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.
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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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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."
no subject
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?"
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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.