[ The grand party at the Winter Palace would be held in a few hours. The Inquisition had made way to Halamshiral a week prior to be sure they would have ample time to prepare. Josephine had arranged accommodations for the Inquisition; some noble's estate of what's his name and rank. Honestly, Lavellan couldn't remember as he had been far too nervous about this grand party.
Lavellan had only been afforded a few invites, ones for his advisors and three others. Of the companions he picked, Dorian had been one of them, for what could be considered selfish reasons. Varric and the Iron Bull were somewhere in the estate getting ready. Vivienne had been able to handle her own invite; she hadn't wanted to trouble Josephine.
For now, Sen was in the room he had been provided, looking at the outfit he was to wear at the Palace. The tailoring had been more elven, but with far richer fabrics. Josephine had said he needed to stand out as the Inquisitor so this definitely would do it. He should be putting it on but, he sat across from it on the bed fiddling with his fingers nervously. ]
[Dorian, while holding no love for the Orlesian nobility and their great game outside of the opportunity to sit and goggle at it from the sidelines, had come at the Inquisitor's request. Part of him is sure that he'd been invited along because he seemed like he would know how to navigate such things but what he had neglected to explain was that he wasn't exactly keen on such affairs, when they were so determined to be as uptight as possible. There's no room to breathe, and every last little faux pas could be deemed a terrible, damnable offense. He just wanted to eat little teacakes like a savage and creep off with a bottle of too-rich wine and heckle anyone and everyone that he might see.
That does not stop him from acquiescing to the request that he change his robes into something less battle-ready and more suited to such a soiree. Of course, he leans into the notion of dressing up with aplomb and as the Inquisitor opts for a style more closely matching his heritage, so too does the Tevinter, and when he enters Sen's chamber to see about the other man's hair, as he'd promised the Ambassador that he would, he's veritably dripping in gold, with deep black and red robes draped over him artfully and cinched around his waist with fine silk brocade. His eyes are ringed with an artful lining of kohl and, upon approach, he would nearly seem to glitter with a dusting of powdery silver highlight.
The very picture of "put together", while Sen seems to be fretting himself into a terrible spiral. Dorian steps just inside, arms crossed loose over his front, and regards the other with a soft frown.]
I daresay I won't be the one making us late at this rate...
[ Sen has never been one to startle easily, being out in the wilds as a Dalish, you kept your wits about you. You never knew what kind of beast or monster or even bandit could jump out and attack you. However, this whole Orlesian affair has set his nerves on fire so when he hears Dorian enter he jumps just a bit as he looks over.
He was about to say something before he's at a loss for words looking at Dorian. He can't help his mouth part a bit looking at the other. He looked like night; not the harsh, dark, cold kind, but a sky dappled in starlight with a golden moon. It'd be obvious to anyone right now that Sen's cheeks had all but started to redden.
Cassandra might think him possessed by a desire demon looking at Dorian in such away. Handsome, striking. Though, he all but breaks from those thoughts when Dorian speaks. His face falters and it's soon replaced with a frown of his own.]
Oh. Right. I should probably get started. There's fashionably late and then there's "too late and the empire falls apart," late.
[ He stands up to go over to the clothes set on the mannequin to start peeling them off. He might've just thrown them over his head, but he's sure if he did that the fabric would wrinkle. Best not to ruin his clothes now, after all his hair was still in it's usual, messy state.]
He's never seen the elf quite so on edge as when he's had to be here. It's understandable from all facets of the situation, and Dorian knows that he himself is in a unique position to be able to help with that. As such, he approaches, hands moving to carefully roll back the draping sleeves of his robes, then carefully removing the new clothes from their display.
"Very dashing, if I do say so myself. I'm sure that our Lady Montilyet spared no expense to make sure you weren't going to embarrass yourself." He teases, but he has no doubt that that had been on Josephine's mind when she'd sent away for the proper tailors.
Dorian assists in laying the garments down on the bed flat, then stops Sen in his fretting with light hands coming to rest on the elf's slender shoulders, then running down his arms.
"Breathe, amatus. I'm sure either the court will love you, or they'll be so distracted by the rest of us that it hardly matters."
"I think the pointed ears may embarrass me more," Sen responded, somewhat bitterly. He took pride in being an elf, but here in Orlais it seemed every noble not aligned with the Inquisition needed to point that fact out. Some small resentful part of him thought about just letting the whole of Orlais crash and burn, but he squashes those feelings quickly. It would be the common people that would suffer the most and it wouldn't do the elves any more good.
He might've spiraled even more if it weren't for Dorian bringing him back to reality with this simple gesture. The smooth skin on skin as Dorian relaxes him and Sen lets out a long, tired sigh. He can't help but take one of Dorian's hands and do the same the other Mage did and kiss the palm of it. "You're more confident than I am about all this. At least if I fumble you're all here to help," he says all but pressing Dorian's hand into his face.
He looks back to the clothes on the bed with a small unsure look. "I just hope Vivienne and Josephine's dance lessons don't go to waste."
The way that Sen looks at him nearly has him preening. He leans down to nudge their foreheads together lightly then takes a step back again, letting his hand remain in Sen's grasp. A glance toward one of the man's ears gets a soft scowl. If he hears the words 'knife ear' this evening he will make whoever said them regret it.
He doesn't say this, though. Instead, he lets his hand coast down the side of Sen's neck to fall away again, turning to the clothing in kind.
"You're a quick enough study, I think it will click in the moment. But if you'd like some practice, I'm sure that we can find the time," he offers. "The Winter Palace has many lovely, open spaces that get very little through-traffic. We might find a space to run through the steps together, if you would permit me to be so bold as to request a dance." As he speaks, he picks up the first layer of the new clothes to assist in carefully pulling them on and cinching them closed. Much as he would rather be peeling away those layers, they are already pushing 'fashionably late'.
He might even welcome Dorian tearing his clothes off and having his way with him on this bed. Let the empire fall, at least it would be a night to remember, but no, they have to be responsible. Also people would die or something. Sen sighs wishing this moment between them could last, but, they could be alone when this was all over.
Sen would start unbuckling his own shirt from the throat to naval to throw the casual shirt he wore around skyhold aside. He was compliant to put on the attire, sliding his arms through the sleeves, letting Dorian buckle parts for him. The one thing he was thankful for in all of this was he was going to be able to wear his heritage so openly. It'd probably create some sort of fuss but it would be one of those times that it might be to their benefit.
The offer does get him to finally smile a bit, rare as it had been in the last few days. "I'd never say no to a dance with you, Vhenan," Sen said as he reached over to the overly large sash and cape. It was made of silk brocade, a fabric he had grown fond of for the blue hue of it, with silver embroidery in Mythal's marks. The cape would drape over one shoulder and pinned in place with a symbol of the Inquisition. He looked to Dorian, holding out the sash; "I'll need some help tying this if you don't mind."
If the idea were run by him later he might go ahead and take Sen right here in this bed the moment the festivities are done and they have the time to themselves again, right on top of all the nice clothes that he would be tossing aside with much less ceremony than it was put on.
Dorian smooths down the layers of fine material as they're cinched, clasped, and arranged, giving the Inquisitor a bit more bulk and presence, especially when the silk is added. The embroidery is similar in pattern to that around his own waist, though his own doesn't lay claim to the goddess that Sen venerates. It's merely a visual similarity, and a subtle show of support on his part. About the only part of him that's subtle really.
As requested, Dorian moves to help tie the sash in place, smoothing a hand over it when it's properly arranged to pull the whole outfit together.
He steps back again, regarding Sen with his fingers under his chin, head at a tilt. "If it weren't such a process I might say you should wear such things more often," he comments thoughtfully, looking quite approving. He moves to the vanity table provided with the room where he'd placed some of his own cosmetics for use for this affair, not surprised to see that none of it had been touched. He turns back again and holds out a hand.
"Come, I've still got to see to it that you don't look so much like a bird's nest."
He took notice of what Dorian wore around him and it brings a smile to his face. A quiet show of support and he reaches out to squeeze Dorian's hand. A small thank you for this one small thing.
Sen finally laughs at the remark on the clothes. Of course, Dorian would focus on that first. "If you helped me personally at Skyhold with this I might consider it," Sen answered with a coy grin, a hint of what Sen might be getting at later. However, his face falls into something more of a put at the remark on his hair.
Reaches up to one of his blond strands and tugs at it a bit. "It's not that messy. I'd like to think it's neatly disheveled," Sen responds with a small defeated sigh. He takes Dorian's outstretched hand and moves towards the vanity, sitting down in front of it. Looking at all the powders and inks, only makes Sen's face scrunch a bit in hesitance. "I'm beginning to think the real war is with these potions you've set out before me, Dorian."
He can't simply tell Sen that he's beautiful regardless of the state of his hair, it might encourage him to leave it exactly as it is and then Dorian might not have this opportunity to pamper him!
"I think that can be arranged," Dorian chuckles, and his hands briefly venture between the folds of Sen's clothes, though like this he obviously can't get any more skin contact without undoing the work they'd already done. He only lingers for a moment, the smile growing somewhat at Sen's objection to the oncoming slew of potions, tinctures, and products that would shortly be massaged into his skin and hair.
"I promise you, it's not that bad. Here, take a seat."
And the moment that Sen is situated on the plush cushion in front of the vanity, Dorian sets to work, deft fingers and practiced movements massaging oils into his hair and the space just behind his ears. It makes the blonde fluff easier to work with, until it can be combed and styled into something a little less disheveled. When that's done, Sen will find himself being asked to tilt his head this way and that, to close his eyes, to part his lips, all the while Dorian makes quick, gentle work of applying pigments and stains and highlights, A similar silver to his own along the cheeks following his vallaslin, serving to brighten it rather than obscure it. Rose-pink on a blotter tissue is pressed to the elf's lips after they've been daubed with water, sure to stain without the possibility of transfer like those oil-based makeups the Orlesians all seemed to favor. A thin line of color near identical to that of Mythal's branches fanning across his forehead to edge Sen's eyes after the lids have been touched with subtle color to match his clothes. Dorian works with his fingers as much as he does with brushes, and after a fair amount of adjusting, blending and chattering about the cost to import his favored cosmetics if he tried to go through proper channels, he's able to step back and let the other finally take in the change. He's not perfectly flawless, it would take more than just one pass with Dorian's personal regimen to bring him up to that level, but he's certainly more than good enough to be seen in noble company now.
"The more secret upside of the stain," Dorian is saying as he starts to pack it all away again, "is that I might be able to steal you away and there be no trace left behind that they could question you for."
He feels like some sort of doll as Dorian applies the various mixtures to his face. He's never put on any of this in his life as the Dalish didn't tend have such fineries. If it were anyone else applying these things he might've been uncomfortable, but Dorian was taking great care and trying to make this a comfortable experience. So, Sen sat still, allowing Dorian to turn his face this way and that.
He felt it soothing feeling Dorian's fingers run through his thick, blond hair as the oil was applied to it. He sits up, allowing the tangles to be combed out, already looking more kempt and smoothed. The rest he does as instructed, cheeks painted, lips dyed, his Vallaslin highlighted more prominently. The whole procedure was more relaxing than he thought, already forgetting his troubles. He only occasionally lets out a small noise of affirmation every once in awhile or a "that's too bad," in regards to Dorian's current import woes. Honestly, he could fall asleep with just how soothing this was.
Finally, he opens his eyes and he didn't expect to see what he did. What he thought might be vibrant makeup, something the Orelsian nobility did, of white powdered faces, with striking blushes and lip colours; his is more subtle. More enhancing what was already there than painting on an entirely new face. He smiles a bit, having to stop himself from touching his cheek as he looks over and up at Dorian. "Well, I see we have an artist in the Inquisition. Maybe we should keep you at Skyhold more, have you do portraits instead," he says with a laugh.
He can't help but smile to himself, blushing slightly at Dorian's words. "Hah. People might think you whisked me away to Tevinter or something. Might not be the best plan right now," he says as he gets up from his seat. With some of the tension finally seeping out of his body he takes in a large breath, "Well, shall we be going?"
Dorian finds the procedure as relaxing to do as Sen seems to find it being done to him, and he might be plotting to do such things more often, if he'd be allowed the time and resources. The review of the result makes him veritably fluff up like a proud bird.
"Perish the thought. You might end up with a hundred highly idealized versions of yourself before I tired of it," he jokes, though he settles and amends, "I'm not, really. This is just what I do for myself, and I suggested that it might help your presentation here. You will never be fully above reproach to these people, but they will find no fault to pick apart at first sight like the vultures they are."
He's determined, after all, that this should go off without any more trouble than is to be expected from a grand political soiree in general. Nobody will have a reason to cause Lavellan undue trouble.
When Sen stands, Dorian's hands come to light at his sides, and he dips for a feather-light kiss. He won't address the notion of whisking him away to Tevinter; they both know how dangerous of an idea that is, even to joke about. It's one of those unspoken strains on their budding relationship. They would cross that bridge when they came to it, though.
Dorian gestures toward the door then, straightening himself back up with his hands clasped at his back. "After you, dear Inquisitor."
"Well, whether they decide to make their jabs or insults about how I look, I'll just remember them for when they need the Inquisition's assistance," He says somewhat casually. To any outsider, it might sound as Sen would bring down the might of their forces or let some other horrible thing befall them. But, really? It would just be a chance to be very petty before lending aid. There's still a soft smile that comes to his face as he looks to Dorian, "What matters to me is that you're here with me."
But, Ugh. Politics. He slowly became as jaded and miserable as Cassandra came with it. Only difference was he could play nice and civil. Not that he wanted to, but, that was his role as Inquisitor now. Make nice.
Thankfully, that's all banished when he's literally dipped and kissed. He wants to reach up, run a hand through Dorian's hair, touch his face, but holds back; he didn't want to ruin the man's paint job. He does however, go in for a good butt grab with the biggest grin on his face.
Back on his feet, he shakes his head with a laugh at how formal Dorian transitioned to, walking out as he gives a half glance back to Dorian.
____________________________
Hours later at the Winter Palace. Sen was already hating it here. He made sure to keep his cool and the appearance of the Inquisitor. The snide remarks he could do without as there was always something he could hear behind his back every so often. Slowly, though the remarks turned to gossip about how to get in good with him.
He was making a statement, saying the right things, doing the right things, gaining favour. He was becoming the talk of the party. While Sen remained good natured throughout the stress of what was to come was mounting. Who was planning to kill Celene and how to get these feuding cousins to stop their all-out bloodshed.
For a moment he managed to get away, finding Dorian in the gardens. He moves past some of the nobles, waving idly and smiling before he stands beside the man. "So, how has the affair been going for you?"
Dorian had, oddly enough, been left by and large alone here. Resplendent though he was, he wore the trappings of Tevinter on his sleeve, and after a very quietly snide exchange with some older noblewoman that Josephine would likely sigh over him sassing, Dorian had taken to perching on the edge of proceedings with a glass of wine that he was re-filling all on his own from a bottle pilfered from an unattended selection. He heard the mutterings, oh yes, the thinly-veiled insults thrown the Inquisitor's way, about everything from his heritage to his trappings (and that certainly got Dorian's hackles up), to the company that he kept. He bristles to hear what they're saying about Varric, and about Bull, particularly when they get patronizing about the brutish way they expect qunari to be. Nevermind that once, he might have held the same opinions. But minds could be changed after all, when they're willing.
He's been pointedly shooting back at any and every question or comment that comes his way about the Inquisition, and if it weren't for him wanting to preserve their good name here, he might have let himself get deep in his cups and actually start something about it.
He doesn't say any of this to Sen though. When the other comes to check in with him, Dorian simply smiles, picking himself up to face him more fully.
"It's been a fascinating venture," he replies dryly. "Have you tried eating anything yet? Do try the ham, tastes of despair."
His voice lowers, and he leans a touch closer. "You're doing wonderfully, amatus. I daresay you'll have them eating out of your hands by the end of the night."
"I've been avoiding the food for the most part. My concern is the taste of despair being literal poison. Perhaps not to kill but I definitely do not want to be running to the bathroom all night," Sen said with a casual shrug. He would not put it past any of the nobles here in their grand game to sink to poisoning someone.
Thankfully, they're both out of earshot of others that Sen could lean in more conspiratorially. He can't help but smirk at the idea of what others might think they're talking about. Still, they were on a mission right now. "It's amazing what a few dance lessons can do for one's reputation. Not to mention perhaps going into places I shouldn't be," he has to repress a snicker. Oh the dirt he found.
"Actually, I did get a few compliments from one of the Dowagers'. She said she liked how my face was painted and I absolutely have to tell her where I got such pigments. She even not so subtley said she'd have to steal the person who did it for me."
"Honestly you're probably better off. I barely trust the wine." He raises his glass, and takes another swallow. Clearly he trusts it enough to continue to imbibe, at least.
There are enough people that are doing the exact same thing, to whatever end, that Sen and Dorian's conversation doesn't look particularly odd from the outside. They may be here on a mission, but they don't have to act so terribly serious and attract anyone's attention. To that end, Dorian's hand comes to light against the other's side, a terribly familiar gesture that he's determined would be a suitable distraction from the more serious things that they may be accused of. At least if someone is to believe they're planning some sort of illicit tryst, they could gossip about that rather than the more nefarious plots that they're actively trying to prevent.
Dorian gestures off down a side path away from the meandering ball attendees, keeping his posture only semi-formal at best. He can't help but chuckle at the commentary of the Dowagers. "Oh, is that so? I'd rather think you wouldn't give me up so easily," he jokes. "As much as I would rather not talk business in the here and now, if she does indeed wish to find out what I use, perhaps a trade agreement could be made. To the benefit of myself and the Inquisition as a whole, I'm sure."
The remark on the wine all but makes him purse his lips in concern. The last thing he wanted was for Dorian to die of some poison, which would definitely put a damper on the night. He can't help but fidget a bit, a hand idly going up to one of his blond strands to play at it. Better to look nervous now when Dorian's frame was blocking him from view of others than on the dance floor.
He's brought back to earth as he curves into Dorian's body with their hand on his waist. "Don't worry, I kept my lips sealed. Teased it a bit that she should go to Josephine. She'll be sure to stir the dowager your way a bit later in the night. Though Josephine did ask me to be sure you did one thing before she would," Sen says, looking as he were leaning up to give the man a kiss.
Instead, though his hand goes overtop the wine glass and push it down. "She told me ask you to cut down on the wine. Can't have a drunken trade agreement after all," Sen said with a bit of a smirk.
It had been awhile since they last communicated. There was still no word on where Solas was or what he might need to do his ultimate plan. With everything that had happened since the council they were on the backfoot for a long time. It had been years to even try and find some scrap of something that could lead them to a clue. Whether or not the Dreadwolf had a hand in it to potentially mislead them they didn't know but had no choice but to look into it.
Which had led him to Tevinter. Lavellan had to look into this himself but more importantly to see his paramour that he had not seen in so very long. Tevinter was no place for an elf though unfortunately due to the current climate, so he had to meet with Dorian in more private and secure location. When Lavellan arrived he had pulled the hood down from off his face looking about for the Magister; "Dorian? Are you there?"
With so much hanging in the balance these days, it's been difficult to always keep in touch, even though Dorian has been desperate for their talks. It helps keep him sane when they do get a moment, not only because of his own stress with the magisterium and Lucerni, but because knowing Lavellan is doing alright makes him feel better. Not hearing from him is always a concern and it's those moments he absolutely hates the distance between them.
It truly has been far too long since they last saw one another, and while Tevinter isn't the safest location for the Inquisitor, Dorian is relieved to see him here in one piece. He secured them a private room above a local tavern away from Minrathous, the heart of the city even more dangerous at the moment, so this is the best he can do without taking him directly to his home.
"Amatus-" He responds with relief as he steps into the space from a room connected to this one, lowering the hood of his own robes to reveal himself. There's a warm smile immediately blooming as he approaches the other, quick to cut through the space between them and reach out for him in an embrace. "You made it. You're safe? Well? All in one piece, I see."
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For Tevinterpariah
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Lavellan had only been afforded a few invites, ones for his advisors and three others. Of the companions he picked, Dorian had been one of them, for what could be considered selfish reasons. Varric and the Iron Bull were somewhere in the estate getting ready. Vivienne had been able to handle her own invite; she hadn't wanted to trouble Josephine.
For now, Sen was in the room he had been provided, looking at the outfit he was to wear at the Palace. The tailoring had been more elven, but with far richer fabrics. Josephine had said he needed to stand out as the Inquisitor so this definitely would do it. He should be putting it on but, he sat across from it on the bed fiddling with his fingers nervously. ]
I think I'm going to be sick.
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That does not stop him from acquiescing to the request that he change his robes into something less battle-ready and more suited to such a soiree. Of course, he leans into the notion of dressing up with aplomb and as the Inquisitor opts for a style more closely matching his heritage, so too does the Tevinter, and when he enters Sen's chamber to see about the other man's hair, as he'd promised the Ambassador that he would, he's veritably dripping in gold, with deep black and red robes draped over him artfully and cinched around his waist with fine silk brocade. His eyes are ringed with an artful lining of kohl and, upon approach, he would nearly seem to glitter with a dusting of powdery silver highlight.
The very picture of "put together", while Sen seems to be fretting himself into a terrible spiral. Dorian steps just inside, arms crossed loose over his front, and regards the other with a soft frown.]
I daresay I won't be the one making us late at this rate...
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He was about to say something before he's at a loss for words looking at Dorian. He can't help his mouth part a bit looking at the other. He looked like night; not the harsh, dark, cold kind, but a sky dappled in starlight with a golden moon. It'd be obvious to anyone right now that Sen's cheeks had all but started to redden.
Cassandra might think him possessed by a desire demon looking at Dorian in such away. Handsome, striking. Though, he all but breaks from those thoughts when Dorian speaks. His face falters and it's soon replaced with a frown of his own.]
Oh. Right. I should probably get started. There's fashionably late and then there's "too late and the empire falls apart," late.
[ He stands up to go over to the clothes set on the mannequin to start peeling them off. He might've just thrown them over his head, but he's sure if he did that the fabric would wrinkle. Best not to ruin his clothes now, after all his hair was still in it's usual, messy state.]
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"Very dashing, if I do say so myself. I'm sure that our Lady Montilyet spared no expense to make sure you weren't going to embarrass yourself." He teases, but he has no doubt that that had been on Josephine's mind when she'd sent away for the proper tailors.
Dorian assists in laying the garments down on the bed flat, then stops Sen in his fretting with light hands coming to rest on the elf's slender shoulders, then running down his arms.
"Breathe, amatus. I'm sure either the court will love you, or they'll be so distracted by the rest of us that it hardly matters."
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He might've spiraled even more if it weren't for Dorian bringing him back to reality with this simple gesture. The smooth skin on skin as Dorian relaxes him and Sen lets out a long, tired sigh. He can't help but take one of Dorian's hands and do the same the other Mage did and kiss the palm of it. "You're more confident than I am about all this. At least if I fumble you're all here to help," he says all but pressing Dorian's hand into his face.
He looks back to the clothes on the bed with a small unsure look. "I just hope Vivienne and Josephine's dance lessons don't go to waste."
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He doesn't say this, though. Instead, he lets his hand coast down the side of Sen's neck to fall away again, turning to the clothing in kind.
"You're a quick enough study, I think it will click in the moment. But if you'd like some practice, I'm sure that we can find the time," he offers. "The Winter Palace has many lovely, open spaces that get very little through-traffic. We might find a space to run through the steps together, if you would permit me to be so bold as to request a dance." As he speaks, he picks up the first layer of the new clothes to assist in carefully pulling them on and cinching them closed. Much as he would rather be peeling away those layers, they are already pushing 'fashionably late'.
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Sen would start unbuckling his own shirt from the throat to naval to throw the casual shirt he wore around skyhold aside. He was compliant to put on the attire, sliding his arms through the sleeves, letting Dorian buckle parts for him. The one thing he was thankful for in all of this was he was going to be able to wear his heritage so openly. It'd probably create some sort of fuss but it would be one of those times that it might be to their benefit.
The offer does get him to finally smile a bit, rare as it had been in the last few days. "I'd never say no to a dance with you, Vhenan," Sen said as he reached over to the overly large sash and cape. It was made of silk brocade, a fabric he had grown fond of for the blue hue of it, with silver embroidery in Mythal's marks. The cape would drape over one shoulder and pinned in place with a symbol of the Inquisition. He looked to Dorian, holding out the sash; "I'll need some help tying this if you don't mind."
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Dorian smooths down the layers of fine material as they're cinched, clasped, and arranged, giving the Inquisitor a bit more bulk and presence, especially when the silk is added. The embroidery is similar in pattern to that around his own waist, though his own doesn't lay claim to the goddess that Sen venerates. It's merely a visual similarity, and a subtle show of support on his part. About the only part of him that's subtle really.
As requested, Dorian moves to help tie the sash in place, smoothing a hand over it when it's properly arranged to pull the whole outfit together.
He steps back again, regarding Sen with his fingers under his chin, head at a tilt. "If it weren't such a process I might say you should wear such things more often," he comments thoughtfully, looking quite approving. He moves to the vanity table provided with the room where he'd placed some of his own cosmetics for use for this affair, not surprised to see that none of it had been touched. He turns back again and holds out a hand.
"Come, I've still got to see to it that you don't look so much like a bird's nest."
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Sen finally laughs at the remark on the clothes. Of course, Dorian would focus on that first. "If you helped me personally at Skyhold with this I might consider it," Sen answered with a coy grin, a hint of what Sen might be getting at later. However, his face falls into something more of a put at the remark on his hair.
Reaches up to one of his blond strands and tugs at it a bit. "It's not that messy. I'd like to think it's neatly disheveled," Sen responds with a small defeated sigh. He takes Dorian's outstretched hand and moves towards the vanity, sitting down in front of it. Looking at all the powders and inks, only makes Sen's face scrunch a bit in hesitance. "I'm beginning to think the real war is with these potions you've set out before me, Dorian."
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"I think that can be arranged," Dorian chuckles, and his hands briefly venture between the folds of Sen's clothes, though like this he obviously can't get any more skin contact without undoing the work they'd already done. He only lingers for a moment, the smile growing somewhat at Sen's objection to the oncoming slew of potions, tinctures, and products that would shortly be massaged into his skin and hair.
"I promise you, it's not that bad. Here, take a seat."
And the moment that Sen is situated on the plush cushion in front of the vanity, Dorian sets to work, deft fingers and practiced movements massaging oils into his hair and the space just behind his ears. It makes the blonde fluff easier to work with, until it can be combed and styled into something a little less disheveled. When that's done, Sen will find himself being asked to tilt his head this way and that, to close his eyes, to part his lips, all the while Dorian makes quick, gentle work of applying pigments and stains and highlights, A similar silver to his own along the cheeks following his vallaslin, serving to brighten it rather than obscure it. Rose-pink on a blotter tissue is pressed to the elf's lips after they've been daubed with water, sure to stain without the possibility of transfer like those oil-based makeups the Orlesians all seemed to favor. A thin line of color near identical to that of Mythal's branches fanning across his forehead to edge Sen's eyes after the lids have been touched with subtle color to match his clothes. Dorian works with his fingers as much as he does with brushes, and after a fair amount of adjusting, blending and chattering about the cost to import his favored cosmetics if he tried to go through proper channels, he's able to step back and let the other finally take in the change. He's not perfectly flawless, it would take more than just one pass with Dorian's personal regimen to bring him up to that level, but he's certainly more than good enough to be seen in noble company now.
"The more secret upside of the stain," Dorian is saying as he starts to pack it all away again, "is that I might be able to steal you away and there be no trace left behind that they could question you for."
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He felt it soothing feeling Dorian's fingers run through his thick, blond hair as the oil was applied to it. He sits up, allowing the tangles to be combed out, already looking more kempt and smoothed. The rest he does as instructed, cheeks painted, lips dyed, his Vallaslin highlighted more prominently. The whole procedure was more relaxing than he thought, already forgetting his troubles. He only occasionally lets out a small noise of affirmation every once in awhile or a "that's too bad," in regards to Dorian's current import woes. Honestly, he could fall asleep with just how soothing this was.
Finally, he opens his eyes and he didn't expect to see what he did. What he thought might be vibrant makeup, something the Orelsian nobility did, of white powdered faces, with striking blushes and lip colours; his is more subtle. More enhancing what was already there than painting on an entirely new face. He smiles a bit, having to stop himself from touching his cheek as he looks over and up at Dorian. "Well, I see we have an artist in the Inquisition. Maybe we should keep you at Skyhold more, have you do portraits instead," he says with a laugh.
He can't help but smile to himself, blushing slightly at Dorian's words. "Hah. People might think you whisked me away to Tevinter or something. Might not be the best plan right now," he says as he gets up from his seat. With some of the tension finally seeping out of his body he takes in a large breath, "Well, shall we be going?"
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"Perish the thought. You might end up with a hundred highly idealized versions of yourself before I tired of it," he jokes, though he settles and amends, "I'm not, really. This is just what I do for myself, and I suggested that it might help your presentation here. You will never be fully above reproach to these people, but they will find no fault to pick apart at first sight like the vultures they are."
He's determined, after all, that this should go off without any more trouble than is to be expected from a grand political soiree in general. Nobody will have a reason to cause Lavellan undue trouble.
When Sen stands, Dorian's hands come to light at his sides, and he dips for a feather-light kiss. He won't address the notion of whisking him away to Tevinter; they both know how dangerous of an idea that is, even to joke about. It's one of those unspoken strains on their budding relationship. They would cross that bridge when they came to it, though.
Dorian gestures toward the door then, straightening himself back up with his hands clasped at his back. "After you, dear Inquisitor."
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But, Ugh. Politics. He slowly became as jaded and miserable as Cassandra came with it. Only difference was he could play nice and civil. Not that he wanted to, but, that was his role as Inquisitor now. Make nice.
Thankfully, that's all banished when he's literally dipped and kissed. He wants to reach up, run a hand through Dorian's hair, touch his face, but holds back; he didn't want to ruin the man's paint job. He does however, go in for a good butt grab with the biggest grin on his face.
Back on his feet, he shakes his head with a laugh at how formal Dorian transitioned to, walking out as he gives a half glance back to Dorian.
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Hours later at the Winter Palace. Sen was already hating it here. He made sure to keep his cool and the appearance of the Inquisitor. The snide remarks he could do without as there was always something he could hear behind his back every so often. Slowly, though the remarks turned to gossip about how to get in good with him.
He was making a statement, saying the right things, doing the right things, gaining favour. He was becoming the talk of the party. While Sen remained good natured throughout the stress of what was to come was mounting. Who was planning to kill Celene and how to get these feuding cousins to stop their all-out bloodshed.
For a moment he managed to get away, finding Dorian in the gardens. He moves past some of the nobles, waving idly and smiling before he stands beside the man. "So, how has the affair been going for you?"
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He's been pointedly shooting back at any and every question or comment that comes his way about the Inquisition, and if it weren't for him wanting to preserve their good name here, he might have let himself get deep in his cups and actually start something about it.
He doesn't say any of this to Sen though. When the other comes to check in with him, Dorian simply smiles, picking himself up to face him more fully.
"It's been a fascinating venture," he replies dryly. "Have you tried eating anything yet? Do try the ham, tastes of despair."
His voice lowers, and he leans a touch closer. "You're doing wonderfully, amatus. I daresay you'll have them eating out of your hands by the end of the night."
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Thankfully, they're both out of earshot of others that Sen could lean in more conspiratorially. He can't help but smirk at the idea of what others might think they're talking about. Still, they were on a mission right now. "It's amazing what a few dance lessons can do for one's reputation. Not to mention perhaps going into places I shouldn't be," he has to repress a snicker. Oh the dirt he found.
"Actually, I did get a few compliments from one of the Dowagers'. She said she liked how my face was painted and I absolutely have to tell her where I got such pigments. She even not so subtley said she'd have to steal the person who did it for me."
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There are enough people that are doing the exact same thing, to whatever end, that Sen and Dorian's conversation doesn't look particularly odd from the outside. They may be here on a mission, but they don't have to act so terribly serious and attract anyone's attention. To that end, Dorian's hand comes to light against the other's side, a terribly familiar gesture that he's determined would be a suitable distraction from the more serious things that they may be accused of. At least if someone is to believe they're planning some sort of illicit tryst, they could gossip about that rather than the more nefarious plots that they're actively trying to prevent.
Dorian gestures off down a side path away from the meandering ball attendees, keeping his posture only semi-formal at best. He can't help but chuckle at the commentary of the Dowagers. "Oh, is that so? I'd rather think you wouldn't give me up so easily," he jokes. "As much as I would rather not talk business in the here and now, if she does indeed wish to find out what I use, perhaps a trade agreement could be made. To the benefit of myself and the Inquisition as a whole, I'm sure."
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He's brought back to earth as he curves into Dorian's body with their hand on his waist. "Don't worry, I kept my lips sealed. Teased it a bit that she should go to Josephine. She'll be sure to stir the dowager your way a bit later in the night. Though Josephine did ask me to be sure you did one thing before she would," Sen says, looking as he were leaning up to give the man a kiss.
Instead, though his hand goes overtop the wine glass and push it down. "She told me ask you to cut down on the wine. Can't have a drunken trade agreement after all," Sen said with a bit of a smirk.
Thevint
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Which had led him to Tevinter. Lavellan had to look into this himself but more importantly to see his paramour that he had not seen in so very long. Tevinter was no place for an elf though unfortunately due to the current climate, so he had to meet with Dorian in more private and secure location. When Lavellan arrived he had pulled the hood down from off his face looking about for the Magister; "Dorian? Are you there?"
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It truly has been far too long since they last saw one another, and while Tevinter isn't the safest location for the Inquisitor, Dorian is relieved to see him here in one piece. He secured them a private room above a local tavern away from Minrathous, the heart of the city even more dangerous at the moment, so this is the best he can do without taking him directly to his home.
"Amatus-" He responds with relief as he steps into the space from a room connected to this one, lowering the hood of his own robes to reveal himself. There's a warm smile immediately blooming as he approaches the other, quick to cut through the space between them and reach out for him in an embrace. "You made it. You're safe? Well? All in one piece, I see."