Just keep your mouth shut and smile. Like that. Good girl, this will all be over before you know it.
Standing in naught more than her old underwear, Chiyo rubbed her bare arms, pimpled with the overly cool air. It was a blazingly hot summer outside, the last of the sweltering season made the most of its remaining stint, but inside the little boutique was an icebox by comparison.
She wouldn't ask how they could afford the special luxury, not when every other question seemed to be answered with plot or machination. Maybe the owner was part of the mafia. Maybe they ran an illegal lyrium refinery in the backroom. Maybe she'd shackle her incessant pestering and keep her nose clean, and unbroken, for once.
Fat chance, but a girl could hope.
Kicking crumpled pants free from about her ankles, she stooped to collect her clothes from the floor and placed them on a hanger. For the moment given to her to be alone, Chiyo surveyed the peculiar image in the mirror with its knobby knees, soft, pale belly flanked by tanned arms, and a demure bralette that didn't look quite as charming or crisp as she remembered it to be when she'd donned the garment that morning.
She made a mental note to buy something in a color that wasn't beige the next time she had a few spare coins to amend her wardrobe with.
Her fingers tweaked the fresh, blunted wedge of her recently tamed mop, long overdue for maintenance. The nape of her neck shorn near to the skin, unruly curls were lavished with product and patience into sculpted waves. It was the washing sink that she'd truly revealed in, blunt nails deliciously scouring her scalp.
Pampering is nice, but it's such a pain to keep up with… And expensive too.
No complaint had been made by the small acts of indulgement, what with her face still bearing a few fading blemishes leftover from the trip. However, this last detail wasn't part of the original agreement.
In fact, nothing that they'd done that day had ever been decided upon or even left open for debate. Not once was she told where they were going, or why, until it was too late. Cooperative to near complacency with several other requests and offers from travel arrangements to the devilish disguise of their purpose, Chiyo had permitted scissors to be taken to her overgrown hair. A surly glare had spared her dense eyebrows from excessive plucking into the modish arches of permanent surprise. For that respect alone, she refused to bend.
She'd even gone so far as to accept the stinging gall of proffered help of all things. An arranged trade for her services, one the recently impoverished elf, down to her last few coins and traveler's cheques, couldn't exactly refuse.
If she went through with it all, under the firm terms of succeeding, that new recorder he'd dangled in front of her face would replace the stolen one without costing her a copper. For that, she could play the requested role one night and survive whatever embarrassments or discomforts it might entail.
This was just one of many trials of a long list she needed to check off. And then she could go home.
A light rap on the wall brought with it company and Chiyo submitted to being evaluated by the indifferent tape measure of a stolid, graciously plump woman who spoke about as much common Trade as she herself spoke fluent Tevene. Up, down, hold, straighten. No more words were needed to command the short elf into whatever pose required.
Upon the subdued girl in the glass she kept her eyes fixed, watching the tallied stripe stretch across each segment of arm, leg, chest, hip, and waist. Numbers unimportant enough to her besides ultimately meaning one thing. Small. The hardest one to swallow came when the tape was looped about her mid-breast and drawn taut, a laughably low digit before the handsome, near to overflowing, bounty standing right behind her.
If only… She couldn't bring herself to be jealous of a woman whose name she didn't even know, but the curvaceous comparisons were not adding any extra confidence.
"I caught someone eyeing this… Too bad it's not in my size." The cheerful words whistled in the walkway as a slip of translucent fabric fell in a flutter over the partition wall. Bringing with it an immediately red and roasting flush, she caught the ostentatiously thin chemise that's modesty was further reduced with generous swatches of lace.
"You're too kind." She said through her teeth, trying hard not to wad the scanty article into a ball. Wasn't there a saying to leave something for the imagination? Not that she had any trouble in that regard. But thoughts like those were of the very last variety she needed now.
The goading jest aside, if someone truly had such obscene preferences, he was sure to be in for a major disappointment. Grandmothers probably wore more alluring things than she did on a regular basis, with cleanliness and comfort being her only priority.
Though… She rubbed the barely-there silk between her fingers. Even the gold-tinged lace was soft… What was so wrong with a little whimsical denial? It's not like anyone would actually see it.
This was no time for self-derived shame. She had to have a proper dress, like any other tool of the trade. Dorian had not been reserved in telling her how important appearances were amid this particular group, being of elven descent already set her at a severe disadvantage. The Dalish ancestry could be circumvented with the correct application of style and poise, otherwise she'd get no insight beyond glimpses of upturned nostrils for the entire event.
Front page news. Noble nose hairs and boogers. Who trims and who forgets to blow. Read all about it!
The request was simple, the implications were anything but. Be unbiased. Gather evidence. Don't get caught. They were asked to prove the Magister's home to be genuinely haunted or merely a farce put on as spectacle. For the past several years there had been numerous encounters, almost too fantastical to be true, and all conveniently timed around the annual gathering.
The seamstress prodded her healthy flank. "Girdle, yes."
Chiyo wasn't sure if it was an offer or an order. But the long, tubular, buckled contraption brought next into the dressing room left no room for doubt. The blank stare that accompanied the constrictive garment made all the silent sentiments known about the unsuitable items still clinging to the elf's frame. Off they went, replaced in a dizzying flash and without a single eyelash batted by her dresser.
If she'd had prior concerns over her figure, they vanished alongside any potential lump that could be stuffed inside the off-pink casing stretched from bust to midthigh.
Blessed are the seamstresses, whose miracles are wrought in well-applied foundation wear.
The selection of dresses being passed through the curtain, however, did leave her somewhat questioning levels in taste at the peculiar assortment. Color palettes would be worked around. Hemlines and necklines could be adjusted. But not feathers. Anything but that…
True to his word, not a stitch of white hung on the rack, though it seemed he'd changed his opinion of satin on a few pieces. Everything else though, seemed to be fair game. Of course, the fluffy monstrosity was the first to be pulled over her head.
A spurring shove sent Chiyo in a jolt out through the narrow divide and onto the half-step platform for a turn in the mantel of glistening black plumage and a sheath that fell to the floor.
"Hmmm," Dorian tapped his chin as she stumbled over the twisted train. "No, not this. I saw one just like it last year on Archon Radonis' sister. In crimson. Looked like a great bird set on fire. Next."
Being paraded and displayed was a miserable enough affair without the rude remarks. Cheeks puffed with indignation, Chiyo was pulled away, stripped, and redressed.
"Ahhh, now that color would look marvelous beside my new vest." At least the comment was positive when she stepped out in a more moderate, flowy emerald design. The Tevinter man spun his finger and leaned toward the inattentive fellow sitting beside him with one arm crossed over his chest and the other hand massaging his temple. He kept a soured stare firm to the glass front door. Dragged at last from his seclusion in the basement, Solas appeared none too pleased with a coerced reentry into the public forum.
"What do you think? A bit meek, perhaps, but I don't know. Please turn for m- Vishante kaffas. Forgive me. Was I not clear? No bows. No. Bows."
With a snap, dress number two with the extra voluminous decorations over the rump was promptly rejected.
Pink, body-length fringe was ixnayed next before it could be given a proper swirl. A yellow and russet plaidweave a-line was threatened with flame. Worst was the silvery, shimmering pant-suit that earned the harshest comment of all… Unbroken silence held by a hand placed firmly as a shield over his moustache, protecting it from being curled by the vile obscenity.
The furious flow of Tevene sputtered between Dorian and the madame needed no translation as Chiyo waited alone in an empty dressing room. For most of their standard fare, the shop had hundreds of wonderful gowns to choose from. But one small problem with Dorian's last minute plan kept the outing from being fruitful… there just wasn't time enough to alter anything to actually fit her.
"What do you mean you don't have more in her size? If you have to pull something from the children's section, so be it." More incensed language followed.
A younger seamstress slipped her way inside, carrying with her a bundle wrapped in layers of dustcloth. "These are a little older, but… You know how quickly trends change. Spring's favorites will be fall's throwaways. We were saving these mostly for the beads and trim." The chatty girl rummaged through the set, pulling out several articles that had already been pillaged for their materials.
A salvaged dress for the charity case. Splendid. Maybe the cost of this expenditure wouldn't cause her stomach ulcers with guilt after all.
"Here, look. There's two left. You even have a choice of indigo or dark gold. We'll have to hem a slip to match though. But that won't take more than an hour." She held up the dresses, sheer-paned tabards covered in a topography of delicate beadwork had survived repurposing. They were nearly outdated, by fashion's brisk pace.
The blue was too sparkly for her more reserved tastes, but the coppery-gold simply begged to be put on. Effortless, roomy, and light, it needed no adjustment once the side fasteners were secured and an under-slip was quickly pinned into a proper length just below the knee. The beaded fringe clinked on the floor if she stooped or leaned, but a pair of heels would solve that minor defect.
"You're insufferable. I already have a perfectly fine suit hanging in your cedar closet."
Chairlegs squealed against the floor and heels stomped.
"It's gray and belongs at a funeral. Best in a coffin. So unless you are masquerading as the ghost, I won't allow it."
By the sound of it, she wasn't the only one at odds with the game of dress up.
Happy with her selection and wearing a genuine smile of content, she stepped out for one last performance.
And ran smack dab into another person traversing the narrow hall between the rooms.
A firm hand steadied her arm as she bumped back into the wall.
"Excuse me." The downright dour look she received from the tall elf being escorted for a fitting himself wasn't exactly the one she'd been hoping for. She'd have been satisfied with a twinkle of surprise, even mild approval, but instead he displayed a tight-lipped draw of his mouth and deep furrows above harrowed eyes.
Perhaps she should have picked the blue…
"At least you get to wear pants." It was the only consolation Chiyo thought to offer while the aggravated man took prompt leave and disappeared through the next curtain.
Maybe they had a girdle for him too. She muffled the most unbecoming snort as her mind illustrated a charming picture of the terse fellow being laced up and buckled in. Now that would be a marvelous sight to behold.
Chiyo knocked on the door, shifting cold, cramped toes on the stone floor. He'd not shown up for dinner and she hadn't seen hide nor absent hair of the photographer since he'd stormed out of the shop hours earlier.
Let him collect his thoughts. He'll be of no benefit to us in that mood anyway. A wise suggestion had kept her from following after Solas, but part of her still felt conscious-stricken for letting him go alone. Dorian's status and protection only extended so far...
When no answer came she turned the knob, finding it unlocked, and permitted herself entry. Plate in hand, balanced atop a steaming mug of tea, the least she could do was extend a bit of kindness and leave a peace offering on his desk.
The room was not as tidy as she'd last known it. Printed pictures had exploded over every available surface, pinned to any free space or left lying across furniture, even the floor had been converted into a slap-dashed gallery. Care had to be taken to avoid the glossy landmines as Chiyo stepped around them, her eyes flicking from image after image of their brief trip. A tiny smile crept over her mouth when she discovered a photograph centered on a familiar, sun-washed face. A woman struggling to keep a wide, floppy hat on in the wind with a speckled dress twisted around her legs.
It was perhaps one of the only pictures to exist in all of Thedas of herself that didn't deserve to be immediately thrown in the trash.
She moved a stack of the more clinical sheets over to one side for a few inches of space on the messy desk to place the cloth-covered plate.
His drink would get cold soon in the coolness of the cellar. He had to be around here somewhere. It was then she spotted several identical prints that had been marked with a pen or torn in half. To the naked eye, there was nothing obviously special about the darkly lit architecture. A week and a half ago, she wouldn't have known better either.
Copies were left in a littered trail back to the rudimentary laboratory and the heavy curtain. The inquisitive journalist followed the pictures and spotted the faintest red glow through the fabric. He must be at it again, Dorian hadn't been exaggerating about the hours Solas spent in his pursuits.
Would it be double or triple the amount here if everything had gone as planned?
Chiyo poked her head through the drawn, dense divide. Once again her senses were met with the heavy fog of chemicals, but her chest seized with a gasp when she discovered the photographer slumped on the stool and laying face down on the table beside his work.
Lined with bottles and jars, the shelf on the wall was organized with all manner of dangerous substances. Acids, alcohols, phosphates, and oxides. Any of them potentially lethal. But one, in particular, was a close culprit.
The lead-lined lyrium container lay on its side and open, the glow of its granulated contents spilled across the paper-strewn surface.
Oh fuck.
"Solas, wake up!" She tugged his arm, lifting it away from the most toxic of materials spilled just inches from touching his bare wrist. The limb fell limp to his side as she reached next for his shoulders and pulled him back up to sit. The skin of his neck and the chin that lolled over her hand was clammy and chilled. "Damn it! Come on, open your eyes."
How long had he been down here like this? A sweep of dread left her cold all over... She'd nearly gone up to her room after dinner instead of popping in for a sympathetic visit. Would anyone else have discovered him in this state or would she have been awoken in the morning by the arrival of a city coroner?
"Get up. Now." A cruel pinch placed inside his elbow at least sparked a reaction. Solas groaned and gave a loose shrug. He swatted when she twisted the tender flesh again through his shirt and vehemently growled when she did it a third time.
With a sudden rush, Solas shot to his feet and immediately covered his eyes. The dizzy sway set the stool to wobble. He nearly pulled the curtain down as he passed through the hung panels before Chiyo grabbed hold and kept him steady. "Easy, easy. Why don't you come sit?"
"It's not ready… I need time… more tests." He mumbled while she guided him to the old sofa, nearest to the door and the freshest flow of air. Chiyo snatched a handful of prints to use as a makeshift fan.
"You know, maybe a new hobby wouldn't be a bad idea. Or at least a ventilation system." She warned, watching the life slowly return in his listless features. Fingers to his wrist, she tested his pulse, sedate and throbbing while he coughed. "Are you alright?"
Consciousness regained, he sat with his head held above his knees. He spoke to the floor after several deep breaths. "Did... you look in the tray?"
"No, I thought you not breathing was a little more important." Her words were curt with worry dredged up from unknown depths, stirred by the thought of what would have potentially been an accidental death. Chiyo struggled with the fact that she wasn't fearful or even upset, but anger pricked her nerves into a minor maelstrom. He acted too smart to be this careless, to place himself under such hazard and risk.
"Add a piece of lyrium. Tell me what you see… I thought it was a mistake. Print after print... but they were all the same." He pointed back at the quartered corner with a shaky finger.
Something had him rattled, but what made him think she would be any braver was baffling. Chiyo left him for a moment and did as asked. With the aid of gloves and a mask, she used tweezers to drop one of the spilled grains into the metal tub and swept the rest back inside. Sure enough, the image changed as the mineral dissolved and the lids of her eyes stretched to their limits.
Chiyo took a step back from the chemical bath. And then another for good measure. It seemed nothing like the terror that had sent them reeling in the catacombs. It didn't even appear human at all. "What… what exactly am I looking at here?"
"Something I have never captured before. What no one believes to be real." Horrifically tall and slender. Beady, black holes for eyes. A cavernous mouth hung agape. The outstretched hands though… Chiyo shivered and exited the eery red space.
Trading the protective wear for the plate and cup she'd left on the table, Chiyo rejoined him in a huddle on the couch. Prying away a trembling hand from his head, she placed the mug-handle in Solas' grasp.
She pulled off the draped tea-towel and set the dish of powdery donuts on the broad armrest. One pinched for her, one forced onto Solas, she pressed the yeasty confection to her mouth and let the normally unpalatable sugars melt against her teeth.
"Have you ever been to Rivain?" She hoped he would take the hint and speak of something else that wouldn't ruin her dwindling odds of getting sleep that night.
"Once." He chewed dryly and wiped the tiny crumbs from his lap. The sip that he took next cleared whatever haze lingered about his senses as his face wrinkled in disgust. Solas promptly re-gifted the tepid beverage with a grimace. "I was commissioned there by a hotel to take shots of their beaches and other amenities. Would it surprise you if I said I had a normal career at one point?"
"Yes, actually. I'll need some proof, or it never happened." She watched as he reached out to the nearest shelf and thumbed a few binders, all unmarked and indistinguishable. Upon her knee, he placed a chosen volume and she opened it with a clean pinky nail.
The frazzled elf couldn't even fake surprise over the obsession. Countless pictures filled every slot. But at least these were pleasant, idyllic even... Miles of white sand, plazas with bubbling fountains, rolling hillsides heavy with grapevines.
And each had a little story, one he recited from a memory that gained in clarity as Chiyo pointed at all the stunning places she'd never had the fortune to see.
Soothed by his words and the long draughts of tea, she found reprieve in listening to him speak. With fear compartmentalized, hours slipped by as Solas set her mind at ease with faraway tales of beautiful locations and the curious people he'd met along the way. Some were merry folk, others, though, were miserable even in paradise.
After a time, she wasn't even looking at the pictures anymore. Her drifted gaze fell idle on the softening storyteller, and then on nothing as her lids drooped. She curled in her seat, floating between inactive listening and drowse.
"You should go to bed." A yawn floated past as Solas leaned over to rescue the abandoned portfolio before it toppled to the floor. "I'll be fine now… Thank you."
A warm, languid touch brushed the sugar-speckled corner of her mouth and generated a rousing wriggle.
Chiyo stretched her arms and forced herself to stand. Without another word, she ambled towards the door and rubbed at the slight mark of sticky dampness left on her face.
Her feet tripped on the first step before her senses caught up to what had happened. The skin around her bleary eyes crinkled, dawned with the realization that it had been the hard tip of a nose to bump her cheek. And those soft, soft lips below had joined the sly motion.
No. No… Not tonight. She'd had enough of her mind messed with for one evening and didn't even bother to glance back to see what kind of look had come over him.