Elimona made quick work of her hair, somehow managing to get it into a twist and adding tiny, decorative braids to the style. The bangs that she liked to frame her face had been gathered up as well, leaving her looking…old. And elegant, though she knew that would be seen through immediately by her father, at the least. Elimona did her job silently, with no unnecessary movements and assisted her in putting on the flowing, many-skirted clothes of her suitor's nation. The dress' shift hung off her shoulders loosely, and seemed to only be supported by the multitude of thin sashes that tied the excessively long sleeves up around her arms and the baggy body of the dress tightly to her middle to assure everyone that, yes, she had a feminine figure.
Once this had been achieved, she was asked to sit and Elimona assisted her in donning comfortable, leather boots that complemented the color scheme of her 'gown' nicely and, like every other garment from their allies' country, had to be fixed to her calve with tied cloth. After tying a large, metal fan to her waist, just snug enough that it hung of her hips – "This is a traditional symbol of power for women in the nation of the dragons; the elegant deadliness of a fan is mirrored in the wings of dragons. In the same way, the men carry some form of bladed weapon with them, as metaphorical 'claws' and 'teeth'." Elimona monologue-ed when Raven fingered the 'weapon' in curiosity – the she-demon gestured Raven to the door and allowed Adrian to take her to the meeting chamber.
The walk was long and, unlike Elimona, Adrian was all-too willing to fill the silence. He lightheartedly described the depictions of every painting, the history of every square foot of marble they passed, and told her (with much snickering) the conquests of the notoriously promiscuous chef's assistant without her needing to make the slightest effort (in fact, he blithely ignored several 'dear-God-stop' expressions of hers).
"I'm betting Lord Trigon has done something-or-other to assist you with your intolerance of the miasma," he said cheerfully, altering his gait to slow down and attempt to strike up a conversation again.
In response to his musings, Raven lifted her arm for inspection again. Was it the magic he'd placed on her earlier? Adrian caught her eye, "No worries! His Majesty is very clever; he wouldn't allow your powers to be limited when he is in need of them."
Raven held back a huff of disagreement and allowed him to take her by the arm, into a low, dim hallway that opened up into a small circular room. Trigon stood waiting, clad in a uniform similar to the one she'd seen him in before, though it was a misty blue this time around. The color did not suit his disposition at all, and Raven wondered at the change. "There you are," he said with a bored expression. His gaze moved over her head, "And here come our guests."
Raven turned in time to see one of the tallest women she'd ever met saunter into the room. The woman – whom Raven distantly remembered was called Serpentaye – had ludicrously long periwinkle hair and a glyph Raven knew was for storing power covering one side of her face. To add to the display, a comically large golden fan hung at her hip, somehow silent whenever it came into contact with anything that ought to have caused it to ring; magic. Behind her, a man Raven assumed was her betrothed walked with measured steps, two swords that looked like they could be called duel blades strapped to his back. He offered no greeting (unlike the woman, who had given a girlish laugh and jumped to grasp Trigon's hand and be led to a seat) and merely stared down his long, straight nose at her in disdain.
…Well. Trying to ignore whatever part of her mind had decided to spontaneously convert into an offended actress, Raven moved to observe her father and the queen of whatever their allied nation was called. They were each offered seats and did their best to look attentive while the two rulers engaged in small talk – "I'm flattered you chose to wear our colors to the meeting, milord," said the dragoness breathily, accompanying her statement with a beguiling smile, while the demon lord stated that it was the least he could do when she chose to grace his land with her luminous presence, and the ponytailed woman erupted into a fit of giggles.
"This is my daughter," Trigon gestured, and Raven fought the urge to narrow her eyes.
The dragoness smiled warmly, "I recognized you by your hair. Such an enchanting color," she reached out a stroked the violet locks, much to Raven's shock. For the second time in a minute, the sorceress had to stifle her reaction. 'Why is she touching me?' With another elegant laugh, the woman leaned back and offered an apology. Raven wondered if the woman was an empath as well, having so easily understood her schooled expression.
"My father has spoken of me to you?" she asked, choosing to break the silence that was just on the border of uncomfortable, thanks to the blue-haired lady's friendly expression.
"Of course. But it was really my companion here who painted for me a picture of your personality," Serpentaye said, gesturing to the man who eyed his monarch with a hint of a smile on his face, "He says you two have met before. Perhaps friends?"
"Acquaintances," corrected the man.
"Introduce yourself," urged the woman, breaching the touch barrier for the third and last person in the room (Adrian had departed shortly after her arrival).
The man sighed and looked at her from behind long, dark bangs, "I'm Malchior."
…
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A/N: My calluses are peeling again. Not only is it gross, but it hurts. But you know what helps?
Review!