleasant.
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Then he sighs, spreads his hands, admits: "But some places in the South get weird about elves and theor elf gods. Probably think I'm think I'm gonna rape all their daughters and pillage their gold for the Qun. I cam teach you the right shit to lie about while we walk."
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"Fine. I'm just going to... take a walk around the property while you convince whichever hicks live here that we aren't interested in defiling or ritually sacrificing their daughters."
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He hesitates one moment longer about leaving Astarion to his own devices, then decides, fuck it. Whatever happens is what happens. He goes to knock on the door.
Turns out they're on the outskirts of the Hinterlands, in the Redcliffe farming region, which is a lucky break because Bull's been out this way a few times, and he knows where to find people who'll know him, safe passage up the mountains. The farmer doesn't know of Bull specifically, but respects the Inquisitor — not because of her status as Andraste's Chosen, or the magic hand that closes the breaches in the Fade, or even kicking the Venatori out of Redcliffe village a few leagues west. It's because she's kind to druffalo, apparently, and brought a lost one back to his neighbour. Usually Bull finds Lavellan's determination to undertake every minor errand personally kind of a character flaw, but today he's grateful for it.
When he heads back out of the house to meet Astarion, he's got a pack with some food and water, rope, a small compass, and a lantern.
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He's smoothing down his hair when Bull comes back out. With a quick glance at the supplies— "What in the hells is the rope for?"
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Once he has light, though, he glances over at Astarion, the red marks on his cheek. "You run into something out there?" he asks, because if it was a demon that's concerning and if it was an animal that's funny. "Or just get slapped by the farmer's daughter?"
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So, obsequious laughter, and a sidestep of how he really got injured.
"I... tried to pet one of those... cows." Not a cow, but he's not sure what else to call it. "Nasty little thing attacked me unprovoked."
Eager to get off that particular subject: "Go on, then. Which way to civilization?"
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Either way, he pays so much attention to that he doesn't think much about Astarion petting druffalo.
"This way," he says, already walking. "We'll requisition mounts at Redcliffe, ride to Haven, I'll send word ahead so we have an escort up the mountain. Not gonna be a half hour stroll, but if we'd come out in Par Vollen we would have had a month's sea journey ahead of us, so the mage got us pretty close."
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