Chapter Text
“Keep your eyes up enough that the top of your head is level. Don’t crane your neck when you look up.” Savos Aren took Marcus’ elbow and walked along with him, demonstrating. “Don’t take steps that disturb the line of the skirt. Push your feet well forward with each step. Glide.”
Marcus followed along, careful not to dislodge the slippers from his feet. He was in chemise and corset and all of those petticoats and things. Thankfully it was still cool for late morning. “This is kind of a lot to keep track of.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Savos smiled. “It’s the distilled result of several eras of particularly savage gate-keeping. But unlike everyone else, you do not have to worry about any ruination of your social prospects. We just need for you to do well enough to survive that first glance. I have a number of explanations prepared for any mishaps.” His lips drew back further. “One advantage that you will have is that, after the debacle of last year--”
Marcus winced along with him; Savos had told him what had happened and it had been awful.
“Everybody will be watching me, at first. Quite avidly, I fear. So no eyes will be on you.” Savos leaned down to grant Marcus his reward. It was one of those social kisses; not a real kiss. The Arch-Mage’s lips brushed Marcus’ face just shy of his mouth, sparing them both the indignity of lip rouge transfer. Not that Marcus was wearing any, at present. Practice.
“How much more today?” Marcus wanted to know.
“Oh, not much. Final fitting on the more casual garments, and I think Endarie wanted to take another look at that collar of mine.” Savos shrugged. “After that, who knows. You’re doing very well on conforming your speech patterns, so maybe just a little more vocabulary review?”
“I can talk like those elves do if that’s what you want,” Marcus put in. “And that’s what I mean by kind of a lot. Isn’t all this stuff expensive?”
“Let’s review: What is the most essential part of the process in eliciting large gifts?” When Marcus started to speak, Savos lifted a finger. “Just like one of those snotty Altmer, if you please.”
Marcus lifted his nose in the air and said: “Conforming one’s appearance to such a standard that it appears as if one would never be in need of any such largesse?” Marcus smiled back as the Arch-Mage beamed at him, pleased. “I thought you said you came from a poor--”
Savos’ brow rose.
“Family of lesser circumstances,” Marcus finished, correcting himself. “How exactly do you have the money for all of this--” he gestured at his shoes, his petticoats-- “Stuff?”
Savos coughed: “How is it that you seem to have overcome this adversity?” He overlooked Marcus’ eye-rolling and went on: “One never directly references money or income.” His fingers reached to adjust a lock of Marcus’ hair and traced along his cheek. “Any such discussion is couched in circumlocutions and euphemisms--” He cupped Marcus’ chin in his hand. “Every culture has its own cant.”
“But how did you do it?” Marcus wondered. His eyelids had fluttered closed, almost without his will. “Make yourself all this money. I’ve always wondered.”
“Secret and near-instantaneous courier service? Quite lucrative.” Savos paused in what he was doing and glanced aside. “Oh, it’s past ten. Endarie won’t like it if we’re a little late.”
So maybe we should be a lot late?” Marcus put his hand over Savos’, holding it in place.
Savos smiled.