"Oh," Astarion says lamely, because he certainly hadn't expected a donation. Maybe it's because Bull has no concept of 'evil bloodsucking creatures who just want to kill you'. Or maybe even if he did, he'd just be that selfless anyway. Because it is selfless—there's no benefit for Bull and seemingly a million drawbacks. Then again, that's sort of how Astarion feels like simply interacting with himself is like, and Bull hasn't stopped doing that yet. Again, very selfless.
"You would have quite a lot of blood to spare."
Of course, the idea of getting to sink his fangs into a real, live person makes him feel incredibly distracted, mouth watering. But he's not as sure of his willpower as Bull seems to be, and not only would accidentally killing him be an emotional clusterfuck, but Astarion's pretty sure the Inquisitor would pick execution for him.
"But it might..." Go really, really badly. "Hurt."
"Yeah, that's probably lowest on my list of concerns about it," Bull says. His relationship with pain is complicated and multi-faceted. It's at the basis of how he fights, how he moves through space, and deeply entwined with his sexuality. That last thing's a little higher on the list of concerns.
Like this, a couple stairs between them, eye contact should be easier, but his gaze is off past Astarion's shoulder and up the stairs as if he's making sure nobody's close enough to hear this. "I can handle pain. Under the right circumstances I'm into it. But it's intimate as shit, so." A shrug, gaze coming back to Astarion's face.
Um, he was not expecting the casual reveal that Bull is apparently a masochist. Interesting, he thinks, before shoving whatever curiosity that is way, way down.
Really, he's not sure what he's supposed to do with this information. Is blood-drinking intimate? He'd never considered it to be so, but he's also always imagined someone dying at the end. Just a bigger nug. He's never once imagined a scenario in which he sunk his fangs into somebody that would survive it, what it would feel like looking someone in the eye while knowing their blood is on his tongue. It's not exactly a turn-on, but it does conjure up a strange feeling he can't name.
"We'll cross that long, hard bridge when we get to it," he says flippantly, then hard-pivots. "Who's Alexios?" Alexius—Bull had mentioned him briefly, sounded more than a little resentful. "Perhaps he might be on the menu."
"Corypheus, the guy everyone's gearing up to go fight, has a whole cult of Tevinter supremacists." He's taking off down the stairs again. "Alexius is one of 'em."
They hit the bottom of the stairs and are intercepted by the antsy young guard on duty; Bull explains the Inquistor asked him to go question the prisoners about Corypheus one last time.
The cells are slim pickings after Orlais has remanded two prisoners: Ser Ruth in the closest, reading a book on her bed, her cell the only one with creature comforts as she's the only one willingly serving her sentence. Bull ignores her, turns to the cell opposite.
"Raleigh Samson," he says in a low voice to Astarion; the man currently twitching and sweating through lyrium withdrawal can barely focus his eyes enough to acknowledge him. "Corypheus' right hand man. Inquisitor must have decided he might have information." Or maybe Samson's survival is a favour to Cullen, Bull vaguely remembers they knew each other in Kirkwall. Those are the only reasons he can think not to just kill the pathetic bastard.
Further up, two empty cells away from the others, is Gereon Alexius, who rises to his feet at the sight of the Iron Bull and comes right up to the bars. He's been here months, angry and grieving his son, and even Dorian's visitations haven't stopped him from becoming a gaunt shell of himself. "Hissrad," he sneers. "Someone told me you were dead."
"Yeah, you'd love that," Bull says, leaning his shoulders back against the cell bars opposite and folding his arms.
"It's nothing personal," Alexius says with intent zeal. "You are simply the first symptom of an oncoming disease. If the Inquisitor understood the threat you ox-men pose to the South, she would have you rotting down here alongside me. The Inquisition would be marching North to join Tevinter in wiping your grey plague from our shores."
Bull gives Astarion a look like, get a load of this guy.
Astarion stands there, staring blankly. There's very little he understands about the dynamics going on right now; what threat to the south? What even is in the south? All of the political nonsense goes right over his head, but what he does understand is that this Alexius fellow is being extremely rude and rather racist.
Now, admittedly, he's generally not one to care about a little light prejudice. Everyone is prejudiced! It would be ridiculous to get one's panties in a twist over some bias that, honestly, is probably deserved. But Bull is his friend, and therefore one of the very few people in the world that Astarion has decided matter, so:
"I don't want to hear anything out of someone sporting that goatee." Fucking hideous, honestly. He leans casually against the bars of Alexius's cell, peering inside like a child tapping on the glass of a goldfish's bowl. "Mm, yes, I could kill him. I'm sure nothing of value will be lost."
"You may want to remind the knife-ears that his precious Inquisitor already decided my fate," Alexius sneers, just in case Astarion had forgotten that racism in Thedas also includes elves.
"Hear that, Astarion," Bull says, glancing back towards where the guard was. "We'll have to be sneaky."
"Wait," says Alexius, suddenly nervous, backing away from the bars. "Now hang on."
Astarion's not certain whether this is all just to fuck with Alexius or if Bull really does intend to let him do a murder, Inquisitor be damned, but— either way, it's wonderful having someone be scared and helpless and, most importantly, not him. It sends a little thrill of power through him; it's the first time in a long time he's ever felt something like that.
"You were very rude to my friend," he says sternly. "Positively indecorous. But perhaps if you beg, he might take pity on you." It is abundantly clear that he's enjoying this spontaneous power trip a bit too much. "Or not. I guess there's only one way to find out."
Alexius looks at Astarion properly then, sneers at him with patriarchal scorn, his Magister accent over-affected when he says, "I will not beg clemency from a savage and a beast." Hard to say which he thinks is which. "Nor would I expect you to respect the rule of law—"
"Real nice," Bull says flatly. Studying the former Magister, his tense jaw and clenched fists, scared of death but so tired of living in a cell, in a world which holds nothing for him. Bull can read him like a book - can't really work up any sympathy, though, for one of the guys that had wanted to obliterate his people, willingly sided with Corypheus to do so.
Bull taps a fist over his lips thoughtfully, clicking his teeth. His sole hesitation now is if this going to get Astarion in bad trouble. There's three other people in here, the guard and two prisoners; Samson's in no fit state to witness anything, but Ser Ruth's an unknown variable. Catching a light hold of Astarion's upper arm to draw him away from the Magister's cell: "Let's make a plan."
Holy shit. He's surprised for only a moment before he lets excitement overtake him instead, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in eagerness. Yes, this is everything he's ever wanted and was never able to have—all the better that it involves murdering some megalomaniac patriarch. Bull is officially his favorite person in existence, although it's not like he has a lot of competition.
"I was thinking we open the door, you hold his arms back, and I sink my fangs into him while he cries out for his mother."
It might not be a good plan, but it's definitely a plan.
"Okay," says Bull, kinda charmed by Astarion's wicked glee but not charmed enough to be stupid about this, "And then - assuming you can even pick the lock, the guard comes to see what's going on, then runs off to report you drinking blood."
Or this goes the way it did in the bank vaults, and they have to hide a body or risk Astarion ending up in one of these cells.
Bull walks them back by the guard station, gets a good look, and pauses them on the stairs again with his voice barely a whisper. "I can go back and distract him. Can you lift his keys? Then you gotta subdue Alexius — he can't cast down here, he's weak as shit — and try and make it look like he killed himself." Looking at Astarion with that serious I believe in you face he gets.
Gods, this is already too much planning. It's obvious in the way he's not just excited now, but growing quickly impatient, restless. That stray dog with the steak being dangled in front of him again. He shifts back and forth on his feet, aware on a rational level that, yes, they should be careful about this— but on an emotional, instinctual level, all he really wants to do is pick the lock to that cell and latch on to Alexi-whoever's neck.
But he does like being the recipient of that I believe in you face, even if it makes him a little queasy, too, so he does his best to clamp the urge down.
"Of course I can lift his keys," is the first thing Astarion says, a little offended: you doubt me? The next thing he says: "Is he supposed to have killed himself with two tiny stabs to the throat?"
Someone's going to notice, right? And even if Astarion manages to drink every drop that he can, it's still bound to be a little messy. There'll be blood coming from his neck, no way to avoid it.
"Perhaps I could— slit it, afterwards. To hide the bite marks." Where they're going to say Alexius got a knife, he hasn't yet figured out. That's detail work.
Bull thinks about it, but he's nodding. "That could work," he agrees, slow. "If it was something more unconventional." He's thinking the same as Astarion, a blade is hard to excuse, a huge fuck-up... but the cell wasn't completely empty, either. "Maybe someone slipped up and left a fork with his food." More believable, leaves tiny holes, and could conceivably be used in a suicide. Possibly. If someone was really determined.
"But then we have to go find a goddamn fork," he concludes with a sigh.
Could they frame one of the other prisoners? Samson would have motive, but he's too much of a wild card. Can they heal the bite? Bull still has a potion tucked away, but that just risks healing Alexius and getting tattled on by a goddamn ex-Magister. He leans on the stairwell wall, still thinking.
It's real obvious he's wavering on if this is possible to do safely, which probably isn't good news for Astarion getting to try human blood for the first time.
Astarion shouldn't have mentioned anything. He should have just said okay! in a chipper little tone and had Bull go distract the guard; sure, there would've been consequences, but they would have been a problem for Future Astarion instead of Present Astarion, who's gotten all worked up and hungry at the thought of this guy's blood.
His fingers twitch a little as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.
With barely suppressed agitation: "Surely you're not going to let a fork get in the way of—" A pause. He shakes out the tension in his body as best he can. Looks at Bull with the biggest, roundest, wettest eyes he can muster. "Feeding the starving."
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"You would have quite a lot of blood to spare."
Of course, the idea of getting to sink his fangs into a real, live person makes him feel incredibly distracted, mouth watering. But he's not as sure of his willpower as Bull seems to be, and not only would accidentally killing him be an emotional clusterfuck, but Astarion's pretty sure the Inquisitor would pick execution for him.
"But it might..." Go really, really badly. "Hurt."
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Like this, a couple stairs between them, eye contact should be easier, but his gaze is off past Astarion's shoulder and up the stairs as if he's making sure nobody's close enough to hear this. "I can handle pain. Under the right circumstances I'm into it. But it's intimate as shit, so." A shrug, gaze coming back to Astarion's face.
no subject
Really, he's not sure what he's supposed to do with this information. Is blood-drinking intimate? He'd never considered it to be so, but he's also always imagined someone dying at the end. Just a bigger nug. He's never once imagined a scenario in which he sunk his fangs into somebody that would survive it, what it would feel like looking someone in the eye while knowing their blood is on his tongue. It's not exactly a turn-on, but it does conjure up a strange feeling he can't name.
"We'll cross that long, hard bridge when we get to it," he says flippantly, then hard-pivots. "Who's Alexios?" Alexius—Bull had mentioned him briefly, sounded more than a little resentful. "Perhaps he might be on the menu."
no subject
They hit the bottom of the stairs and are intercepted by the antsy young guard on duty; Bull explains the Inquistor asked him to go question the prisoners about Corypheus one last time.
The cells are slim pickings after Orlais has remanded two prisoners: Ser Ruth in the closest, reading a book on her bed, her cell the only one with creature comforts as she's the only one willingly serving her sentence. Bull ignores her, turns to the cell opposite.
"Raleigh Samson," he says in a low voice to Astarion; the man currently twitching and sweating through lyrium withdrawal can barely focus his eyes enough to acknowledge him. "Corypheus' right hand man. Inquisitor must have decided he might have information." Or maybe Samson's survival is a favour to Cullen, Bull vaguely remembers they knew each other in Kirkwall. Those are the only reasons he can think not to just kill the pathetic bastard.
Further up, two empty cells away from the others, is Gereon Alexius, who rises to his feet at the sight of the Iron Bull and comes right up to the bars. He's been here months, angry and grieving his son, and even Dorian's visitations haven't stopped him from becoming a gaunt shell of himself. "Hissrad," he sneers. "Someone told me you were dead."
"Yeah, you'd love that," Bull says, leaning his shoulders back against the cell bars opposite and folding his arms.
"It's nothing personal," Alexius says with intent zeal. "You are simply the first symptom of an oncoming disease. If the Inquisitor understood the threat you ox-men pose to the South, she would have you rotting down here alongside me. The Inquisition would be marching North to join Tevinter in wiping your grey plague from our shores."
Bull gives Astarion a look like, get a load of this guy.
no subject
Now, admittedly, he's generally not one to care about a little light prejudice. Everyone is prejudiced! It would be ridiculous to get one's panties in a twist over some bias that, honestly, is probably deserved. But Bull is his friend, and therefore one of the very few people in the world that Astarion has decided matter, so:
"I don't want to hear anything out of someone sporting that goatee." Fucking hideous, honestly. He leans casually against the bars of Alexius's cell, peering inside like a child tapping on the glass of a goldfish's bowl. "Mm, yes, I could kill him. I'm sure nothing of value will be lost."
no subject
"Hear that, Astarion," Bull says, glancing back towards where the guard was. "We'll have to be sneaky."
"Wait," says Alexius, suddenly nervous, backing away from the bars. "Now hang on."
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"You were very rude to my friend," he says sternly. "Positively indecorous. But perhaps if you beg, he might take pity on you." It is abundantly clear that he's enjoying this spontaneous power trip a bit too much. "Or not. I guess there's only one way to find out."
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"Real nice," Bull says flatly. Studying the former Magister, his tense jaw and clenched fists, scared of death but so tired of living in a cell, in a world which holds nothing for him. Bull can read him like a book - can't really work up any sympathy, though, for one of the guys that had wanted to obliterate his people, willingly sided with Corypheus to do so.
Bull taps a fist over his lips thoughtfully, clicking his teeth. His sole hesitation now is if this going to get Astarion in bad trouble. There's three other people in here, the guard and two prisoners; Samson's in no fit state to witness anything, but Ser Ruth's an unknown variable. Catching a light hold of Astarion's upper arm to draw him away from the Magister's cell: "Let's make a plan."
no subject
Holy shit. He's surprised for only a moment before he lets excitement overtake him instead, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in eagerness. Yes, this is everything he's ever wanted and was never able to have—all the better that it involves murdering some megalomaniac patriarch. Bull is officially his favorite person in existence, although it's not like he has a lot of competition.
"I was thinking we open the door, you hold his arms back, and I sink my fangs into him while he cries out for his mother."
It might not be a good plan, but it's definitely a plan.
no subject
Or this goes the way it did in the bank vaults, and they have to hide a body or risk Astarion ending up in one of these cells.
Bull walks them back by the guard station, gets a good look, and pauses them on the stairs again with his voice barely a whisper. "I can go back and distract him. Can you lift his keys? Then you gotta subdue Alexius — he can't cast down here, he's weak as shit — and try and make it look like he killed himself." Looking at Astarion with that serious I believe in you face he gets.
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But he does like being the recipient of that I believe in you face, even if it makes him a little queasy, too, so he does his best to clamp the urge down.
"Of course I can lift his keys," is the first thing Astarion says, a little offended: you doubt me? The next thing he says: "Is he supposed to have killed himself with two tiny stabs to the throat?"
Someone's going to notice, right? And even if Astarion manages to drink every drop that he can, it's still bound to be a little messy. There'll be blood coming from his neck, no way to avoid it.
"Perhaps I could— slit it, afterwards. To hide the bite marks." Where they're going to say Alexius got a knife, he hasn't yet figured out. That's detail work.
no subject
"But then we have to go find a goddamn fork," he concludes with a sigh.
Could they frame one of the other prisoners? Samson would have motive, but he's too much of a wild card. Can they heal the bite? Bull still has a potion tucked away, but that just risks healing Alexius and getting tattled on by a goddamn ex-Magister. He leans on the stairwell wall, still thinking.
It's real obvious he's wavering on if this is possible to do safely, which probably isn't good news for Astarion getting to try human blood for the first time.
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His fingers twitch a little as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.
With barely suppressed agitation: "Surely you're not going to let a fork get in the way of—" A pause. He shakes out the tension in his body as best he can. Looks at Bull with the biggest, roundest, wettest eyes he can muster. "Feeding the starving."