Brilliant gold light blinded the Bull as Dorian made a sweeping gesture with both arms, rotating them counterclockwise with a punch upward at the end. In the moment after the Bull's jaw went slack as time really <em>did</em> slow down. The tongues of fire flickered in slow motion, undulating, stretching the shadows around them into writhing, sentient things. Bull had barely begun to move when he saw the table rise, the heavy thing wobbling on the air like a bird drifting on air currents. It rose a couple feet and held, pulled aloft in sync with the flowing motions of Dorian’s arms, tossed away a breath later as a child might toss a toy. Dalish and Rocky, true to their training, did not hesitate, using the time it took Dorian to move the table to haul Krem away from it. They dragged him upright just enough for Rocky to pull the much taller man across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
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Adoribull Sunday prompt: Bull's Chargers are famous private instestigators that Halward Pavus grudgingly hires to locate Dorian and bring him home. After meeting Dorian, Bull makes other plans
HOLY HELL so, I love this prompt TO DEATH so here, have the first 4 1/2 pages while I clean up the rest. This is mostly setup but I hope it’s alright!
Private Eye - Pt 1
The Bull and his Chargers were easy to work with. There were only two rules.
1- No doubling up on jobs. If the Iron Bull and his Chargers were on your case, no one else was. Local smokies didn't count. (He had ways of working with law enforcement that helped everyone out, usually.)
2- Be clear about what you want. No client was ever completely transparent but Bull could usually get the pressing details one way or another, even if meant reading between the lines of their facial expressions and mannerisms. He was, and always had been, a people person.
There was a third, but no one knew it except the Bull. He meant to keep it that way.
“Anything good in the mail, Kremepuff?”
“Just the Sundays, a bill or three, and an envelope that says it'll burst into flames if anyone who isn't you tries to open it.” His second called back from across the room. The usual, Bull thought as he took a long pull of his coffee. In his defense it was damn early and he was on his first cup. It took a good five seconds to click.
“Wait...what?”
“Written in Tevene, too. Think you better open it.”
Halward Pavus’s office was worth more than his life, the Bull figured. Mahogany desk, cut marble floor, art from some doubtlessly-well-regarded 'Vint artist hung like trophies at strategic intervals around the room. The bookshelves were the only things that looked remotely used, several thick tomes on the one closest to Halward sporting spines cracked from age and use.
"Your references are quite good, Mr. Bull, though I feel the need to reiterate that your discretion is this matter is of utmost importance."
It always is. The Bull grinned to himself but kept it off his face, nodding solemnly to his would-be employer. Couldn't show off the personality with these high-class 'vints; they never took it well. Halward Pavus looked be the type with four types of stick up his ass, too, judging by the ramrod posture and immaculate suit. No Magister robes for this one: unsurprising, given that Bull was his audience.
Pavus motioned for him to sit; the Bull ignored him, instead folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall by the door. He'd already put on his own suit for this guy; his quota for marching to the magister's tune was met for the day. Better he use the little things to miff the man, see if he could shake the cultured veneer.
Halward did not take the bait. He didn't even acknowledge the Bull had contradicted him. "As you have doubtlessly heard, I am leading the efforts around an extremely important bill in the Magisterium." The Bull shrugged. He knew, alright, but Halward's ego didn't need further inflation. "I do not believe the timing of Dorian's disappearance to be mere coincidence."
"No such thing," the Bull offered. Halward nodded, a calculated single bob of the head.
"You have read the dossier?" Again Bull nodded.
"I need to know if there is anything else you can think that might be relevant, or that was too risky to write down," even for deeply coded cypher, the Bull didn't say. He didn't need to, judging by Halward's face.
(The Bull had actually been impressed at the thoroughness when he’d received the request for he and the Chargers to investigate Dorian’s disappearance. The information had taken him days to decode and had caught fire once he'd finally managed to read the contents.) Magical shit was the worst. Halward's hesitation in answering was also not a good sign.
"I also need to know if I'm going to be dealing with the people you believe have him under thrall." Halward didn't flinch, per se, but the lines around his eyes tightened, the valleys around his lips carved just a bit deeper.
"The individual responsible for initiating this difficulty has been dealt with." Halward turned his back to the Bull then, facing out the window. Nice view out of a place like this, Bull knew, but while he thought Halward's words cryptic, they were clearly that way to a fault. Hiding his facial expression was no exception, either. Something about this magister--aside from the normal magical shit he hated, anyway--screamed 'shady' to Bull, made him feel like he needed a good fuck and a bath as a palate cleanser, once they were done. He had a few hours before either was a possibility, though, so he scuffed a small mark on the marble floor just to do it, instead.
"We believe the spell was perhaps a timed delay, a curse or hex left dormant to be activated when it could damage us most." Magister Pavus allowed himself a heavy sigh, as scripted as the morning news, and turned back to face the P.I. again. "When Dorian sees you it is likely that he will fight, or possibly try to flee."
"I have that effect on people." The Bull finally grinned at Halward, closing his single eye with absolute deliberateness. The other man caught the gesture, nose crinkling in thinly-veiled distaste. Ha. "Working around first impressions is a talent of mine. I'll manage. Is he dangerous?"
"Dorian is a powerful mage with an addled mind," Halward replied, turning to the window again, "He is absolutely dangerous. You mustn't allow that to stop you. The nature of my political career means that Dorian is at more risk running about on the streets than even he poses as an independent threat to you, as you try to contain him. If my enemies were to come across him in his current state..."
"I have a consultant for magical shit so we should be alright," Bull replied. He shifted his arms and both the wall and his shirt seams creaked ominously. "You want him brought back unharmed, though, so I'm gonna need any information you can send along to counter the charm that’s on him." Halward indicated a box on the desk, wrapped in plain brown paper and no larger than one of the fat tomes on the nearby shelves.
"There are notes as well as a couple of countermeasures in there. You may avail yourself of both. The bottle of liquid, you should get him to drink firstly, if you can. It will minimize the risk of him fighting you." The pause he took was calculated, as crisp as the press lines on a well-tailored suit. "But fight him, if you must...anything will be worth it, to get my son back. My wife and I are beside ourselves."
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth, either. Bull didn't push him for more. The truth--or some semblance of it--would come out during the search. It always did. Halward's silence announced on no uncertain terms that they were finished so the Bull grabbed the box, tilted his head to Magister Pavus in affirmation, and saw himself out.
"Aquinea Pavus hasn't been seen in the city for some time. Word is she's been holed up at the Pavus's other mansion for months." Krem spat the word 'mansion.' Bull didn't blame him. All that grandiose shit seemed a waste, but then, he wasn't a 'vint.
"Grieving?" The Bull asked. He had his feet up on his desk, fucking around with his leg brace. The thing hadn't been right since Seheron and he was due a check-up, probably. It'd been stiff as all hell lately, not wanting to take his weight.
Across the room Krem shrugged his shoulders, scowl carved deeper on his face than usual, and Bull made a mental note to heckle him later when they weren't working. Kid had a good mug, no sense fucking it up frowning all the time.
"Alti don't grieve, Chief, they hold parties and drink and talk too much. That's what they do for everything, really. If she's out at the winter estate and hiding from social functions, she's probably playing an angle." He kept right on pacing, arms folded across his chest. "Missing heir to a family that major, and supposedly under thrall? Yet, the papers have been silent. Gossip like that usually makes the rounds in Tevinter before dawn breaks." Krem chewed on a fingernail til Bull chucked a wad of crumpled paper at him to get him to stop. He dodged it and kept pacing. "Not to mention someone under thrall usually looks it. Glassy eyes, weirdo outbursts, behavioral shit...something about this one doesn't feel right, Chief. I don't like it."
"Too close to home?" The Bull offered, fussing with his brace again and watching Krem with his periphery, gauging him without appearing to do so. Normally the insinuation of being off his game would have lit a fire under Krem's ass. Instead, his second went still, eyes unfocused. The pensive frown deepened.
"Nah, it's not the fact that it's Tevinter." The finger went back to Krem's mouth; the Bull threw the stapler this time and just barely missed. Krem kept on talking and chewing, undeterred. "The Alexius boy died months ago. From what I can tell, his father hasn't done anything but grieve since. Actual grieving, too, dressing all in black, no leaving the house, like normal people do.”
“Thought you said Alti don’t grieve.”
“That’s my point. He was Dorian's mentor, just as the reports claimed, but after whatever new-agey magic shit they tried supposedly killed his kid, it appears Gereon just stopped caring. He hasn't been seen at the Magisterium since the funeral. That he's the one that's got Dorian under thrall doesn't add up. What would he stand to gain? Maybe it was him that laid the spell, but then, who activated it? Something just...something is off. I can't put my finger on it."
Bull understood that, had the same feeling himself, but coddling wasn't what he did with his boys...not usually, anyway, despite their claims he was more tamassran than investigator some days. So instead he opted for his tried-and-true method of 'piss 'em off and stand back,' swinging his legs down and climbing to his feet. He patted Krem on the shoulder with a hand big enough to dwarf it.
"Can't solve a case on a half a hunch, Kremepuff. You're gonna have to do better than that to rescue your countryman from whatever demons have been set loose on his ass. And, if it's a nice enough ass, I might just beat you to it." He grinned as Krem bared his teeth, along with one finger in particular. "Get with Dalish and Skinner and see what you can find out. I'll call Rocky. He's been doing recon with some of Tethras's boys. The rumor mill might have picked something up."
"Can do, you ole bastard," Krem growled. There was no heat in it, the younger man clearly running through the case info in his head again, trying to get the disparate lines to match up. Bull watched him go before he picked up the phone.
The Bull had no idea how pertinent his comment on Dorian Pavus's ass would prove to be. Indeed, staring at the back side of the Pavus boy across the dingy bar (The Brew'n Baker) was anything but a hardship, despite the 'vint looking to have suffered a few in the recent past. The bar itself was a dump, damn near condemned, everything inside covered in dark panelling or darker wood, a relic of more bustling times and the owner's apparent love for both liquor and sweet treats. The lighting was shit and the clientele was, too: shady dock workers; off shift blue collar guys that couldn't roll in nicer places; drifters. Perfect, really, as it meant no one was going to pay much of a mind to him.
It had been easy to pay off the owner and to substitute Rocky for the normal barkeep. Pavus was so deep in his cups he likely hadn't noticed the difference any more than he'd noticed the bar's usual few regulars had been replaced by Bull and his boys halfway through the evening.
Bull himself was at a booth so pockmarked by age that the surface of the old wood table was more groove than actual surface at that point, a splinter or five just waiting to happen. His mug of ale had been moved around five separate times, unable to set flush. He grumbled about in passing as he watched their prey instead of the ball game up on the old, browned screen behind the bar.
Dorian leaned against the corner of the bar itself, one hip canted up in what Bull didn’t doubt was old habit. The man’s clothes were fine of make but certainly not new; a shirt of black silk and a pair of dark grey slacks that had been expensive but worn too often were draped on Dorian's form. Bull gave the guy credit. He made the simple outfit look good.
It took them getting just part “Step 1″ of the plan for shit to go sideways.
