This had been the best day of his damn life. Terrifying in every aspect of the world and leaving him with a deeper agreement that Tamma had been right in saying these species could never be saved but awesome. They’d kicked Tevinter ass! And Dragon ass! With a Dragon!
Shit if Arishok could see him now. Every part of him is singing, pounding in his ears, tips of his horns tingling! It’s both hottest and most exhausting exhilaration he’ll never be able to recreate and he’s revelling in it. Taking hard breaths, hip against his maul as he waves off Krem’s concern. It’s intense, heavy on his senses, he’s caked in blood and dirt and other variables he’s better not checking on if Dorian’s sound of horrified disapproval is anything to go by. But it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, they won.
Anaan! They could find Hissra again. Rebuild.
With the inquisition, with allies and family, with-
Shit. It’s a moment of heavy footing that had him spinning about, eye cloudy where it’s usually clear. Heads counted, they’re one short. They’re all short but this one is hard to miss with the drama and air of entitlement that sits well on him. He hadn’t seen him since the red fight, so many faces lost both down below and in the corpses. Arrows shot, creepy ass ghost blades whirling, so much magic it made his nose itch, he hadn’t heard any screams though. Not ones he recognised so where the hell?
The funny thing about timing is he can never figure out if it’s a coincidence or if the other is psychic among being a holy pain his ass but for once Bull doesn’t bother with the usual tut and growl in his throat, relief on his shoulders as he moves through the mess to the crumbling rocks under claws.
Claws. This day keeps getting better!
It’s gorgeous up close, muzzle and claws stained red and he’s not ashamed to say he’s a little too busy day dreaming for a solid minute to realise the voice wasn’t at his hip but instead in his head. That panic would come later because really, he hated that sort of thing, it was bad enough with Cole up in his mind all the time.
The realisation comes with both a flare of annoyance and giddy, elated delight.
The way the Dragon moved, cocky, quick, overly confident in knowing just how much power it had - how he didn’t know immediately. Getting old perhaps, or too comfortable with those around him. The longer The Iron Bull looks though the more of Aurelio he see’s through scales, bright eyes, teeth too sharp but the same wicked mouth.
He’s gorgeous. What a bastard.
“Keep your hilarious eye puns to yourself you dick you can turn into a Dragon? A Dragon, you know how much I love Dragon’s you never thought to even mention-”
Now he could go through the charade of seething, could even throw a few things for good measure but it’s a lot of work. His shoulder is throbbing, there are men who will need a medic and probably papers to sign. It’s a waste of his energy when instead he can drop the narrow look and accusing tone and close the distance, approval in every hungry look.
Qun give him strength the sound in a too big throat goes right through him.
“Ataashi.” His scar pulls the grin into something probably manic, unrestrained in how he reaches out to sooth a rough hand over rougher hide. He glistens even like this, of course he does. “Knew you’d have to outdo me on the field too, you and your theatrics. How are you even talking to me? Actually. Ugh, I don’t want to know. Magic crap. It’s not my fault if you see anything that scandalises your precious self in there though.”
Closer the wounds are acrid, a hit to the face just like plenty of others, turning his chin up and leaning back so he can get a better line of sight. They’re deep and must hurt like anything, turning back would make it worse right? Could he turn back? Didn’t matter, they’d figure it out.
He’s got some stuff for his horns and skin that is more heavy duty than the soft crap humans need, it might be enough to stave off the worst of it.
“Looks like I got off better. Get your dramatic ass down here, let me take a look, my necks not used to being at this angle. It’s hot though, no wonder humans are so horny all the time.”
EVERY BREATH THE CREATURE TAKES rattles in its entire form like the purr of an oversized cat. Aurelio works his jaw as he listens to Bull, everything so dull and faraway to such a mighty monstrosity such as he. Then his maw sets, and once again, spreads apart to peacock rows of feral teeth. ‘ Hilarious? ‘ he parrots, unabashed in trying to probe more at the admission that The Iron Bull finds him at all funny.
The dragon knows little what the word means, but the gesture brings him some sort of peace. Something as simple as a hand against a snout, coming from Bull, rendered him soft. Aurelio scoffs, and his maw bumps up against Bulls torso, enough to knock him back a tad. ' Technically, I am not talking to you. You are ‘’hearing’’ what I am thinking. Marvellous, isn’t it? ’
& with that the beast lifts its head high, long neck stretched up to the sky, shaking out its scales once more. All of the wounds and the blood .. would take time to heal. He feels the biting air against them, and drags his lips over his teeth, as he rolls his shoulders and the sting worsens. Before he descends fully, his wings stretch out to their full glory, and shudder, kicking up a gust of wind as he stretches.
The claws of his wingtips tear up the ground as he lands, people squeal as the impact of his body quakes the ground beneath them. Aurelio seems unphased. ‘ Looking at them will solve little. That .. thing .. it is like me. Nothing you, or rightfully any mortal, can do to help I’m afraid. I’ve had worse. ‘
He hasn’t. He’s downplaying it. Massively. Aurelio ordinarily feels little pain: but inflicted by an Old God? With such hatred, such tenacity, such a warped mind? That creature wanted him dead, but not of its own volition. It reeked of Corypheus.
Aurelio takes a moment to think, hatefully, of everything he was going to do to that false god --- false prophet --- when he found him. Crush him into nothing beneath his jaws, grind him into the earth, slam his body endlessly into jagged rocks. He is dreamy at the thought of it.
The comment makes the beast laugh again, and he once again seeks The Iron Bull out with his snout. Nudging it against his arm, seeking the caress over scales he had gifted him just moments before. ’ What can I say? I aim to please. Perhaps we’ve all secretly got a thing for horns. ’
