(121-05-13) Dornish Make Over
Dornish Make Over
Summary: Alia invites Mariya and Magden over for a make over.
Date: 05/13/2014
Related: Boy Toubles

It's a party! Well, at the Dornish manse, when isn't it? But today's a special one, for some very special girls: MAKEOVER PARTY. Alia's quarters are modestly sized, certainly not palatial, no sitting room adjoining her bedchamber — it's all one room, a canopy bed carved of deliciously striped wood that's large enough for four (yes, four) the highlight of the space. There is a chaise, several low cushioned stools, and her oversized wardrobe, but no dressing screen. Silk in rich pink, magenta, gold, red and forest green abounds, draped here, tucked there, upholstered everywhere. Though a large Myrish carpet covers most of the white marble underfoot, it's been torn in several places… and currently, her little panther cub sits working his claws through a particularly ragged patch, purring.

Alia has wine, and the most exquisitely handblown glasses, gilded at the lip and stem. Her tumble of gold-and-black curls is crowned today with a golden circlet, a fat ruby pear nestled on her forehead. Her gown is more a robe, crimson silk with long bell sleeves, neckline sliced in a deep vee almost to her navel. She plucks a grape from a platter, inspecting it with a smile as she waits for her guests.

Alia does not have long to wait. There is a quick rap on her door before Mariya pokes her head through the doorway. She is expected, after all. "Evening, Alia," she greets with a smile. More modestly dressed and with her hair unadorned or braided than her half-sister, she steps in to the room. This is, after all, why they are having a makeover party. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

The door isn't even properly closed before it's caught again by a pale, slender hand, followed by the pale head of Magden, Ser Tameron's skinny squire. She blinks huge, blue eyes at the opulent room, though opulence is something she should be growing accustomed to, by now. There are words on her lips, perhaps even a greeting, but then she's distracted by the purring, kneading cub assiduously destroying the carpet. "Oh!" She slips into the room, in her typical tunic and trousers, and goes — carefully — to have a closer look at the animal. "It's a cat!"

Glancing over her shoulder toward the door, Alia's smile brightens at the sight of her little half-sister. "Sweet Mariya," she greets, turning proper and extending her arm in a welcoming sweep. "Not at all, my darling. Come in, come in! Some wine, mm? Ahh, and my dear little dove. Magden, Mariya." As introductions are made and more girls enter, little Prince lifts his pale blue eyes from his task to size up the newly arrived company. At least the Princess is familiar, but Magden's approach intrigues him, whiskers twitching. "Prince," Alia says, firm and commanding. Claws retract, but he crouches in his spot. "He is… very active," warns his keeper.

"Good evening, Magden." Mariya steps aside to make sure that the young squire is able to approach the jaguar cub unhindered. "We have met before, though I have not seen much of her lately," she explains to Alia. Instead, she moves forward toward Alia to give her a kiss on the cheek as well as retrieve a wine glass from her. Glancing at the carpeting, she can't help but softly laugh. "Yes, it would seem that he is making short work of the rug. But, then, what are rugs for if not be worn down."

Magden starts, then flashes Mariya a shy, apologetic little smile. "Your Grace," she says, softly. "Forgive me." She was distracted with the fuzzy-wuzzy cuddle ball of future murder. Very slowly, carefully, she crouches some distance away from the cup. "Hello, Prince."

"Marvelous," drawls Alia in response to Mariya's explanation. She returns the kiss to her little sister's cheek, squeezing affectionately at her shoulder before serving wine. It is strong, sour and Dornish, the scent rising headily above the opulently gold-rimmed glass. "Would you like some wine, little dove," she asks of Magden, dark eyes settling rather warily on the cub. Prince's wet little nose twitches, and he darts a fat paw out in the direction of the squire. His rumbling purr grows louder, threatening to edge into growl territory, until Alia snaps: "No."

Mariya gives Magden a grin. "There is nothing to forgive," she tells the blonde woman before setting herself on the chaise with her glass of wine. Despite the fact that she now has it, she does not drink just yet. "Your Prince is going to be quite the handful, I think. Though, he has such a sweet face."

"He reminds me of home," says Magden, softly, not terribly alarmed by the little creature's posturing. She smiles faintly as he minds his mistress. "You're very good with him," she says to Alia. The offer of wine seems to surprise her. She hesitates, glances at the door, then asks, "You won't mention it to Ser Tameron?"

"Going to be?" Alia laughs, higher-pitched today, bright and sweet and clear. "Oh, my darling, he has chewed through all my slippers already, and torn the curtains on this bed several times over. He will have to go back to mountains, in time. A marbled manse is no place for him, I could not in good conscience contain him for all his days to one." Up he jumps, as if reminded by her words, tail flicking as he stalks over to circle Magden. Alia sweeps over to snick the door closed, reassuring the squire, "But of course, darling. What happens in the bedchamber, stays in the bedchamber, mm?"

Mariya tilts her head slightly, curious. "I know that Ser Tameron does not drink, however, does he truly impose that upon you? Not that I think you should make a habit of it, of course." She does smile reassuringly along with Alia. "No matter, we will not tell him. As for 'what stays in the bedchamber', the young princess sighs. "Between us, of course, though there seems to be tongues wagging everywhere - not even the bed chamber may be safe."

Magden grins, dimples appearing, almost shyly, on her cheeks — as though they aren't used to coming out and have no idea what they're doing there. Hello. "Then yes," she says. "Please." She keeps an eye on the stalking pussycat, blue eyes sparkling with mirth and a little potential mayhem. She looks as likely to pounce the cub as the cub is to pounce her. Mariya's lament about wagging tongues gets a worried glance from the little squire. "Is there anyone you'd like me to speak to, Your Grace?" Where speak to means, Break the Kneecaps Of?

That sigh is not lost on Alia, a pitying look bestowed upon her poor little sister as a result. "Sweet child, your secrets are safe here," she promises, "Perhaps moreso than anywhere else, hmm? Have some wine, darling." It will help. Soft, barefooted steps carry her across the shredded carpet, to serve up a glass for Magden too — she steps gracefully around the circling cub to deliver. "There are worse habits than drinking," opines the Sand, her lips crinkling a smirk. Prince bats a chubby paw at Magden's heels, testing the waters.

Unable to keep from smiling at both the squire and the cub at play, Mariya does take a drink when instructed. "Oh, just someone thought it prudent to inform me that she heard Ser Daevon and a lady Bravo are having a sordid affair. I don't mind the rumor, but she looked so smug and happy to tell me! It seems some people want to talk merely to talk." That little bit vented, she sighs and gives Magden a smile. "But, it's nothing worth speaking to her over." Or breaking her kneecaps. "And, yes, there is far worse vices than drinking." After a pause, watching the young cub at play, she adds, belatedly, "I know he must go back to the mountains eventually, but he is quite sweet now."

Magden slinks a hand back as the cub attacks her heels, placing it quickly atop the creature's head and pushing down. Faceplant! It's done firmly, but gently enough that the baby big cat doesn't bump his chin or chip a tooth. She seems to have a little experience with animals. Enough so that she takes her hand back just as quickly, before the cub can recover and exact revenge. "I don't have to talk to them," the squire says to the princess, earnestly, in case her original meaning wasn't abundantly clear. "I can hit them, instead." She takes a drink of wine, keeping her other hand free to intercept the attack kitten.

With her own glass in hand once more, Alia swans over to her wardrobe, creaking one of its heavy doors open and peeking out from behind it to gasp, "No!" It's not for the animal, rather the salacious gossip Mariya is sharing. "Say it is not so, sweet sister. Are you alright, darling?" She diverts from her concern on briefly to watch as Magden triumphs over Prince, the cub screeching in protest as he's bested. As her gaze flicks back to the Princess, she continues, "You are right, he is adorable just now. Who is telling you this rumor, hmm?" Prince crouches back, shoulders working as he readies to pounce his counter-attack.

With a wave of her hand, Mariya dismisses the salaciousness. "I'm fine! I know it not true. I'm more concerned with the the people spreading the rumors. Ser Daevon would never break his vows." Whether or not Alia and Magden believe her, she does not seem to care. Instead, she is quite firm in her beliefs. Taking another long sip of her wine, she laughs at Magden. "If you find a woman in the marketplace with a long blue dress and says she is training birds, well, she is who you would speak to." Then, she gasps. "No! I mean, it is not anything to hit anyone over!"

"It sounds like something to hit someone over," says Magden, dubiously. She's frowning in thought, then, something stuck in her craw. One eye is still on the cat that's stalking her, and she sets her wine carefully aside to be ready. "Knights don't take vows not to — uhm — you know." Do things. "Do they?" Because that might explain a lot. When the cub charges her, she scoops her hands around Prince's still-round middle and tosses him back to the start. Whee!

The little crease forms between Alia's brows as she listens, but Mariya seems alright. She hums a low, concerned note, arcing one brow a little higher, skeptical. "But if you are sure, then…" She remains unconvinced, drowning the rest of her sentence in a long, delicious sip of wine as she creaks open the other wardrobe door. "Magden, my little dove, do you have a favorite color?" Prince launches with a baby roar, that devolves into a confused yelp as he's bested all over again. He lands in a tangle of scrambling limbs, picking himself up and shaking his head furiously. What just happened?!

Not one for violence, Mariya frowns. "Well, let me just say that she seems a hateful woman. And so, if she wrongs you, be on the lookout for her." There, all of her bases are covered. "Well, all knights take vows to serve the Seven. But, others will take further vows. Not all of them - or even most of them - will do as such." As for her own wellbeing, she nods. "I am fine, sweet Alia. I just wish people wouldn't talk." As they talk of colors, she straightens, "Oh, pick a nice blue for her. It will match her lovely eyes.

Magden reclaims her wine, taking another drink, looking positively stymied by the question of color. "I… never thought to have a favorite color." She listens to Mariya, then nods in assent. "I like blue. Maybe blue?" It seems as likely a favorite as any other. She eyes Prince, smiling faintly at the cute, but gives more of her attention to the people in the room, now.

"If she is not careful, there will be tears in her wine," vows Alia Sand, low and deadly serious. "Blue," she repeats, changing tack as gentle as the turn of a tide, reaching out to brush her fingers amidst the masses of silk and lace hung carefully within her wardrobe. "It is not a color I wear much of," she admits, "But there are a few that might serve. This, or perhaps this one, hmm…" She produces two gowns, both light, breezy silk affairs; one is a bright blue-green, adorned with beads, slightly more modest than her usual style — the other a searing sky-blue, crossing over at the bust with long, flowing skirts. "Do you think?" Prince growls low, until he's told sharply to stop it again, and Alia asks, "Mariya, my darling, there is a ball of yarn for him on the nightstand, would you mind?"

"Blue is not much in a Dornishwoman's wardrobe," Mariya will admit. "But, there are very few Dornishwomen who have such bright blue eyes as you. It should be accentuated." As for the wine and the tears, she waves her hand. "The words are said. As long as no one has heard any rumors of me, then I do not mind what people will say." At the request, she stands, taking her glass of wine with her. Easily, she takes the ball of yarn and then sits down on the carpet next to Magden and the little cub terror. With a laugh, she rolls the ball away to distract him so that the squire may try on the dress. "Oh, the sky blue one, certainly. You must try that one on immediately."

Magden stands and comes to inspect the dresses, approaching them with even more — far more, actually — caution than the murder kitten. She looks self-consciously at her wine, perhaps afraid that she'll spill, and drains the cup, then puts it aside. "I… do like the sky blue one," she agrees, nodding. It's… the beads on the other? They're a little… showy. For me. And I'd probably ruin them."

"Thank you, my darling," Alia tells her half-sister so gratefully, as she fetches the yarn and occupies little Prince. He bounds around playfully, pouncing at a run on the rolling ball and tumbling across the rug with it. He does not bring it back, sorry Mariya. "This one then," she says, handing the sky-blue dress off for Magden to don. "There are buttons, they are hidden away at the back there, mm? Try it on, little dove. I will put this other one away."

If Mariya thought Prince a puppy intent on fetch, she does not show it. Instead, she chases after the young cub to take the bit of yarn back. "Oh, you would not ruin it. But, I think the silks and the cut is better fit for you!" She says as she moves across the rug with her wine and her attempts to take back the yarn in order to play with the young jaguar. "You should have Embry do your hair at some point, Magden! She's an artisan at it."

Magden toes off her boots and unfastens the belt that wraps, more than once, around her waist. "I'm afraid I'll ruin anything that pretty, just by touching it, beads or no," she confesses. She carefully lifts the dress, frowning at the tiny buttons, making sure she understand how it's all to work before proceeding. She's a very deliberate creature. "I should do something with my hair," she agrees, laying the dress back out and pulling her tunic over her head.

Prince ducks his jaw this way and that, trying to evade Mariya's grabs for his yarn. He darts away to hide under the nearest stool, where he thinks it safe enough to drop the ball and paw at it, but… foiled! The little cub swats as his yarn is reclaimed, squeaking playfully. Alia laughs, both for his antics and Magden's earnest confession. "The number of gowns I have ruined in the heat of passion, mm? One more at the hands of my pretty little dove will not hurt." She turns to tuck the beaded gown back inside the wardrobe, though, and draws out a gown of blazing Martell's orange silk, tempered by a deep red lace overlay. "This one for you, sweet little sister-mine," announces the Sand, wandering around changing Magden to bring it over.

Meanwhile, Magden is busy, busy wriggling her skinny butt out of her clothes and stepping carefully into the sky-blue silk. She tugs at it here and there, flummoxed by the way is overlaps and drapes. Then there are the buttons. "I… think there is less chance it will be ruined in the heat of passion, and more in the unremarkable climate of incompetence." She cranes to look at her back, reaching behind her to fumble one of the buttons through the loop that corresponds to the button above it. Fail.

"Tsh," scoffs Alia, with shrug of one shapely shoulder as she leads into a laugh. "There is no better way to ruin a dress, sweet girls!" She watches as Prince darts away again after the yarn, her smile softening as it returns to Mariya. "I know, darling," she says gently, still holding out the gown. It's been lovingly stitched, the pattern of lace vaguely resembling a sun, even. No doubt this gown was made with Mariya in mind. "All of Dorne mourns him. But when you are ready to shine again, mm? — Ah, little dove." Magden's button-fail catches the corner of her eyes. "Come, let me."

Now that Prince is easily wrapped up in his ball, Mariya turns her full attention to Alia and Magden. Carefully, she take the dress from her half-sister. "It is lovely, Alia, thank you. I am sure I will soon find an occasion with someone worthy of such a dress." And that person may include a Dornishman himself, but she blushes to think of it. "Do not sell yourself short, Magden," she adds with a smile. "I am sure we can find ways to ruin it both ways."

"Can a thing be ruined twice?" Magden wonders, gratefully quitting the button battlefield to let Alia have at. She reaches up to untie the tightly braided queue of her hair, working the plaits free with her fingers. "Do you think… dressing this way will be sufficient to suggest to him that I want him to want me? Or will I have to use words?" She wrinkles her nose a bit. Words. Bleh.

"Mm, there is more than one Dornishman here who should delight in seeing his Princess dressed so," Alia teases, moving to fix up the buttons for poor Magden. "I don't know, little dove, can it?" There is sensuous humour in her tone, as she loops buttons deftly. Voila! "You must tell him with the swagger of your hips, darling, tell him with your eyes. Words are overrated, mm." Over in the corner, Prince bats at his yarn.

"I guess it depends on the circumstances on the ruining." Realizing that she should possibly try on this dress as Magden is already showing off hers, Mariya stands. "Who is the man?" It seems she is behind on the thoughts of this. "Because, I'm sure that will depend." Finally, with a snort, she shakes her head. "If there is more than one Dornishman, then they will be disappointed." The princess blushes at that statement and attempts to hide in her disrobing and putting on her new dress.

In the dress of flowing blue silk, with its criss-cross wrap of a top baring arms, shoulders and sides, her pale gold hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back… Magden is a very different creature than the one who crept in wearing oversized boy's clothing. A little khol and rouge for the lips will go a long way, but even halfway transformed, the difference is compelling. She stares at herself in the looking glass, wearing a worried frown, turning and looking over her shoulder at the back. "It's beautiful," she says, somehow coming with earnest gratitude with ambivalence. "Is it too much?"

"Oh, is that right, little princess," Alia teases some more, delighted by Mariya's response. She sips on her wine, reaching out to floof Magden's hair for her a little, and stroke her hand down the girl's shoulder as Mariya changes. "It is perfect," she murmurs, crisp consonants and long vowels for emphasis. "Now, there are some chains and earrings on the door there, just inside," she gestures to the wardrobe, "Have a look, darling, while I find my kohl stick for you. Practice that swish of your hips, mm?" The finishing touches await!

"Certainly not," Mariya tells Magden with a smile. Her own dress slides over her, but the main focus is on the young squire and she means to keep it that way. "You look beautiful. And I am sure whoever you are trying to impress will be speechless." Despite that she still does not know who that is. "You were lovely before, and now it is all just accentuated." As she approaches Magden, she grins.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License