[closed] let's go girls

[altusimperius]

WHO: Bastien, Benedict, Byerly (the Better Business Bureau)
WHAT: DRAG NIGHT
WHEN: sometime in [mumbles] winter
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: will add if necessary, I don't think anyone who's offended by any of this would last very long in this game

Fausta was an amalgamation of things: undergarments and cosmetics and shoes from Byerly, a wig and hair decorations and a fine Minrathousian gown from the Scouting closet, all mishmashed together in a convincing approximation of a wealthy lady in Tevinter's high society. It had done the job, and Benedict enjoyed the effort, but has since summarily refused to participate in Kirkwall's scene until he's gotten all the details just right.

And finally, he has: it's the night of an event in one of Lowtown's more curious establishments, and, having born witness to it before but in plainclothes, Benedict is ready for Fausta to make her society debut.
Or, at least, he will be when they're finished getting ready-- having arrived at Byerly and Bastien's house with all his things and a fancy cheese tray, the preparations have begun.

Comments

[cozen]

Looking at his own face in the mirror is a terribly convenient excuse not to pay any attention to Rat Red and Benedict's touching reunion, as it happens.

"That was not on purpose," he says. "I only meant for them to argue. But someone had already set the Duc's teeth on edge before he ever saw my face." He swats someone on the ass. It's not rude; Benedict is surely too busy stealing the love and loyalty of his dog to notice. "Fortunately no one tonight should care about who inherits Évreux, so we can wear all the teal we want."



Which may be none. Teal or no teal, they probably look very nice when they arrive at the dance hall. They're promptly swarmed by familiar and aspiring friends — but Bastien extricates himself from this very neatly to secure a well-placed table and a pitcher of water someone's tried to improve the Kirkwally taste of with mint and winter citrus.

[bouchonne]

Byerly is certainly in his element here. When he was the Ambassador, he was good with the nobles and the fine folk of Kirkwall; he knew how to talk and cajole. But no one would ever mistake it for something genuine once they saw how By moved in these circles. His glittering joy and effervescent warmth at the sight of friends and beloved rivals is plain to see.

It's also rather infectious. The people that greet them - the ladies, the gentlemen, those who choose neither category - show real love both for the two they know and the newcomer. They exclaim over Benedict's beauty, scold him for not showing his face before now (because even if he'd been here before, it wasn't showing this face), flirt and kiss. Making their way over to Bastien is like pushing through a field of sunflowers.

"All right, Emilie," Byerly laughs, swatting at a hand that's reaching up to caress Benedict's earrings. "Stop that."

[altusimperius]

Benedict absolutely notices the swat, but bravely says nothing as envy swells within him. Not to smack Byerly's ass, of course-- weird-- but perhaps, someday, for someone to smack his. True romance.

He's quick to forget his yearnings as they enter the club. He's met many of these people before, but as a different self; he knew to expect some level of acclaim upon making his debut, but wasn't prepared for this level of attention.

Which, of course, he loves. In fact, he hasn't stopped grinning since they walked through the door, despite having had noble intentions of remaining aloof and demure-- it is truly the happiest he has ever looked, and his languid manner has become uncharacteristically animated as he speaks around his fan to an admirer.

"I don't mind," he admonishes Byerly, casting him a warm, sidelong glance when he intervenes, "she knows quality."

[cozen]

Bastien watches their approach from the table with a smile that is mostly for Byerly but polite enough — now, in public — not to fade when it passes to Benedict. Pouring water into his collection of wooden cups, he says, "She knows exactly what quality sells for," mostly to get Emilie to turn a look of faux outrage upon him, which she does. He answers it with a wink.

However quietly he's tucked himself into the table, he's not entirely below notice. Someone passing him in voluminous skirts almost passes him by, then sees him properly and turns back two steps to hug his head, which he accepts with grace even though that means their arms are wrapped around his neck and mouth.