A considering look, and then Alistair lets go of his shoulder to adjust his mask by the beak. Not much. Fractionally upward, to give him a better line of sight through the eye holes. Maybe touching masks is rude in Orlais; he hasn't spent enough time around the nobility to know and, also, doesn't care.

He tries to relax. This is harmless. A prank--and not one Zevran is playing on him, one he's included in, so not even his easily outraged feelings can be hurt. The music is loud enough and the dance is mobile enough that he doesn't feel like he's risking any matters of security when he asks, "Are we almost done?"

With the sneaking. The murder. The party. He would like to leave.