( On the plus side, it's not like powdered wigs are a thing that are okay to wear, right now. That's what he'd been most alarmed by, the thought of powdering and inevitably inhaling the powder and then fighting with the coughing fit while Margaery did the talking and the charming and the diplomatic... stuff.
On the less-of-a-plus side, there was still the scarf and the lace, the waistcoats and frock-coats and breeches and stockings and heels. Not a big heel, (this is the seventeen-nineties! Practicality is the word of the decade! That and “revolution,” which has a less than ideal relationship with the aristocracy and indulgence-- and yet) but a heel nonetheless.
The only consolation is has is that, at least he is used to wearing stuff tighter and more revealing than this, but that isn't really much of a consolation, as he fiddles with the lace protruding from his sleeve, and fights the urge to loosen the scarf knotted as his neck. Over one hundred ways to knot them, he'd been informed. Every single way made him feel that little bit stupider.
The heat is stifling, the persistent smell of fly-scavenged blood that never has a chance to dry and always sticks is stubborn in the air, but at least here in their base, they have some reprieve from it. Just two more weeks of this; they'll be fine.
A glance at Margaery, and at least he can attempt a smile, even if it isn't quite reassuring and drops away incredibly quickly. ) You o-okay?
( The room – a least not a single room, thanks Initiative – isn't exactly luxurious. )
→ arrival, aka. clothes pls & EXPOSITION or something
On the less-of-a-plus side, there was still the scarf and the lace, the waistcoats and frock-coats and breeches and stockings and heels. Not a big heel, (this is the seventeen-nineties! Practicality is the word of the decade! That and “revolution,” which has a less than ideal relationship with the aristocracy and indulgence-- and yet) but a heel nonetheless.
The only consolation is has is that, at least he is used to wearing stuff tighter and more revealing than this, but that isn't really much of a consolation, as he fiddles with the lace protruding from his sleeve, and fights the urge to loosen the scarf knotted as his neck. Over one hundred ways to knot them, he'd been informed. Every single way made him feel that little bit stupider.
The heat is stifling, the persistent smell of fly-scavenged blood that never has a chance to dry and always sticks is stubborn in the air, but at least here in their base, they have some reprieve from it. Just two more weeks of this; they'll be fine.
A glance at Margaery, and at least he can attempt a smile, even if it isn't quite reassuring and drops away incredibly quickly. ) You o-okay?
( The room – a least not a single room, thanks Initiative – isn't exactly luxurious. )