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."
Bull rolls his eyes so hard that his whole head and horns move with it, but being aware something is manipulation and being immune to it are, unfortunately, two totally different things.
"No," he says. "Okay. We've got a knife." Or he's got a knife, tucked into his boot. He bends with a grunt to get it. "Knock him out, bite his wrists, tuck him into bed with it." Close enough to a suicide. It's a big night for most people, chances are nobody will find the body for a while anyway. If someone identifies his knife, he'll say he slipped it to Alexius to let him end it. Cold, but not alarming.
A short huff, punctuation. Then he reaches out and puts a steadying hand on Astarion's shoulder. "If I changed my mind right now..." he says, prompting him to continue with upwards brows. Kinda pointless: there's an obvious response here, and he's not great at telling when Astarion is bullshitting him. But it'd make him feel better to hear there's some kind of leash and Astarion wouldn't just bite his way back to the cell. Even Bull has limits to his morality.
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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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"No," he says. "Okay. We've got a knife." Or he's got a knife, tucked into his boot. He bends with a grunt to get it. "Knock him out, bite his wrists, tuck him into bed with it." Close enough to a suicide. It's a big night for most people, chances are nobody will find the body for a while anyway. If someone identifies his knife, he'll say he slipped it to Alexius to let him end it. Cold, but not alarming.
A short huff, punctuation. Then he reaches out and puts a steadying hand on Astarion's shoulder. "If I changed my mind right now..." he says, prompting him to continue with upwards brows. Kinda pointless: there's an obvious response here, and he's not great at telling when Astarion is bullshitting him. But it'd make him feel better to hear there's some kind of leash and Astarion wouldn't just bite his way back to the cell. Even Bull has limits to his morality.