Open: Party Preparations

[madame_de_fer]

WHO: Josephine, Vivienne, OPEN
WHAT: Preparing the Inquisition for the Soiree
WHEN: 15 Guardian to 14 Drakonis (about a month's span before the event)
WHERE: Skyhold, varies
NOTES: * Josephine is the hostess of the shindig. Matters regarding invitations, guest lists, admittance, entertainment, food, or general complaints/suggestions should be directed to her.
* Vivienne has personally invited three tailors from Val Royeaux to assist with clothes making for the attendees. She is available to assist with design selections and/or advice on how to behave.
* YOU are open and invited to grab your nearest and dearest CR to complain about the party, ask for a date to he event, complain you have nothing to wear.
* Belinda Darrow has donated from her own private purse to the cost of clothing which people could otherwise not afford.

The Orlesian tailors arrived in great state, bringing with them a cadre of servants, workers, and snotty attitudes. They hate everything. It is cold in Skyhold. It is damp. Everything smells of wet dog. The working conditions are abysmal. The food is criminal. There's not a damned thing they don't complain about, except for the piles of coin they stand to make from this soiree. Yes, they are more than content to build a fortune with exclusive work that will be seen by some of the aristocracy's finest.

Harritt apparently doesn't much like them either. They've taken over his Undercroft with their fabrics and threads, designs and opinions. Oh they have opinions. He stays to one corner, attending his work, and grumbling under his breath about the poncy cheesesniffers.

Comments

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin's heard about the snooty, too-good-for-everyone Orlesian tailors and their endless complaints, rather glad that they hate everything in Skyhold. If they didn't, she'd know her own taste was slipping. The only reason she hasn't trolled them is due to Vivienne's personal invitation, and she'd rather not make an enemy of her teacher. Butting heads during Council meetings happens all the time, but that would be crossing a line. So, she behaves herself.

Still, when the Vashoth woman enters the Undercroft, it isn't with any great enthusiasm. Clothing is always a matter of some inconvenience for her, given her size, and she has no real interest in bowing to Orlesian fashion. If she could get away with wearing her armor, she would. But that won't pass for soiree attire and she knows it. So she stands by the entrance but not blocking it, side-eyeing the stuffy, complaining tailors at work.

"There's no escaping this, is there. Ugh...."

[embracelight]

Belinda is also in the Undercroft, sitting on a barrel not far from the door and just watching the proceedings below. It reminds her too much of when she was a girl and the seamstresses would measure her and her sister for new dresses. Moira loved it, but Belinda didn't care what she wore as look as it wasn't itchy or long enough to trip on.

There are several people being attended too, and that gives Belinda time to determine whether or not she actually wants to go through with this. She's never really liked formal affairs. There are too many rules and no one seems to be having any fun. Why stand around in uncomfortable shoes, drinking bad tasting wine and speaking of nonsense instead of just having fun?

"Isn't there?" she asks, overhearing Korrin. "I'm still not sure if I'll attend. You could not go."

[unbrokenoath]

Kaisa had already made the trip to get measured, and was currently up to her neck in tape measures, pins, and random bits of cloth draped over her. While she's shorter than Korrin, she's as tall and wide as an average male warrior, and the tailor isn't too pleased. But she seems more amused than anything by the clucking and tutting, and seems to take great delight in the way he protests as she turns to face the qunari entering the mess.

"Ah, Korrin! Finally joining the madness, huh? I can't wait to see what they do to you." She grinned cheerfully, eyeing the other woman up and down, and it's with mischief in her eyes that she declares, "Tulle, I think. A tulle skirt. Layers of it. With lots of little ribbons and bows."

[fleurdesel]

"Smile, nod, and have an idea of what colors look best on you. If something looks or feels truly offensive, scowl." Adelaide murmurs from where she waits at Korrin's side, eyes flicking over garments and silk and the almost frantic measuring and pinning of the tailors. "Wine after?"

SIGH, amirite

[nadasharillen]

At the beginning, Nahariel was filled with great annoyance. Her small workstation had been co-opted, and was covered in... not her work. Orlesian fripperies. Fabrics she didn't even know how to name, small jeweled beads that glinted in the light, and appeared to actually be precious stones, not simple glass or crystal. By the end of her mental inventory, she was filled with a grudging respect for the quality of the material. A craft was a craft.

Then she had been shooed off by a horrified looking attendant, perhaps worried that her Dalishness would somehow rub off on the silks.

Making her way out, irked again, Nari was glad to run into a familiar face wearing an expression she very much identified with.

"Korrin! ...Do you know what all this is about?"

[theproperglove]

How long has it been since she's organised a soiree? Too long, in truth. As much as she enjoys her current role, doing her best to nurture the Inquisition's political interests through the power of the written word, there is nothing quite like a party. She tries to make herself as available as possible for any issues or suggestions people might have, and can be found anywhere from in her office, poring over the guest list, to the kitchens, organising food supplies, to the undercroft, enquiring after the tailors to make sure that they are comfortable. It's a pity that Skyhold is so cold and isolated, but those are things that Josephine can not change.

She will do her very utmost to ensure that everything else goes off without a hitch, however.

[gatheringstorm]

Awaiting her turn with the eagerness of one condemned to execution, Korrin rolls her eyes and mutters to the ambassador once she's sure the tailors are sufficiently distracted. "They're never comfortable, you know. Have those awesome tiny Orlesian cakes to appease them and of course they're not the right kind. Or there's too many 'low-class' trapping, because what will really bring Corypheus down is to have everything doused in gold. And I heard one of them say that the waterfall was too loud. The fucking waterfall. Do they seriously expect someone to stop it? ...don't tell me, I'm sure I don't want to know."

[aceso]

{ open }
While Christine doesn't share Madame de Fer's views on many things, she can't deny that a soiree at Skyhold is a decent way to draw the eye of nobles with coin, and funding can only help them in their fight. Once she returns from Emprise du Lion, she makes her way to the Undercroft with a blue silk dress in hand. It's the one Krem made for her out of Antivan silk, and she asks only that a top piece be made to go with it. The tailors tsk and scrutinize the dress, but as Christine happens to adore it, all they get is an icy glare and a tart comment.

"If you are incapable of the task, I will be happy to spread the word that you are flummoxed by the small job of adding to an existing piece."

The tailors are prideful enough to not want word of that to get out (they may complain of everything under the sun, but they are masters at the craft), and usher her behind a privacy screen to change into her dress so they can measure her for an addition. While she stands up on a short pedestal, arms outspread, she exchanges a look with whomever is on the next pedestal over.

{ closed to church }
It isn't hard to find Christine, as her few haunts are the healer tents, the library, or the kitchens. And so if Church needs to track her down, he need only look in on those few places. Or reach out to her on her crystal.

[motherfucking_ghost]

Church is haunting the kitchens a little less than before, now that he's pretty sure he's got this fully functioning human body thing mostly down pat. But food is still awesome, and it's warm from the cooking, so hell yes he's still going to hang out there when he's got the chance, when he's not getting shooed away.

"Getting a snack, huh?" he says with a smirk, sidling up to Christine when he spots her. "Or cooking up some medicinal herbs?" (It'll stop being funny when he's dead, shut up.)

[arachnophobe]

Some people take well to the entire situation, the prospect of a potential party on the horizon, fancy food, being around the nobles, and so on. Why not prep?

Alejandro is fine for people getting ready. Knock yourself out! It's not like he intends on going, but he's about on the same level as Harritt: the Undercroft is consumed with tailors and clothing, and that's not giving either of them much room to work.

"Maker fuckin' save me," he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

[gatheringstorm]

"Too late, you have to suffer like the rest of us." Korrin's nearby, evidently waiting her turn with a notable lack of enthusiasm. That might have something to do with the endless complaining of the snooty tailors, and their 'dreadful working conditions'. The Vashoth woman rolls her eyes as one complains about the volume of the waterfall and mutters under her breath. "You're going to get to know that waterfall a lot more intimately if you don't shut up...."

[el_tybs]

Sam honestly feels rather bad for the master blacksmith, having to give up his space and listen to the complaints going on. When the man turns to look at him with a raised brow, Sam cannot help but make a sheepish face and try to look as apologetic as possible since he was there to get fitted and not to learn more about the forge - sorry Harritt.

Waiting for his own turn, Sam cannot help but be a bit annoyed by the snooty comments, and the backhanded comments. At the same time though he seems a bit interested about a new outfit. Not that he overly cares to have one, or much about the soiree itself, but there might have been some deals made that made him eager to put up with all this.

[embracelight]

Tucked into a corner behind a couple of barrels, Belinda is reading a copy of Hard in Hightown that someone's left there. But every time the door opens, she sneaks a peek at who it is. None of the tailors have come up the stairs to haul her down for a fitting, so this has given her the opportunity to people watch.

When Sam enters, she places her round face in between two barrels.

"Psst! Sam! Over here!"

[unbrokenoath]

Kaisa is about as apt at soirees as a drunk bear, but she's a good enough sport to take the preparations in stride. She stands obediently as the servants of the tailors dart around her like birds with measuring tapes, gathering her measurements. When one of the tailors makes a snide comment about how they don't usually make dresses for women who are quite so...muscular, she just grins, and looms over the smaller man. A whisper to him that she can show him just how she can use her muscles, and the tailor backs off, unsure if he had just been threatened or propositioned. Either is mortifying enough that he keeps his comments on her physique to himself.

But nothing could keep him from commentary on her suggestions for her outfit for the ballroom, and anyone nearby can hear him loudly protesting what, from the sounds of it, appears to be an attempt to surpass even Morrigan's amount of skin shown for her dress.

"I will not have it! I will not create a dress to make someone look like some wanton trollop!"

"What if I am a wanton trollop? I don't want to be accused of false advertisement."

Kaisa isn't sure what's her part: The horrified gasp of the tailor, the color his face turns, or the way that the servant trying to measure her inseam tries to stifle her giggles.

OTA - One thread for Vivienne and 'fire dress'

[the_effect_she_has]

There is only one reason, and one reason alone, that Katniss is down here in the undercroft that has nothing to do with weaponry. That is 'funding'. Josephine agreed to her trying to raise funds on her own at the party, considering that it is one less thing that the Inquisition currently has to pay for. For that, she'd need to go to the party (not a problem as Cullen's invitation had been flatteringly quick), and she'd need a gown.

The rest she'd leave to her passion for her cause, and Wicked's quick wits and clever tongue. She wished he was here now, because her temper's already getting the better of her.

"I swear to the Maker, the Creators, and all of Andraste's golden hairs, if you grab my ass one more time and make some snide comment in your fancy cheesemonger language, I am going to make the new Orlesian fashion black eyes and missing teeth." She snarls at one of the tailors, "I'm paying you, not the other way around -- and yes, guess what? In any tongue I can understand lewdness."

[demonicbeauty]

Watching people try on beautiful dresses was as exciting for Ariadne as watching a play. She loved the transformations, both of the fabric into gorgeous gowns and of the people who wore them. It was a special kind of energy, one that she rarely got to enjoy.

She'd tucked herself neatly into a corner, trying to stay out of the tailors' way and to avoid attention as much as possible.

But then she heard a familiar voice with a very familiar attitude.

"Katniss?"

Ariadne popped up from her nook, following the sound.

ota;

[foxsays]

Though she's worn a suit or leathers since arriving in Thedas, she's missed wearing a real gown though for practical reasons she wouldn't wear one in the day here; she avoids the ground when she can, more comfortable scaling walls and climbing, and simply because she can do it in a dress doesn't mean it's a habit. You ruin a perfectly good (often expensive) dress that way.

This was palace life for the past year, fitted for as many suits and sets of light ceremonial armour as gowns and she looks remarkably calm the whole time, even laughing with the tailors.

"I was thinking a pale blue? And darker for the detailing?" She says as she lifts her arms so they're out of the way of the measuring tape. There's a little consternation at the bust and she frowns, glancing down at herself and the tailor. "A corset would be best, I know my measurements but...what is considered to be scandalous here?"

Right now, given being questioned and her training, she doesn't want to draw attention for the wrong reasons.

[aceso]

"I think the better question is: 'what is not considered scandalous here?'" Christine says with a hint of a smile. She's standing in the blue gown Krem made up for her while two different brocades and set on either shoulder and the tailors' apprentices discuss them with one of the masters.

"Judging people and finding fault is unfortunately a sport in my home country. The trick is to find the right balance that will get them talking, but keep their purses open for the Inquisition." That's the only reason Christine is going. She wants to study red lyrium and like everything else, that requires funds to come from somewhere.

[mythalenaste]

All right. It's a tiny, very overwhelmed silver-haired elf. People are draping jewel-toned fabrics on her and braiding her hair in various ways, and if you look closely, her hands are shaking. But when it comes to making decisions, there is a smile on her face. Greens and silvers, like Vivienne always suggests. And, marvelously, a pair of barefoot sandals. The experts seem to relish making over a Dalish savage.

[fleurdesel]

"Put the ivory away, do you want her to look like a ghost? The emerald-" Adelaide flicks her fingers at the bolt of fabric she wishes them to try instead. "Will suit her far better and you know it."

[wickedchase]

"Oh, I'm sorry, but who was the one who decided to bring the plaidweave? Because that's a hilarious joke of a material. I presume it was a joke, yes? Don't even get it anywhere near me."

This is something Twisted Fate generally enjoys, actually. Mocking said plaidweave aside, he's thrilled to see the various materials from Orlais and letting the tailors dress him up as they'd like. He may not necessarily take their advice, but he's certainly not going to turn his nose down at the prospect of wearing various Orlesian clothing.

Not a chance.

[fleurdesel]

"But you're a Marcher that isn't supposed to know better and the plaidweave must go somewhere." While her own fittings and consultations went with all the grace she'd given her harrowing- Adelaide is better able to look at her friends in much the same and spare some humor. "Whatever are they going to put you in?"

[fleurdesel]

The entirety of Adelaide's expression and temperament for the ordeal can be summed up neatly with 'why this?, why now?', there is research to be done, students to teach, Council business to tend, patients to heal- she has barely enough time in the day to manage what she would wish to do normally and now she must stand about quietly and calmly while tailors consider silk against her skin? Making mention that she had gowns already, thank you, had done little to deter the runner that had been sent for her, and less still against the tailors themselves.

At least they are as frustrated with her as she is with them- her answers to their questions regarding preference and fit remain monosyllabic and less than helpful. "Blues and whites. Wool. Loose so I may move. I do not care about the bodice. No I will not wear a mask. I do not care about fans. As long as I can breathe. No. No. Put the Chartreuse away-"

[serannas]

Ellana has to be tracked down by a messenger of Vivienne's and told to attend a fitting. All Mage Council members must attend, they said. She doesn't really think it's a good idea, because what does she know of fancy dances? These things have ridiculous rules, and she'll already be judged twice as harshly for being an elf. But if it's for the good of the Council, she'll do it. She just plans to put in an appearance at the soiree and sneak out early anyway.

When she enters the Undercroft, two of the three tailors are free, and she can hear the Orlesian accents over the rushing of the waterfall behind them. Oh, this isn't going to go well, is it? A brief thought enters her head at how Morrigan would handle these people, and that makes her lift her chin a little as she approaches.

"I'm Councilor Ashara. Madame de Fer asked that I come for a fitting." There is no way these tailors are going to mess with the desires of the Iron Lady. The two exchange a look, and she can practically see the word "rabbit" flittering around their heads. Then one clears their throat and picks up the measuring tape.

"Stand straight, arms at your side." Ellana does as instructed and waits. It takes a lot for humans to get to her, and the missing "please" isn't going to cause a tirade. They take down her measurements, telling her how to stand, and once they have the numbers, the complaining starts.

"No figure at all!

"The clothes will hang off her like a coat rack, limp and lifeless."

"We could add padding."

Ellana sighs and relaxes her posture, looking over to the other victim the third tailor is attending to. If the tailors are going to speak like she isn't there, she can do the same.

"Any luck not having your every feature scrutinized?"

for merrill.

[apostasia]

Martel's own fitting had been efficient, exacting and brief; he handled their attitudes by behaving as if noticing it was beneath him and ran casually roughshod over them with his own, precise and specific in what he wants and what he expects. It had probably not thrilled any of their Orlesian guests when afterwards he had remained -

with Merrill, whose fittings he has apparently undertaken to personally oversee.

"Fabric can be dyed," he's saying, holding two pieces against her, thoughtfully, to see whether or not the colours they already are might suit. "What do you like the texture of? We can change it to suit if need be."

By 'we' he means the expensive problem children who wish he'd leave.

[chainlightning]

Clothing made to fit her isn't exactly new; while there are certainly hand-offs and castdowns, the Dalish were hunters and mages and knew the value of well-fitting armor. But none of it has ever been this fancy, practically ceremonial for all the emphasis being placed on this upcoming celebration. None of it has ever been out of these sorts of materials, either, the textures and colors of which are making Merrill's gaze flick around the room at an almost dizzying pace.

It is Martel's presence that helps steady her, the familiarity of his voice and the fact that, for all he is more versed in this than she is, he's a friend. He's certainly someone who will keep any Orlesian tailors from steamrolling her with their opinions (whether they are simply opinions Merrill doesn't agree with or ones specifically designed to show their opinion of elves), and honestly, it's also quite interesting to watch him work with the others. Maybe he would stand out in Orlais, as she once told him, but he could also do quite well.

"I- um, soft? I've mostly worn leather, I suppose."

closed to vivienne and possibly josephine?

[stabsbooks]

She arrives on the balcony of the Great Hall to find utter chaos. Controlled chaos, because this is Vivienne, but chaos all the same.

Still, the Enchanter had asked for her, and had indicated that the matter was urgent, and so Cassandra makes her way through yards of silk and scores of tailors and assistants running to and fro until she reaches Vivienne herself. Whatever all the fuss is for, she is certain that it has nothing to do with her, and so she dismisses it as best she can.

"Enchanter Vivienne. You wanted to speak with me?"

[madame_de_fer]

Delightful controlled chaos. The balcony is a riot of colors and fabrics. Fine fabrics which Vivienne's slender fingers lift and lay, assessing for drape and weight, and acceptable contrasts. There is no mistaking her delight in the process which she's engaged in. It's so seldom that little luxuries happen in Skyhold. With good reason. But it's such a pleasure breaking up the tedium with something nice for a change, a true challenge. A challenge like getting Cassandra into a ballgown.

She turns and smiles at Cassandra, eyes practically dancing. "Ah, there you are, my dear. I'm so delighted you could pry yourself away."

Already she's looking the Seeker up and down, mentally considering cuts and designs, colors suited to her coloring. Because the Iron Lady knows that Cassandra's not given any thought to what she's going to wear to this soiree. But she'll give her the chance to surprise them both first.

"Have you already selected your gown for our Lady Ambassador's little get together?"

[ombranera]

On the one hand- far too many people. On the other? Proper attire for this upcoming soiree with tailors that did not work exclusively with furs, leathers, and mud. Orlesians were not Antivan in their styling but they could take direction well enough for all that they were surprised he had opinions. A great many opinions as to how a thing should be draped, a cuff should be pinned, and whether or not there would be room for his boots over the trousers.

There would, or he would introduce them to the Antivan Tanner that found their way to Skyhold last month. "Yes, just so, no, not heavy silks- something light and gauzy. I am certain you have something that might suit."

A new vest in thick brocade, a shirt in something fine and thin as a contrast- explaining the very concept of a half cape was daunting but not something he would have much difficulty over. Besides- the faces they made when he corrected them? Priceless. Truly he was having far, far too much fun with this.

[madame_de_fer]

From the entryway of the Undercroft, Vivienne stands in as much state as she holds herself on her balcony. She comes every day to see how matters proceed and to intervene in cases where the tailors forget themselves and the coin they stand to make. She's done them a great favor inviting them here for exclusive rights to clothe the Inquisition. Some days they forget that this is a privilege and not a right and she needs to linger until they remember.

Her lips curl into a cat-like smile as she listens to Zevran provide them with direction. She's always felt he had good taste and is more than pleased to hear once again that she is correct. He will look dashing. Just what they will need that night.

After a few minutes of private enjoyment, she saunters over with that pleased smile still present. "I thought I'd come to see how you fared in the hands of Orlais' finest tailors. They are treating you well I trust, my dear?"

[madame_de_fer]

Above and beyond the many things which fill Vivienne's day - teaching apprentices, training Korrin, writing copious letters to the far flung corners of Thedas, attending to alchemical research - more has been added to her attentions. Namely overseeing the preparations for Lady Montilyet's soiree being hosted to put off some preposterous rumors.

Most days, her balcony is largely taken over with fabric swatches and sheaves of clothing designs, for both men and women. It is good to have something readily at hand for those poor, lost souls without an ounce of fashion sense to their name. And it is so terribly important that everyone look their best that evening. So much hangs in the balance. The opportunities for the Inquisition to secure wealthy and devout allies are too great to leave in the hands of poorly dressed rabble.

Every day, she makes her way down to the Undercroft to see how the tailor's work progresses. She understands they make frequent complaint about the working conditions. When their grousing gets out of hand, she firmly reminds them of the fortune they are making. Not to mention the very real privilege of making a name for themselves as exclusive providers to the Inquisition. That typically stops them. At least for a quarter of an hour.

[theproperglove]

One of the several upsides to the soiree is that overseeing its organisation gives Josephine an excuse for leaving her office. It is good to be able to move around and see work being done, to see her efforts come to fruition in this way, even if it has not in many others, of late.

The special day is less than a half a week away when Josephine runs into Vivienne in the Undercroft. She walks up to the Iron Lady, standing at her shoulder as she looks in the direction of the tailors, watching them at work. "How is everything going here?"

[lifeofendurance]

The tittering should be a good indication that none of the three tailors are being truthful in their requirements for Aleron's fitting.

Both women and the man, keeping leaning in to whisper behind their hands in some conspiracy. He's not too terribly inclined to notify them that just because he mangles his Orlesian with his Free Marcher accent, doesn't mean he cannot understand the language. Especially when their "whispers" are more precisely conversational tone. Or when one of the women flicks her hand and squeals, "Oh-la-la..." before giggling again.

Maker help him, Aleron is in fashion hell.

He stands with his arms folded over his chest in riding breeches and an undershirt waiting for them to get on with their business. Already they've demanded he shed his leather jerkin he'd worn out for a ride that morning.

They are plotting. He can tell it, and only years of trained self-discipline stops him from narrowing his eyes at them. Clothing should be well-made, but practical. What he hears of their scheming is growing more outlandish by the minute.

Finally, they turn and face him and the man informs the broody Seeker, "Monsieur? We require the shirt off as well to take your measurements properly, s'il vous plait."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Take a deep breath, and think of the Tourney," came a voice from nearby, a fellow Free Marcher, wryly amused for his own state of half-undress now that they've finished with him.

Maxwell has lived the same dark horror, Aleron. He knew that pain.

"The sooner it's done, the sooner they are."

[dragoon_pride]

After the intense battle with those demons and mages, Kain had to get a minor repair job on some of his armor. Nothing that couldn't be fixed up readily enough, so he'd brought it in. Now he's returning to collect it, and hopefully resume training. He's noticeably walking slowly and with a slight limp, but of course, has he rested properly since returning? Hardly.

He's astonished and appalled when he sees the whole place is taken over by... tailors. Not just any tailors, ones who are working on fancy clothing. Riiiiight. He vaguely remembers talk of a ball or some such, but has largely ignored it. He's just going to attempt sneaking through all of this madness and go grab his chestplate and greaves, and get out of here fast.

[theproperglove]

Unfortunately for Kain, Josephine is in attendance at the Undercroft that day. When she sees the man, it does not occur to her that he may simply be trying to retrieve his armor before making his exit. Or perhaps it does, but simply does not care.

Sometimes it's hard to tell with Josephine. She reaches out to lay a hand on his armor, asking, "Are you here to get a fitting?"

[keeperofmagi]

open to all;

The servants and workers don't dare complain to the woman who stands amongst them, glaring down at the fabrics as if they personally insulted her. They assume - as most would who do not know her - that she is affronted by the mere idea of having to dress in anything other than her carefully oiled (if oddly scratched) suit of armour. They would likely assume that she hates everyone and every thing, and would be likely to snap the head off anyone who was too close or looked at her funny.

(They would not necessarily be wrong.)

For the few that knew her better, however, there is a knot in her brow that indicates that she is more worried and concerned than she is angry - and perhaps a touch confused. Glaring at the fabric as if it will suddenly speak to her, and give her a purpose for the gala evening beyond playing a guard.

She doubts it highly.


for dorian

"The black and gold, or the silver" She says bluntly. "The peacock green will clash." She says it as if she is referring to something specific, and perhaps she is - there is a small bundle under her arm, wrapped up tightly in fabric.

[dreadinquisitor]

"Mind the plaidweave."

Maxwell was bared to the waist, waiting for his tailor to return (jus'ze zing, jus'z you wait), toying the thin chain around his neck idly when he spotted the familiar face. Quietly, he'd watched her for a moment, head cocking as she tentatively stroked the fabric.

"It might actually bite."

[eolasemah]

closed to Vivienne and advisors, if they want

In an effort to improve relations between shardbearers and the general populace, as well as to prove her goodwill to the Inquisition, Sina has volunteered to attend the soiree. She plans to stay off to one side, most likely seated for the duration (her health is improving, but she still tires rapidly), answering any questions posed by the Orlesians or other nobles about the rift in Skyhold.

Of course, she is incredibly nervous, almost to the point of rescinding her decision. She has never been in a room crowded with humans before, and is afraid of both what they might say and what she herself might do to damage the reputation of her clan, the Dalish at large, shardbearers, possibly Rifters, and even herself. Needless to say, she knows nothing of The Game and will likely crash and burn without some basic guidance.

open!

On a more pleasant note, Sina has been slowly going about the process of preparing. She has nothing to worry about in the wardrobe category, having received a lovely dress and sandals from Vivienne while she was still down and out; however, she has been advised to do something with her hair that isn't the usual bland ponytail, and maybe put some color on her face so she won't look as much like death.
She is also incredibly anxious, and happy to receive any and all advice on dealing with large groups of fancy humans.

(night of the soiree)

[nadasharillen]

Despite her recalcitrance, Nari is... actually kind of excited; although she's entirely convinced herself that it's on her clansister's behalf.

Since Sina decided it was important for her to show solidarity and good will, Nari's decided the same. Despite all her grumbling, once it became what Sina wanted... it became more palatable. And despite Sina's nervousness, she would look lovely.

"You know," the huntress said, "I'm proud of you."

[nadasharillen]

Karma train for Korrin:

Not three hours after laughing at the Vashoth mage's plight, Nahariel Dahlasanor is standing next to one of the Orlesian tailors being examined and clucked over, looking like a stormcloud. Despite the hunter standing perfectly still as commanded, their disagreement is easily overheard. Nari is maintaining stubbornly that she needs to be able to move, and therefore whatever passes for men's finery would be perfectly satisfactory, while the tailor...

...disagrees. Vehemently.

open!

The Dalish hunter is in the midst of getting fitted for a dress she's obviously not interested in wearing, but is nevertheless standing still as bidden, looking exceptionally cross while her "tormentor" discusses how best to accentuate her boyish frame.

She looks like she'd welcome any distraction from her predicament.

[gatheringstorm]

Grateful for a break after her fitting, Korrin nonetheless returns to the Undercroft afterward. She'd rather not spend more time in the tailors' presence than need be, but it's better to get as much out of the way as possible. Then she can avoid them without regret.

Waiting for the tailor she was last speaking with to finish with someone else, she glances around...and her lips twitch upon spotting Nahariel. There might even be an amused huff that she tries to muffle. While she is genuinely sympathetic to that stormcloud look, it's only fair considering earlier events. "Trapped in fashion hell, too? Though you were warned." She immediately glances over at that tailor and rolls her eyes. "You know, I heard that one of the Grey Wardens is offering to make people party clothes and with much less fuss than this lot. They say her work is just as good."

Honestly, she doesn't know that, but it'll be worth it to let those tailors realize that they stand to lose business if they take the attitudes too far.