Several people passed Gregor in the hallway while he waited, their footsteps quiet on the crimson, velvet carpet. He took off his hat and nodded politely to them. An older lady returned the greeting with a warm smile, mistaking Gregor for a gentleman waiting on his mademoiselle. Her face soured when her eyes landed on the longsword sheathed at Gregor's waist. It was considered bad taste in high society to go around openly armed and this clearly set Gregor apart from the nobility -- ignoring the fact, of course, that he actually was a nobleman. Most people took him for a well-to-do mercenary. Gregor ignored the lady's disapproval and looked outside through a window set at the end of the hall. The shadows were growing long already. The inquisitor tutted. How long did this woman need? 

At long last, the door opened and Loka stepped outside. He inspected the clothes first -- they fit reasonably well. It seemed he'd judged her measurements well enough. She could pass for an associate or an apprentice, for sure. He was about to remark on his satisfaction when his eyes wandered up to her face and he saw the makeup and the earrings sparkling in the atmospheric lighting. Gregor knew there was no makeup in his room, and he certainly didn't have any earrings. The door had definitely been locked when he brought the boxes, so what on earth...? 

"What is this? Where did you get that?" Gregor snapped, his eyes narrowing, and pointed at her face with an accusing, leather-clad finger.