shok_ebasit_hissra | (no subject)

Entry tags:

biffy,
linked

(no subject)

Bull sat on the floor - he wasn't quite sure he trusted the structural integrity of the couch - and before long a cat had appeared to investigate. He hadn't seen it earlier. He was tired, and he supposed he could go downstairs to his apartment - Dorian had shown him exactly which door was his. But he also wasn't sure about being alone yet, either. Too much happening in his head, too much concern, too many questions in his head that he didn't want to think about right now.

He pet the cat, gentle for something his size. He was surprised that it didn't seem perturbed by his sudden presence, or his size.

The Bull wondered if Dorian would mind if he fell asleep on his floor.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There was a new scent on their floor. This, in itself, was not necessarily unusual; the Bramford got new tenants all the time. What was strange was that this scent got stronger as Biffy approached his own door until he was quite sure that there was someone behind it who ought not be.

Biffy did not wish to jump to conclusions and transform–he loved his current suit–but he was ready if it must be done. Tongue swiping over his own sharp canine teeth, Biffy opened the door cautiously.

There was Pawvus in the lap of a man who was taller and larger than Biffy thought he'd ever seen, including Lord Maccon, to say nothing of his massive horns.

"Well," he said, quite bemused.

Bull looked up when the door opened. The other scent, not human, that he'd caught in whiffs around the apartment. "Well," he answered, taking stock of the moment, of the person he was looking at. Obviously he had a key, was here often. Maybe lived here.

The cat mrrowed.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice even and deep. The question wasn't a challenge, just an inquiry. This wasn't his apartment, after all. Bull was only curious.

Mind still working busily, Biffy bent and allowed Pawvus to come over to him, scooping the cat into his arms.

"Sandalio de Rabiffano," he said, pushed into formality by the strangeness of it all. "I live here with my fiancé." Biffy tried to keep his mouth from pursing in thought as he took in the large man's physique and distinctive horns once more. Dorian had referred to a past lover as 'Bull' more than once but, for some reason, Biffy had never taken it so literally.

"You know Dorian?"

Fiancé. The word rings in his head, but nothing shows on his face. Bull tucks that away.

"Yeah, I do. We come from the same place. Well... our people are trying to kill each other, but the same world. Thedas. And we both worked closely with the Inquisition."

His one eye studied Sandalio closely, trying to determine his nature. Human-looking, but there was something distinctively not human tugging around Bull's senses. He couldn't place it, though.

It was difficult, pushing back on wolfish instincts that told Biffy that he was having polite conversation with someone who was still an intruder. The urge to attack hovered somewhere between his lungs, telling him to assert himself over this space, over his and Dorian's territory. It was such a base and inhospitable instinct.

"He's mentioned the Inquisition, and you if I'm not mistaken," Biffy said. He let the cat down and went into the kitchen. "Are you hungry? I can make tea and I might have something stronger, but it belongs to Dorian and not me."

Bull can't help but wonder what Dorian has mentioned, but he won't show his hand. He sat ready to react, feeling under threat. With a grunt he got up, all seven feet of him. The ceiling was probably ten feet, but he still felt the need to keep his head down. His horns were as broad as his shoulders.

"I would take something stronger," he said. Drinking had been a great temptation from the moment he woke up here.

Seeing him stand at full height, Biffy could only do his best not to stare. A jealous part of him found it hard to imagine that this boulder of a man could have romanced Dorian and he tried, guiltily, to crush the idea away.

"Brandy, then," he said, focusing on the conversation and not his sudden need to make a claim. He might be a werewolf but he was still a man with some sense. "And Dorian shall have to forgive me. Unless you drink formaldehyde."

"I'm sure he can be talked into forgiving us." He doubted Dorian would begrudge him a strong drink after all this. Bull watched the way Sandalio moved, his conscious effort not to look too much, the tension in him.

"How long have you and Dorian been engaged?"

Biffy smiled, caught between being uncertain over the comfortable familiarity they both had with Dorian's drinking habits and relieved at that same familiarity. He didn't know if Bull had come from a time when he loved Dorian or felt any affection for him; he didn't know how Bull would feel about him in direct relation to that.

"A few months now, though we were courting for about a year." Courting was a far more genteel way of putting it than had actually been with werewolf strength and mage powers involved in the bedroom.

"Courting," he huffed, almost a laugh. He sounded amused. "Qunari don't court," he added, in case Biffy assumed he was being derisive. He wasn't, it just wasn't a concept, or a practice, he had a lot of familiarity with. He'd never properly thought about it before he met Dorian, in fact.

"Lucky," Biffy said, speculatively. "The society I come from has honed it down to a fine science. It's all very overwrought."

Noting Bull's hands, Biffy opted to ignore protocol and ignored the snifters in favor of a good, sturdy mug. It was late and there was no need to stand on ceremony. For once.

Pouring two generous fingers, he asked, "Will this suit?"

"If I drink as much as I could, Dorian would fuss." He accepted the mug, grateful that it wasn't a glass.

"Qunari are raised not to conflate sex and emotional bonding," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "And we don't mate off in pairs, except for the occasional exception. When it's time to breed, tamassrans will match desired traits up. No need for romance, or courtship."

Edited 2016-08-04 07:06 (UTC)

"Then he is lucky I am not a spiteful man," Biffy said. "For I'd give you the bottle."

It was all very forward to have Bull tell him as such within minutes of their first meeting but Biffy was, above all, a gentleman and so he knew how to appear pleasantly nonplussed at all but the greatest tragedies as a matter of birthright. Life with Lord Akeldama had only taught him to be yet more subtle.

"One may thank–or blame–the vampires for my homeland's excess of manners and ritual," Biffy said, smiling out the corner of his mouth as if he hadn't dropped the information just to see how Bull might pick it up.

Bull looked momentarily interested and asked, "What's a vampire?" He had no context for the word, for wha it might be, though obviously it describe a creature or a class of people or... something. Something Biffy had experience with.

That response was an unexpected one, further outside the realm of possible answers than Biffy had expected. He let a raise in his eyebrows relay his surprise and no more, before speaking, "They are a class of the supernatural. Undead and drinkers of blood. They are also very fond of fashion."

Bull nodded, putting that information in context of what Biffy told him a moment ago. That was better. Undead he was familiar with, but ones that drank blood and were fashionable? That seemed new.

He wondered if it was some kind of blood magic.

"Almost sounds like Tevinter," he mused.

"From what Dorian's told me, I cannot help but agree," Biffy said, smiling thinly again. "There are ghosts, vampires, and werewolves in my England. Coexisting with mortals."

"We just have things possessed by demons and spirits," he grumbled. "Well. Ogres, giants, dragons, the undead, darkspawn..." He waved his hand a bit. "I wouldn't call what they do coexisting, though."

Biffy nodded. It sounded very different from his London, regardless of the simmering and politely suppressed tensions. "Well, hopefully you'll find the supernatural in this city better than that," Biffy said.

He held up the brandy bottle in lieu of his own, empty, cup, and toasted, "But here's to coexistence in all its forms."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only