It took a moment to register with Kaetris what she was looking at - mostly because it was considerably incongruous. Or at least simply surprising. Morgan, for his part, hoped it distracted her sufficiently long for her not to notice the somewhat stunned expression that crossed his face when she opened the door wearing...that. To put it mildly, he'd been caught rather flat-footed. (What? He may have been an incredibly detail-focused, mature-beyond-his-years, slightly off-kilter young genius, but he was still a teenager.)
One thing about Morgan's choice of wear, more often than not, was an emphasis on functionality over form. He wore a fairly elegant coat on a daily basis, yes - one made of fine materials, and cut very precisely. But more often than not one could hear a subtle clanking from it - jade armor plates woven into it - and it was always the same coat. His choice of tunic and hakama would usually be chosen to match, and even cut very well, etc. etc., could not hide the truly staggering numbers of pockets he had in the lining, sides, coat interior, the works. He still looked elegant, yes - even rakish; a look he enjoyed affecting now and again - but any true fashionista or socialite could have easily taken the mickey out of him for his choice of wear.
Right now, though...
To put it bluntly, Ragara Morgan had taken what was the potential that was likely seen on a daily basis, and not only met it - but amped it up. It was hard to see looking at one piece, but...how to say it - he had done so with, it seemed, the slightest of efforts.
He still wore a black and silver ensemble, he still had his coat in the layers, and so on...but that was only at first blush. From the ground up - a pair of soft boots, the latest fashion, adorned his feet; upswept at the toes very precisely. His hakama went up only slightly before disappearing into the robe he was wearing over the other unseen garments; black, yes, but with whorls of silver and soft light blues winding their way up the sides of his legs. His robe was simple, nearly unadorned (for a Dynast, that is; there were some designs playing about, yet not nearly as many as a Cynis socialite would have dared); yet as he moved, one could see small shifts in the lines of silver and blue as light played across the different strands. Each angle presented new whorls, or new sigils; a cunningly wrought thing, a minor trick. These designs and whorls ran down to his cuffs - which were wider than usual - and up to the collar - equally as wide - covering his neck; both with carefully crafted designs and symbols playing about them. And the cut, oh, the cut - it was almost like he had been sewn into them; and they indeed showed off, even emphasized parts of his slender frame to great effect.
Yet, even with the curious designs and strange cut, it really didn't bespeak more than simple dress robes. Where was the audacity? Where was the elaborate craftsmanship or overblown appearance? Where was the ostentation? The extravagance? A truly odd thing, indeed...until one took a closer look. Until an individual accustomed to wealth, or wise to the ways of craftsmanship, noted something. Noted where the extravagance was. For where Ragara Morgan, or his family, had placed the money for their son's robes...was in the material. It hung perfectly off his shoulders - whenever it flowed from his movements, it never did anything less than show the best possible angle or design. If one touched it, they could barely feel the material for softness - it was as if he was wearing the stuff of dreams. The expense of that material...they had said the Ragarans were the wealthiest of Houses. It suited him well. Makarios himself might have approved of this clothing, had he seen it. Been appalled at the material being nowhere near as elaborate or beautiful as his own, but still!
Which was how he planned it, of course. The simple mask over his eyes and forehead forced him to wear his hair back; instead of hanging over his face, it now was neatly combed and washed - the black strands giving an almost mirror sheen as it hung down to by his shoulders - and two gleaming blue eyes (one curious, even playful - and one coldly metallic) stared through the holes of that silver and blue ceramic construct. Beneath it, he swiftly switched to a more uncharacteristic smile; small, not showing his teeth; the same one he had used many days ago. The smile of the gentleman banker; of the merchant prince. On his face, with that outfit, and the preparations he had gone to...it might have been eerily charming. Truth be told - it was as if the Ragaran was an entirely different person. Still...Morgan's voice came from the figure - speaking eerily eloquently; and he essayed a small bow - sending ripples up the robe.
"Good evening, Lady Nefarvin. If you'll pardon my...presumption - I came to inquire if you would be so kind as to grant me the honor of your company; en route to this evening's entertainment."