shok_ebasit_hissra | (no subject)

Bull was starting to wonder if this time of year was somehow cursed. Last year it was nightmares that almost made him kill Dorian. Now? Now it was strange, waking nightmares. The joke was on Darrow: this shit was nothing new to him, and he resented it being brought back now. Still, it did unnerve him, and he kept thinking of Krem - Krem, who hinted at having gone through terrible things since coming to Darrow. Krem, whose bloody visage haunted him even when he was awake now.

He walked to Krem's shop, partly because it was easier than finding a ride that could fit him, and partly because he needed to move. Striding through the city gave him something somewhat mindless yet still important to focus on. Walking across all of Thedas had been damn solid therapy sometimes. It was the middle of the day, so he knew Krem would be in. It occurred to him when he was about a block away that he could have just called, but there were things that he couldn't check on over the phone: he couldn't see Krem's face, or the look in his eyes. Couldn't see his body language.

No, in person would always be better.

The little bell over the door announced him and Bull was strangely relieved to see Krem finishing up with a customer. He waited off to the side; it was impossible for him to be completely out of the way or unnoticed, but that was fine.

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Krem was keeping busy, keeping as busy as he could, but as for the past three, so for this year, October was already shaping into some kind of surrealness. He wasn't sure what to do with it at this point. So, he kept busy.

He was aware of Bull coming into the shop before the client, which was probably for the best. He finished what he was working on, eased the woman out of her coat, and assured her it would be ready within two days--he had several other things, but hers was an easy enough piece. When she turned to leave, she didn't seem particularly phased by Bull. But then, the people of Darrow often didn't seem phased by much of anything.

The shop was quiet in her absence. Krem pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead.

"You alright, Krem?" he asked, almost cautiously, once the woman was out the door and down the block. He took Krem in, looked him over as he stood there, hand to his head. Bull found himself hoping that whatever was going on in Darrow might leave Krem alone this time, but... it was Darrow. It probably didn't do any good to hope one way or another.

Krem almost laughed, but it didn't really turn into any noise at all. He pushed his fingers up into his hair. Today was a better day than some of the past ones had been. This year was not the worst that things had been since he'd come to Darrow. So, relatively speaking, he was alright.

"The sea is unchanged."

"There is nothing to struggle against," he answered. He moved closer and gently caught Krem by the back of the neck to pull him into a hug. "We'll get through this, like anything else. I'm here, Krem. I'm here."

It was the best he could offer, but he hoped it was something. Bull took comfort in Krem's presence, in Dorian's. He needed that.

Krem, as ever, felt like there was an awful lot to struggle against, but it was not any particular thing. It was this place. It was the horrid trick of it. Last year had been a wretched mess, one thing on top of the next, the demon and the violence and everything else. The year before that had been the doubles, which had not been terrible but had been troubling. And before that--

Krem still could barely think of facing the Tribune and his men alone.

He leaned into Bull, breathed slowly, closed his eyes. He did the best he could do to ground himself. After a moment, he whispered something that may have almost been a laugh. "We're going to need a big goddamn stick when this is done, Chief. Whenever it's through with us."

He smoothed his hand over Krem's back, slow and firm. He had not been here as long as his lieutenant, but long enough to have survived the madness Darrow seemed to like throwing around. Last year it was violent nightmares and memories of his death. This year... he could not decide if it was better or worse. It was more familiar, strangely.

"We are," he said with a huffed laugh. "And someone strong enough to swing it."

"I know Gannicus has been trying to figure out if there's some way he can get in a scrap with you and come out the other side. I think it's professional pride at this point." Krem smiled slightly, as best he could, still tucked in against Bull. He ought to go and put up his Back in a Jiffy! sign, the one he used when he ran out to lunch but didn't really close the shop for any substantial amount of time.

He just needed to breathe at the moment. Just needed a second.

"Or that soldier you played chess with." Not that Krem had set eyes on that. That had been a matter of a different professional pride.

Bull chuckled. "Does it count as a scrap if I don't hit back?" he said, amused. He wouldn't be surprised to hear that Krem had been talking Gannicus out of - or expressly forbidding - fighting him.

"Frank would be good. I think he'd also get the point of the exercise."

"He would be very disappointed if you didn't hit him back, Chief," Krem admitted, and that was part of the problem of course. He did cross, now, now that they were just sort of talking, making jokes and not so fixated on whatever else was going on. He flipped his signs out and sighed a little bit.

"Might take him a moment, I think," Krem admitted. "But that's the nature of the beast, probably. Like explaining it to the Inquisitor."

Krem hadn't really met the man--he'd tailored a suit for him once and not gotten a word out of him during most of the exchange--and he already liked him more than the Inquisitor, if he was honest.

Bull laughed quietly, because he could already picture Gannicus's face if he realized that someone wasn't trying in a fight.

"I'm still not sure the Inquisitor got it. But they did it," he said with a shrug. He felt like other soldiers would have a better idea of the psychology behind it, whether they knew they understood it or not.

"Do you want to go out for something to eat?" he asked after Krem flipped the sign.

"Not really," Krem admitted. He ought to eat, or he wasn't going to until he got home. But the idea of eating wasn't really a high priority at the moment, when his head was a mess of everything that was going on around him.

He leaned against the doorjamb and breathed slowly.