![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
"I like bows," Gela says, already tying the ribbon into one just to see — it is floppy in her hands. She turns her shoulder automatically to grant him privacy while he changes, and then draws closer to his things, naturally curious.
"Is the dress for an occasion?"
"Is the dress for an occasion?"
Beginning to slip it on, Benedict pauses-- it's a brief hitch of self-consciousness, but he shoulders past it as he pulls the sleeves over his arms.
"A party," he says evasively, testing how the words feel: it's not like his mother is here to scold him for doing something ridiculous, but her voice lives in his head nonetheless.
"For... dressing up."
"A party," he says evasively, testing how the words feel: it's not like his mother is here to scold him for doing something ridiculous, but her voice lives in his head nonetheless.
"For... dressing up."
Gela instantly turns back to him to say, "Oh, fun!" and realises he's still dressing, which makes her immediately turns back around again on her heel, averting her gaze with a breathless apology. Then, "Which party?"
And can she snag a +1 to it... perhaps...
And can she snag a +1 to it... perhaps...
"I'll raise the point at the next Diplomacy meeting," Julius says, a tacit agreement. "I think it can be done; it's hardly the first time Riftwatch has leaned into its status as a novelty. But given the difference between Nevarra's approach to spirits and Kirkwall's, it is worth a quiet word about expectations and adjustments before an incident arises. At the same time, I don't want to single out Volkarin. We've had more potentially problematic agents before."
He smiles back at her, mirroring the sincerity, though in the instant he turns back around Gela's next question freezes him in place.
He weathers the anxiety of it, takes a deep breath, sighs it out. She already knows he's wearing a dress, it's not like this can get more incriminating.
"It's called, um," he says delicately, "a drag ball." How tantalizingly scummy. "It's at [idk man] in Lowtown, in a few weeks."
He weathers the anxiety of it, takes a deep breath, sighs it out. She already knows he's wearing a dress, it's not like this can get more incriminating.
"It's called, um," he says delicately, "a drag ball." How tantalizingly scummy. "It's at [idk man] in Lowtown, in a few weeks."
"Of course," Benedict says easily enough, visibly relieved by Julius' agreement of the situation's significance. "He seems..."
A fair number of descriptors for Volkarin pass through his mind before he lands on, "kind."
A fair number of descriptors for Volkarin pass through his mind before he lands on, "kind."
"He does," Julius agrees. "I don't think he'd purposely make someone uncomfortable without reason. And we've both been here long enough, perhaps we don't always remember what a culture shock Kirkwall can be."
Even if the particulars were different, given their backgrounds, Julius doesn't feel it's presumptuous to make the point.
"On the bright side, Kirkwall's had us here long enough that some amount of oddness can probably just be chalked up to ah, you know, Riftwatch, if it's handled well." Most people had gotten used to rifters, and that has taken years.
Even if the particulars were different, given their backgrounds, Julius doesn't feel it's presumptuous to make the point.
"On the bright side, Kirkwall's had us here long enough that some amount of oddness can probably just be chalked up to ah, you know, Riftwatch, if it's handled well." Most people had gotten used to rifters, and that has taken years.
"Ooh," Gela says, her expression barely changing from a wide, interested smile (lest he be afraid of catching any stray judgement). "And are you performing there...? I didn't know you did that."
It's a sort of art, isn't it, dressing yourself up in a way you don't usually and then selling other people on it. Gela actually knows all about that but she's never gone so far as to attempt drag before.
It's a sort of art, isn't it, dressing yourself up in a way you don't usually and then selling other people on it. Gela actually knows all about that but she's never gone so far as to attempt drag before.
“I— don’t,” he admits with an awkward laugh, but warms to Gela with the openness of her reaction.
“I did it once for a mission, and just sort of. …liked it.” Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, he offers her a fleeting, shy glance. This isn’t something he’d talk about with many, still sorting it out on a personal level.
“I think there will be people performing, though.”
“I did it once for a mission, and just sort of. …liked it.” Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, he offers her a fleeting, shy glance. This isn’t something he’d talk about with many, still sorting it out on a personal level.
“I think there will be people performing, though.”
It's been a while since they last worked this. Isaac had been busy, then gone; and the Infirmary's demanded most of his return. Fix this, mend that, and there's an odd satisfaction to it now: Pulling the string from the other end.
"Good," He scoops up the teapot from the wall she's wobbled into. Smythe isn't the most dangerous target on which to practice misdirection, but those eight legs can scuttle at speed. "When you're confident you've got control, bars are a good place to practice; crowds. See if you can make it through the market without anyone bumping into you."
That isn't really what he intends to speak of. The little phial of blood lingers in his breastpocket, gleam hidden against his heart.
"Good," He scoops up the teapot from the wall she's wobbled into. Smythe isn't the most dangerous target on which to practice misdirection, but those eight legs can scuttle at speed. "When you're confident you've got control, bars are a good place to practice; crowds. See if you can make it through the market without anyone bumping into you."
That isn't really what he intends to speak of. The little phial of blood lingers in his breastpocket, gleam hidden against his heart.
Page 52 of 52