A Miracle of the Everyday
Summary: In which Bull is human, and teaches science, and Dorian is Qunari (or Tal-Vashoth, if you care for distinctions) and teaches magical theory at a high school in Haven. Or, the story to really put the Alternate into AU.Tags: alternate universe - modern with magic, alternate universe- modern thedas, high school, teachers, human!Bull, qunari!Dorian, developing relationships, fantasy racism, bar fights, blood and violence, hurt/comfort.
for @hcvillicrd from @littlexabyss
“Kid,” he sighs, and scratches his head with the end of his ballpoint pen, “All the justification in the world isn’t going to stop me giving your ass detention. You know the rules. If you’re stupid enough to let me catch you doing it, maybe a detention is going to make you think twice about it in the future. Grow a brain, huh?” The young qunari mutters something and shuffles his feet. Bull’s pen stops on the pad, and he growls, “Didn’t catch that.”
“Nothing, sir.” But the inflection on the word is too glib, and Bull decides to serve a little education. He looks down slightly, into the skinny face. Though the boy cannot be more than fourteen or so, he is almost as tall as Bull, but with gangly limbs not yet at their full potential. His adult horns have not yet fully grown in either, and though he pulls himself up straighter and puffs out his chest, he is not yet any kind of match for Bull physically. And besides - Bull knows this kid. He’s a Vashoth, well known amongst the faculty for sarcastic comments and rolled eyes - clever, but a bit of a wiseass. As Bull continues to stare at him through his one narrowed eye, the young Vashoth swallows nervously and shuffles his feet again. Bull lets the silence stretch for a little longer, then murmurs softly, his voice full of latent threat, “Really? Didn’t sound like nothing. Sounded like don’t have to take orders from some viddathari scum. That sound like something that’d come out of your mouth?”
The boy’s nostrils flare as he looks up into Bull’s face. He shakes his head mutely, and Bull grins, asks, “Speak up, wouldja?”
“No, sir. Sorry, sir.” The kid’s voice has lost its flippance, and Bull leans back, finishes writing out the detention slip.
“Give this to your homeroom teacher, Adaar. I’ll see you in class later.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy takes the slip meekly enough, and Bull watches him scurry away.
He hates hall duty. He wishes he was back in the lab, trying to formulate experiments which are both exciting and curriculum-based. There is a woeful lack of teachers in Ferelden after the war, and the government had offered attractive packages to teachers from overseas to try and fill the vacancies. That’s how Bull ended up here - he supposes it’s pretty mercenary, but hell, the pay is good, and the work isn’t too taxing. But until all the vacancies are filled, there won’t be many opportunities for creating a junior science lesson plan with anything approaching the usual standard of both rigour and entertainment that Bull strives for. He sighs into the now abandoned hallway, and continues on his rounds.
Finally, it’s lunch. The day is turning lazily away from the noontime zenith, and Bull yawns over the pile of marking in front of him. Do your homework next time, he writes on the bottom of the paper in front of him, then sighs. He hates to see potential wasted, and the kid that wrote this paper has that in spades, but no head for application. Putting one hand against his stubbly cheek, he leans an elbow on the table, and raises his eyes to find his coffee cup.
And then, it happens.