The Ball. And Doom.

[amicably_absent]

For some reason, while Cain was stolen by Ahamo, Jeb and Tutor to get ready for the ball, while Glitch found himself hurried off by Raw, DG and Azkadellia.

The girls had clearly been scheming for a while, because there was beauticians ready, girls with steam things and hot things and clothes and al kinds of things that Glitch was sure he hadn't to go through to get ready for balls before.

Raw was stripped out of his furs and washed, doing a remarkable impersonation of a cat getting a bath with the yowling and complaining and eventual compliance with pouting. He cheered up when they got to blow drying and brushing through, his wild fur and hair neatened and brushed out and settled. Glitch insisted they weave ribbons through it, bows that Azkadellia clearly didn't entirely approve of and made DG pull that face that said she was laughing inside but wouldn't hurt feelings by saying it. Glitch thought it was cute, especially was Kalm was given the same treatment.

Then the mirrors were taken away and he was set upon by the ravenous hoards. Combs and brushes pulled at his hair past yells from DG telling them to mind the zipper. His face was scrubbed with some sweet smelling, rough stuff while his nails were buffed and filed and cleaned. Steam blasted over his scalp and oil that smelt like satusma was carefully worked through it to 'give it definition', whatever that meant.

The girls were being done at the same time. Azkadellia was quiet and elegant. DG complained and yelped as her hair was curled and pinned up, her make up up expertly applied. Glitch stopped questioning after a while when they descended on him with brushes until he was whisked away by a team of dressers, away from the girls and into a side area to be put in a suit.

He didn't mind the tight fitting, long sleeved under shirt. He dealt with the formal pants and thin piping on them and the polished black shoes. He didn't even grumble at the shirt that was done up att the way, professional and proper and not at all how he usually wore them.

The coat caused a stink. It was heavy, with small hooks instead of buttons and a deep wide swing and beautiful trim like he thought his old coat might have had before his head casing. It was a rich colour and lined with rich silk.

And it had medals. And that was the problem. He had no idea what they were for, but he was assured they were his and he had to wear them because Her Majesty had asked him to.

Which is why he's dressed up so fine, with shining medals and just enough make up to accentuate his features and his hair in disarray, with loose curls and gleaming zip, because he's used his fingers to undo the neat work the hairdressers did hiding his zipper with Ambrose's old side part.

And he was dragged in there to be there with the Royal family. So naturally, he's lurking near the corner of the Royal Dais, exchanging looks with DG and hoping Cain turns up soon so he has someone to talk to against his wall.

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[less-hugging.livejournal.com]

Thankfully for everyone involved, Wyatt doesn't go through any such ordeal, but whether that's thanks to being whisked away by sensible, grown men, or sheer luck, he couldn't say. They clean up, they shave what needs to be, which in Cain's case means his entire face. Tutor and Ahamo exchange glances at this, as if wondering when the young man will grow a few inches of masculinity.

Cain resents this, but sees nothing to gain in arguing an unspoken point.

There are naturally manservants there, to help with clothes and other such pampering pertaining to a gentleman's daily grind, but while Cain suffers in silence, he has to admit that they are professional and efficient, both of which are traits he can appreciate.

The fine piece of dress uniform that he's presented with, "A token of the Queen's appreciation," Ahamo informs him with a proud beam of a smile, that he can't quite wrap his mind around. Undershirts and sock garters he was expecting, and the same goes for a stiff, starched shirt and prickly cufflinks, but the uniform of the Queen's Royal Guard is just too much.

And yet, when the time comes, the three men step out all wearing their finest, and make their way to the huddle of familiar faces. Cain, wearing the darkest, most subtly luxurious uniform he's ever owned. Complete with his own set of medals, though nowhere near Ambrose's and Glitch's accomplishments, by far.

He stops short when he catches sight of him. Stunned.