i_am_this | (no subject)

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people: the iron bull

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Dec 29, 2018

Clothing here is ridiculous. Molly sees all sorts of silly gowns and shawls that she never would have dreamed of wearing before coming to this place.

She still doesn't quite dream of wearing them, as a matter of fact.

But she can see herself in them, all the same.

There have been rumors, as she wanders the city now and then, of an upcoming party. And although she's never been to a party before, especially one in a place like Darrow, she decides that if she's going to go to this one, she should at least try to look the part.

What that part is, Molly has no idea. But she heads to the shops to look, all the same.

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She gasps when she collides with a person that she's quite certain wasn't there just a breath ago. And then she looks, and decides that certainly he's no person at all, but a figment of some magic or another, or perhaps she's finally going mad.

That, as much as instinct or anything else, prompts her fist upward in a sharp jab.

But she's so short, and he so tall, that it does little more than bounce quite harmlessly off of the solid flesh of his chest.

"What in God's name?" she demands. She's not hurt, and she has no doubt that he isn't, either, but she steps back and takes a better look at him. At his horns, and the scarring under that eye patch, and his horns.

Bull grunted when the woman's first bounced off his chest. He huffed a little laugh. "Yeah, you're not the first one to have that kind of reaction."

He kept his voice even and gentle, because if the woman had anything more dangerous than her fists on her, he didn't want to suddenly find out. He's already been stabbed by a girl out of her mind this year, he didn't need any other surprises like that.

Bull held his hands up, as if to show he was unarmed. He was wearing the black pea coat Krem made for him.

Molly stares at him. The voice fits the face, she thinks, although she doesn't know why it wouldn't. What's more surprising is how civilized he's dressed, given the utter look of him.

"Are you a Minotaur, then?" she asks. She's never heard of one with the face of a man, but she's also never heard of a place like Darrow before she'd come here.

"I've been told minotaurs have cow faces. So no, I'm not one. I'm Qunari, from a place called Thedas."

Bull tipped his head to itch at the base of one of his horns. They always got itchy in the winter, but Dorian made a ream for him that worked wonders. Bull never asked how he made it, just appreciated the gesture.

"Are you human?"

"Of course I'm human," she says, frowning up at him. "Don't I look human?" She can't imagine anyone thinking she's anything else. She's so very plain compared to so many of the people here.

Bull shrugged his shoulders and tipped his head to get a better look at the woman's ears. "Hard to tell sometimes," he said. "People that look human aren't always human. Too cold for scent to be reliable unless I get closer, and I don't think you'd appreciate that."

She sort of stares at him, taking in the words more slowly than she'd normally like.

There's a part of her, not a small part, that wants to argue with him, and demand to know more. But there isn't much point to it, is there? What he is, and where he's from, isn't terribly important. What matters more is what he isn't. And so long as he isn't going to hurt herself or Amalthea, she doesn't much care.

"Alright, then," she says. She sticks out her hand. "I'm Molly."

Bull accepted her hand, gentle for his size. Her stark resolve to be okay with his existence is kind of charming, actually. She reminded him of barmaids he'd known in Thedas that didn't care who he was or what he was so long as he didn't put his boots on the table.

"I'm the Iron Bull." After a beat he added, "Most people just shorten it to Bull."

Most people didn't ask, they just did it, and it felt reasonable to offer Molly the option.

"I see," she says, eying him. "Why 'iron'?" The bull part makes sense. Those horns are rather steer-like, if she says do herself. And 'iron' is certainly better than 'red' in her experience.

"Because it's gray, naturally occurring, and can be used as a weapon. Like me." Bull shrugged with a dry smile. "Didn't have a name when I left my people, had to pick something to be called."

That's an odd remark, and Molly isn't sure she wants to follow it up. "It's as good a name as any, I suppose," she notes. "Better than most I've heard." She chuckles, thinking mainly, if uncharitably, of Schmendrick.

"I've definitely heard worse. Chad. Sounds like a fish."

Bull wrinkled his nose, then offered a dry smile. "Are you new here, Molly?" He only asked because of how startled she was to see him. Most Darrow residence, natives or otherwise, either knew of him and avoided him or... actually knew him.

"A bit new, yes," she admits. She can't help but laugh a little about poor Chad, whoever that is. It does sound a bit like a fish, she thinks. "What about yourself? It sounds like you've had some experience around here."

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