"Perhaps you could use a lesson or two in dalliance with nobility, Legate." Tylmaesa thought to herself, staring up at the image of a mortar & pestle hanging above their head.

They were already a noble themselves, after all, or a former once, depending on who you ask - but that didn't matter. Tylmaesa needed something other than clothing entirely - a way to mask the powerful musk accumulated by weeks trapped aboard a boat, more than a simple trip to the bathhouse could do. They'd made sure to squeeze one of those trips in of course, but...

Dunmeri clothes were more exotic anyways, and despite the small chance of causing offense they carried, they were far more concerned about seeming exotic, pleasingly aloof, and, most importantly, Dunmeri.

"Angeline's Aromatics, don't fail me now," they said in perfect, unaccented Cyrodiilic, passing under the sign to open the door. They were immediately assaulted by the pungent, not-entirely-unpleasant smells of medicinal herbs, floral aromatic oils, and practically everything under the sun that didn't smell downright awful, even if the combined cocktail was so powerful as to be nearly overwhelming. They were immediately struck by how much stronger the harsh, medicinal smells were, familiar from the years past when Skyrim was embroiled in its [i]first[/i] recent civil war. This, Tylmaesa reasoned, was more like an absurdly violent barroom brawl in terms of the sense it made, so they supposed the similar character of the shop's atmosphere was to be somewhat expected. Rows upon robes of herbs and plants and concoctions lined the shelves along each wall, a large wooden counter dominating the rear... No Angeline, Tylmaesa noted. Had the old woman kicked the bucket? It had been twenty years, after all, but alas... No time to discuss family. They only vaguely remembered the middle-aged woman standing there. She lifted her head to hear Tylmaesa enter, and Tylmaesa smiled disarmingly back at her, hoping to reassure her of their good intentions despite their massive size. Mercifully, the woman didn't appear to recognize Tylmaesa any better than they did her - a relief, for faces often blurred together in her life, and this one certainly hadn't been one of their dalliances. That, they'd remember...

Assuming she was any good.

"How can I help you? Looking for healing remedies?" She asked, smiling.

"Oh, no." Tylmaesa replied, shaking their head. The intricate, flowing black robes hung about their wide frame shifted almost imperceptibly with the movement, fine golden decorations shimmering gently in the dim light; a large strip of cloth decorated with various Dunmeri symbols topped with a similarly oval-shaped strip around her collar.

"Cologne, actually. I'm meeting with an old friend of mine, an Imperial diplomat - but I've been on a boat for weeks. I managed to get by one of the local bathhouses, but..." Tylmaesa shrugged, chuckling disarmingly. "There's only so much a single trip can do, especially on a time crunch."

"Oh!" The woman replied. "I see, I see... Is there a specific sort of fragrance you're looking for, or perhaps recommendations?"

"Well... Sort of. Something smokey, like an incense stick, if you're familiar - the Khajiits use them, as do my own people." She explained. It was a simple choice to make, but an important one - while being too visibly Dunmeri could cause problems, Tylmaesa didn't frankly give a shit if it did, and... Besides, they were the philosopher and advisor. People were often fascinated by visibly exotic philosophers, so all the better to highlight her culture.

"In other words, a scent that would remind someone of Morrowind. The Ashlands, even, if you're familiar."

The middle-aged woman shook her head. "I'm not, but... Let's see if I have something."

The woman turned around, taking a book off the shelf, and began quietly leafing through it. An inventory ledger, Tylmaesa assumed - a much more practical way to track inventory than rooting through endless shelves, and a brief respite for Tylmaesa - time to ruminate. Time to be alone their own thoughts. 

They were being used as a political tool by the legate, of course, and they were playing along - admirably so, even - but this function presented a unique opportunity to make friends and allies in the Empire. Not something to be passed up

“Ah! Here we are!’ She said, holding up a small bottle of aromatic oil, gently placing it on the counter. “Here, if you’d like to give it a try?”

Tylmaesa nodded in turn. She approached the counter, popped open the bottle, and daubed a tiny bit onto her wrist, bringing it to her nose. A deep inhale, and...

The muted scent of a distant fire, exotic fruits and flowers, the faint smell of the forest floor. 

“Perfect.” They said, recapping the bottle. "How much?" 

"One hundred Septims, please." The woman smiled. For a moment, Tylmaesa thought it seemed smug, even mocking - but what the Legate provided was enough. Thankfully, their own funds would still be saved for booze, food, and women. 

Tylmaesa plopped a pouch of coin onto the counter, waiting patiently as the woman popped it open and counted out the coinage within. Why the Imperials had yet to fully implement larger denominations if coinage, they did not understand - or perhaps they did, but were simply too frustrated by the inconvenience to care.

Noticing a satisfied nod from the shopkeeper, they snatched up the purse, and made their way to the Palace.