Tyaethe paused to regain her composure at the entrance to the palace and, more importantly, readjust her sword so that it wasn't dragging on the ground again. It was so inconvenient to be carting it around out of armour but, whilst she might be willing to sacrifice her protection in order to attend a ball, she was never going to try protecting her Captain with anything less than her best offence. It wasn't like the guards minded terribly--the sword was sufficient proof of her identity and position amongst the knights.

She tuned out the introduction that accompanied her entrance into the ball; it wasn't like there was anything important there. Much better to try and focus on how to adjust this dress: it was too [I]frilly[/I] and lacy but it had been the only thing the undead had dug up that was both suitably formal and fit. That didn't excuse how the lace on the sleeves extended past her fingers or how some overly enthusiastic dressmaker had chosen to embroider pearls all over the place and give the skirt multiple layers. Had it been up to Tyaethe, the frilly and [I]cute[/I] abomination would never have been brought into existence.

Refusing a gift would have been wrong.

Admittedly, the cloth-of-gold scarf probably wasn't helping with making it any more comfortable. She'd be damned before she stopped wearing scarves, however, and the two century old ribbon had been dusted off and put to use. Scarves were one of the easiest ways to recognise her--if the pale skin and red eyes didn't, surely the completely superfluous scarf would? 

The paladin made her way over to the numerous refreshments, sizing them up, before grabbing the darkest ale hidden along the tables and shooting glares at the onlookers asking if that was entirely a [I]reasonable[/I] choice. She was already suffering through this by being out of armour and there was no way that the red-eyed paladin was going to abstain from something she enjoyed after two centuries without. All the fancy wines could be left to the poncy nobles.

Now that she was suitably braced for the inevitable [i]politics[/i] that were going to happen, Tyaethe stomped her way over to the captain. There were numerous clues for the knights at who had joined their little conglomeration, after all, but the biggest came from similarity to a certain portrait stuffed in a corner of Candaeln. There were the familiar features seen through a visor, the enormous sword slung across her back, but most telling was the portrait's ankle-length white braid and its golden bow. Tyaethe in the picture had, however, been considerably more practically dressed. She had also been an adult.

For some reason, the Immortal Knight of the Iron Roses appeared to be nine years old and [I]incredibly[/I] grumpy about the whole affair.