[center][h2][color=F2AED3][b]L[/b]iviana[/color] and [color=C2E2A7][b]D[/b]omitia[/color][/h2][/center]
The palace staff had been nice enough in getting them settled. If they had objected to the …eclectic luggage that the Lusitanians brought, their comments had been kept to themselves. Originally the plan had been made for the two to have separate rooms, just across the hall from each other, but within just a few minutes all of Liviana’s belongings had ended up in Dom’s room. They shared a room and a bed not even half this size back in Lusitania, after all, and both knew it would be better if they had at least [i]one[/i] thing to stay consistent while they were here.

Liv had taken to the washroom to get dressed for the ball, having dragged a chair in with her to boost herself up to the mirror. Between the orchestral music playing full-blast on her Papyrvs and her intent focus on her eyeliner, she did not hear the clattering kerfuffle occurring in the room itself as Dom got ready.

Had she heard such a thing, she might have been mildly concerned. But, she did not hear it, and so she continued to focus on her makeup, on the heavy layers of blush and lip color to try to make herself look less like a ghost. Shimmery gold eyeshadow, layers of mascara, and a delicate coral lipstick finished off her look.

Her curls were combed, spritzed generously with water and lightly oiled in a diluted rose oil, to force them to lie mostly evenly in their cascade down her back. The front strands were braided, pinned back with a pair of gold laurel leaf combs. Though the event likely called for a proper updo, Liv had neither the time nor motivation to coax her hair into such a thing. Besides, her stunningly long curls (hanging down to her thighs) might well make a more dramatic impression on their own. 

As she clambered off the bathroom counter, shedding her oversized tunic to put on the gown she had chosen, she felt a wash of anxiety. The gown was midnight blue, embellished heavily with gold – all the maids back home had sworn that the blue would make her eyes all the more brilliant, but she was worried of wearing such a strong color. Still, it was either this dark blue or white – she dared not wear pink to such an event, not with Ayleanna’s love for it. It was doubtless that the Aciran princess would be wearing something flashy and pink, and Liv didn’t want to steal her thunder. Or rather, be completely shown up by her. But anyway, wasn’t it a social custom somewhere that one never wore the same color dress as the host?
[hider=liv’s dress]
[img] https://i.imgur.com/4qXv939.jpg?1[/img][/hider]
The gown fit her snugly, in part thanks to the generous pads sown in at all the pertinent parts, to give her the illusion of a feminine figure. It was modest enough, the midnight chiffon covering almost all of her chest and shoulders, and the ‘sleeve’ (such as it was, from the artful draping of the material in the back) would cover most of her bare arm. With that being said, she still was wary- people back home would call it a scandal if she dared go with her hair uncovered, or with her other arm still bare.

She put the thought out of her mind, donning liberal accessories to take her mind off of it. A simple gold necklace, ever present when she went out, with a crescent moon pendant on it. Laurel leaf ear cuffs that climbed up the edges of her ears without any dangles – given that she did have a pet bird, she was often wary about anything that could be tugged off in beaks or tangled in claws.

A variety of dainty gold rings adorned her fingers, and a golden arm cuff on her bare left arm. She stepped into the shoes she’d brought (gold-toned strappy sandals, in a traditional Lusitanian style,) took one final look in the mirror, steeled herself, and opened the door, stepping out into-

…A perfectly ordered room, at first glance. Qvi took off from her perch, settling on Liv’s bare shoulder and immediately beginning preening. Ana had definitely done some work on the bird, who’s feathers were glossy and bright and extra vibrant, having been slightly enhanced by the various semi-permanent vegetable dyes that were in fashion amongst bird owners in Lusitania. A bit of gold dust had been brushed along the dark edges of Qvi’s primary feathers, rendering the bird quite dazzlingly shiny.

“Did I do okay, lady Liv?” came a timid voice. Ana, the girls’ maidservant, looked up anxiously from her embroidery work. “It was a bit of work to get her to hold still.”

“You did very well, Ana.” The voice was not Liv’s, but rather emanating from a –

… suit of armor.

….
Gods [i]damn[/i] you, Domitia.

Liv fought to keep her expression blank as she sized up her niece. Dia wore their officer’s armor, a piece looking like it had waltzed straight out of the sixteenth century.  Burnished black steel, ornately filigreed with the ever present laurel branch motif in brilliant gold. Their helm was molded in a fairly stereotypical knight’s shape, made of the same burnished dark metal, and had a close-cropped plume of tyrian purple rising from the point and extending down the back of the helm.

They looked like a badass.

…
A badass from the sixteenth century, but a badass nonetheless.

“Dia, I don’t know about the helm. It’s not a masquerade.” Liv finally said, in quiet Latin. “How is Edwin to recognize you if you hide your face? Or our gracious hosts, for that matter?”

The suit of armor gave a heavy sigh, hands reaching to pry the helm from its head. Ana rushed to  take it, setting it on the dresser with a heavy [i]clunk[/i]. 

Dom had done their makeup, at least. Bold black eyeliner, winged out well past the corner of their eye, with three small dots along the underside of the eye, and a thin white line along the top to really make it pop. They had heavily contoured and highlighted their face (which quite frankly didn’t need it) and painted their lips in a bold, bloody red.

Their hair had, perhaps, been pinned back – but being in the helm, for however short of a time, had tousled it. They saw that in the mirror at least, and cursed, reaching for a comb and forcing it to lie flat against their head once more.

Liv grimaced. The armor was… a bold choice.“Are you certain you do not want to change, Dia? I worry that you might… draw the eye, moreso than you are comfortable with.” She asked, softly. 

Dom stared at her. “Liviana, I’ll be forced into those pretty dainty gowns for the rest of my time here. I’m here to make an impression. I graduated the academy with the right of any Lusitanian centurion; the right to wear my insignia at court. You know damn well Father won’t let me do it more than once; he doesn’t even know I brought it from the armory.” 

Liv sighed, but knew there was no point in arguing with Dom once their mind was made up. Plus, if the argument continued any longer, they would have been late for the ball.

Knowing they had won the argument, Dom scooped up the leather belt on which their ceremonial rapier and dagger hung. It was tradition, of course, that Lusitanian commanders be adept at fighting with any manner of [i]gladius[/i], and any one of five variants of [i]spathae[/i], but Dom had always had a thing for the more elegant and ostentatious renaissance rapier. The rapidly darting, stabbing fighting style had been more suited to their body shape than it had been for many of their classmates. So upon their graduation they had a rapier commissioned for them, one with an especially ornate handguard, made again in the twisting laurel and ivy motif.

Liv thought to object to the swords, or perhaps to the fact that – Epona save them, Dom couldn’t even [i]move[/i] without a faintly echoing [i]clank[/i]! But she held her tongue. Her elder niece was not ever to be trifled with, but certainly not about matters of appearance and presentation…

They descended the stairs without incident, and stood before the gathered nobles and press. Liv fought the urge to bury her face in her hands- what a picture they must have been, a child with a sparkling bird on her shoulder, and a stubby suit of armor sans helmet. 

Dom seemed unfazed, only the brilliance in their eyes and color on their high cheekbones betraying their embarrassment at how they stood out. In perfect, nearly accentless English, they greeted the hosts and swept into a surprisingly delicate, shallow bow, nudging Liv into a curtsy beside them. 

With such formalities addressed, and a brief and cursory assessment of those few who were already here, they both endeavored to find themselves a quiet corner. Liv quite easily found her own, perched conveniently near one of the side doors (the better to let Qvi out to take care of her business – the bird was house trained, yes, but such a tiny creature needed let out often multiple times an hour) and near enough to the orchestra that she could nearly make out their sheet music.

Oh, how her hands itched for the cello, laid out on the bed upstairs. She knew it went against all social protocol, but at the same time… she was here, and unbetrothed. It was Dom that everyone had eyes on; surely they’d understand if Liv snuck away to join the orchestra, right?

She made a mental note to ask the concertmaster, after the ball, if they had need of another cello or violin for the next week’s festivities. She began mentally constructing those words, at times pulling her Papyrvs smartphone from her delicate gold clutch to make certain she had conjugated her words correctly. Writing in English was hard but doable, but speaking it was… not remotely so. It was partly for this reason that she had found herself this corner – her eldest brother and father had made it perfectly clear that she was [i]not[/i] to [i]embarrass[/i] them in any way while she was here, and not being able to converse elegantly was precisely one of those [i]embarrassing[/i] things.

Dom, meanwhile, found themself near to the refreshment table, close enough to the reception area to hear all the newcomers’ introductions, and to seek out their betrothed when he arrived. They did their best not to look suspicious, having seen the men in suits standing quietly in the corridors and being altogether too interested in the weapons strapped to their belt. 

Social events had never been their strong suit. Even Edwin, the Britannian heir to whom they were supposed to be wed, had commented wryly to that effect once. The two of them had reached a sort of understanding, the weight of tradition heavy on both of them and their conduct at their few state visits to each others’ homes. Plus, Dom had seen first-hand that the Britannian military were at least as …ostentatious in presentation as their own. To be honest, they were quite eager for their husband-to-be’s arrival, simply so the two of them would compliment each other’s ostentatious and archaic aesthetics.

That said, they hadn’t had a formal meeting since the engagement had been announced. It had been a state visit where it had been arranged, but the results of the discussions didn’t come until some months later at home. It had seemed, going into the arrangement, that Liviana was the favored candidate to be his wife, an arrangement that Dom almost would have preferred. Edwin was an honorable man for certain, but nonetheless the thought of ‘wifely duties’ and all those traditions that Britannia doubtless had as Lusitania did… such thoughts turned their stomach.

They took a deep, shaking breath, clearing their mind from such unpleasantries and instead focusing on the lovely people surrounding them. Though the clamor of the receiving line had been too much to really focus through, they now clearly saw those who had come in before them. Ayleanna herself looked a confection in a glitzy and… fluffy pink gown (oh, how Liv’s face had fallen to realize that she couldn’t wear her own signature pink!) just dripping with golden accessories. 

The delightful Rhiannon Cadfael looked stunning, in a gown of deep green that made her hair look like fire and eyes shine like amber. Dom could appreciate the color green, so often overlooked especially in Lusitania, but all tones of emerald were just lovely – the right balance of delicate and powerful, natural and yet intentional. And they very much suited Rhia, Dom noted, a faint color returning to their cheeks. They made a note to strike up a conversation at some point, though perhaps not in the confines of this event.

Genevieve Anders wore a demure gown of steely ocean blue; the shade suited the girl’s rather …mysterious existence, as well as her complexion. Dom had to appreciate that. Though they did not know much about the Marisian princess, from their scrutiny they could see nothing other than a perfectly pretty, proper noble.

The Burnley sisters were interesting, the younger following her elder sister at a distance, dressed in a style that Dom could easily tell was to distance herself from the dramatic look of her older sister. It was rather ironic, really- that same assessment could have been passed off on Dom and Liv’s arrival. 

Dom’s sharp eyes continued across the gathered people, the majority still servingfolk and press. For a split second, their eyes locked with the dark gaze of one Aulus Crispin. He afforded them a tiny salute, but did not otherwise acknowledge or move towards them, instead continuing to converse with the palace servant he was interviewing.

“Damn it.” They muttered, quietly. Crispin was well-known for his …romantic turn of phrase, in prose turning Liv and her chronic illness and stunted growth into a ‘gentle maid blessed by forces Endovelican and prized then by Diana’s silver grace’ and Dom and their host of issues into ‘..that which gentle Proserpina’s light has blessed and cursed in alternation’. And while to some extent it was nice to have their glaring faults for once not on display, Aulus’s regular romanticization of them and likening them to ancient heroes has left Dom to …question his reporting ethics. The man could probably find a way to glamorize slavery.

…Wait…

The thought put a bitter smile on Dom’s face as they turned their gaze once more to the receiving line.

[hider=tl;dr]
The Lusitanians get ready. Liv wears a respectable gown and worries about standing out, then realizes that Dom is wearing their fucking knight’s armor. Qvi the sparrow makes an appearance as Liv’s fashion accessory for the ball; Liv disappears into a corner to stalkerstalk the orchestra people and hide from the spotlight, Dom awkwardly finds themself a corner, tries not to suspicion the palace guards despite the fact that they have a (mostly) ceremonial sword and dagger on their belt, and internalmonologuerambles about the people they see.[/hider]