circle7 | Garamond and Calibri Playdate :D

"Sir. Where are we going?" Calibri asked, expression mostly neutral (it wasn't a protest, because when Garamond said they were going, they went), but there was a slight dip to his brow that meant he had no idea what Garamond was talking about - well, not until those tickets were slammed down onto his desk. Calibri still had goggles on over his glasses, and while those notes on the asphyxiating side effects of Klimecian Sourroot were important, the exclusive, sold-out exhibition on the Galaxy's Northern aquatic ecosystems were even more pressing.

He snapped his goggles up onto his forehead, picking up one of the tickets. The price, of course, was no concern to such high-ranking members of Circle Seven, but their organization didn't really deal in academic studies other than, perhaps, the physics of Getting Rid Of People, and the idea that Garamond knew about such an event was kind of puzzling to begin with, even for a logical person such as the poisons expert. Hence, upon lifting his eyes over the edge of the small sheet of paper, Calibri asked the most logical question that came to his mind right after. "...Is there someone attending this that we are going to take care of?"

“Ha ha! The goons that go to these things don’t pose any threat to the likes of us,” Garamond explained with a cheerful air. “This is for you, Calibri. Told you I was going to take you somewhere fun, didn’t I? …Of course you might’ve been too drunk to recall. I didn't really consider that possibility until now.”

“Well, never mind that," Garamond interjected himself, recalling the tickets back up into his hand and depositing them into his left coat pocket. "Go on and get your things sorted out, Calibri. Our reservation time was an hour ago, we’ve got to get moving.”

Probably as Garamond expected, Calibri slightly bristled, back straightening as he slid off his goggles with a painfully professional sniff. He stood up and shrugged on the big, oversized coat he had left on the back of his chair. Watching him put it on was like watching a child try on new year's clothing that he hadn't quite grown into yet. The sleeves engulfed his arms, and the fabric fell over his frame like a giant shroud, making a light bell-like chorus of sound as the vials of Whatever It Was inside its numerous pockets clinked together. "I wasn't drunk. I remember what happened. I was just tired that night. Alcohol simply makes me drowsy."

The protest was more protocol than not - it wasn't as if Calibri was going to turn this opportunity down. Garamond had him pinned - he really had been trying to make enough room in his schedule to attend the convention. He could almost consider this an order. That gave him the perfect excuse. The boss had ordered it.

The decision did not come as intuitively as one might have thought. Garamond had simply happened by Calibri’s computer monitor with an ad for the convention pulled up on the screen. It was rare that the machine featured something other than spreadsheets or some other kind of data charts. Garamond took the advertisement as a sign (and judging by Calibri’s reaction, it had been a good choice, albeit Calibri would probably appreciate it somewhat less had he known Garamond had been snooping around).

In a little over an hour, the two arrived at their destination. Although a good two hours late for their reservation, they were let in without any trouble. Garamond seemed to command an aura of authority even over the convention staff – men who would have had no reason to be concerned or familiar with his name and background.

The convention was held in a dome a top a large, flat carrier ship. The floor area was exceedingly large, separated into neat squares by lights and red rope, each section displaying a presentation of some strange discovery or some a technological marvel that would help further the field. The halls were filled with professors and scientists, people that shared an interest in the field. Garamond felt rather out of place. After all, these weren’t the kind of people he typically affiliated with, but some of the sights were amusing all the same.

It seemed as though men of science were certainly an eclectic sort. It was no wonder that Calibri enjoyed such events - amongst this crowd, he fit in seamlessly. The convention was filled with people who were overly enthusiastic about their choice of study, having heated discussions in the middle of the hall, waving enthusiastically at their holographic display, rubbing their chins and pushing up their glasses. In fact, compared to some of the other Mad Scientist-esque characters present, Calibri almost seemed...overly normal (and that was saying a lot). For once, Garamond was the only odd one out (even if he always cut a unique figure in any crowd).

The convention hall was a maze. There were rows of stalls and lines of rows, stretching seemingly endlessly from the grand, spacious hall. Every few paces, there was a large, column-like tank, extending from the high ceiling to the ground, where a specimen of aquatic life was swimming listlessly about, probably bored of being contained in such a tight space, but used to captivity by now. Some tanks were filled with clear water, some blue, some green, and some even a deep, blood red. Some tanks were nearly pitch-black, and these held the most interesting displays. Even from a distance, the occasional glow of the tank's inhabitants flared bright like fireworks in the night sky.

Calibri tugged on Garamond's shoulder. Unlike the other man, he didn't seem at all overwhelmed by the volume of information and people here. In fact, he almost looked excited (if only his range of facial expressions could show as much). "Boss. This way. There's a talk about to start on the biological leg structure of the Centennial Marocatan Septopod."

...What?

“A maracotton sextowhat?” Garamond echoed under his breath as he was pulled along.

Garamond was not a man who was well acquainted with scientific jargon. Unfortunately for him, the event offered no alternative for the layman. Walking past booths with titles like Quadroplanary Ectofibriac Sphere and Benthic Cephalopoda Ocular Organogenesis was a little more than overwhelming for someone who had simply volunteered as a tag along. Granted, being about specialized interests, there was an expectation that only those with specialized knowledge would be attracted to the event — and that was reflected by the fact that Garamond stood out like a sore thumb amidst the hoards of sleepy-eyed, awkwardly composed scientist types.

Though Circle Seven itself was a name that was both respected and feared throughout the system, the actual faces of even its most important staff members were not common knowledge. It was both safer and more convenient that way; only the members themselves knew the faces, and probably only the First Circle knew them familiarly. As such, the stares that Garamond garnered were not for his position, his power, or his reputation (a first, perhaps), but just for the fact that he was very clearly not a man of science.

Calibri, on the other hand, didn't even attract a second glance.

"Marocatan Septopod," the younger man corrected, finally stopping in front of a pair of heavy-looking double doors. The only indication that this was the right one was a number printed on the surface, a plain "9" in stenciled-white paint that probably corresponded to some map that they had passed near the entrance. Where and how Calibri had managed to pick out the location from such a fleeting glance was hard to say, but at the very least, they had found it. Placing one hand on the handle (no skin showing, covered with his sleeve), Calibri pushed into the room.

It was dark. The presentation had already started, and at the bottom of the lecture-like space, yet another eccentric old man with frazzled hair was talking and gesturing wildly about his topic of choice. Everyone else seemed to be paying rapt attention. Quietly and with painful politeness, as always, Calibri dragged the both of them into the nearest seats. In his element, he obviously had no qualms about treating the Boss this way, or maybe, in his excitement, he had simply forgotten the protocols involved with the person he was dealing with.

Nevertheless, it was obvious that he was happy. Not much of the emotion showed on his face, but it was doubtful that anyone in the organization had ever seen Calibri move quite so quickly before, even if he was naturally efficient. It took all types, perhaps.

Garamond’s glance glazed the projection as the man spoke. The holographic reconstruction featured a loop animation of some bean-shaped cells bunching together. He did not know what they were, but their erratic movement was more entertaining than the man prattling on at the front. Even with a proper introduction to the topic, Garamond likely wouldn’t have found anything interesting in the topic at hand, but missing the first quarter of the presentation had only served to confuse him. That fact was reflected in his facial expression, which was furrowed and bewildered like he was trying to process some sort of foreign language.

“So,” He turned to Calibri with a whisper. “What’s this guy talking about anyway?”

A few of the nearest seated members of the audience glared at him.

In what must have been a mild panic, Calibri clapped a sleeve-covered hand over Garamond's mouth immediately afterward. In his defense, though, he did shoot withering glares at their neighbors until they turned back around, and not without a small amount of grumbling on their part. (He had his loyalties, after all.)

Letting his hand fall, Calibri cupped it over his own mouth instead as he leaned to the side to say very quietly, "I apologize, Boss, but there are protocols to be followed here, as well. The lecturer, Professor Stitzbald," he clarified, "Is reporting his findings on a rare breed of invertebrate that was recently found on a gaseous planet at the farthest reaches of the known galactic system. It's quite a find, you'll have to agree." He nodded, as if confirming this to himself.

“Uh-huh,” Garamond replied hollowly.

He shifted back into his seat once Calibri was done explaining, his glance now shifting impatiently between the speaker and the crowd. Eventually, the drone of the professor was tuned out, and his boredom fell over him like a heavy blanket.

Minutes into the presentation, there was a small weight against Calibri’s shoulder. Garamond, having fallen asleep with his arms crossed, had fallen into Calibri’s side.

Calibri, of course, didn't even notice the extra weight until the lecture was over. His jacket, constantly weighed down by varying liquid volumes of irritants, solutions, and vials of less pleasant mixtures had made him accustomed to the feeling of heaviness around his shoulders, and in addition, the professor's long, tedious, and almost exhausting talk was, to him at least, awfully captivating. It was only when the lights blinked on after the presentation ended that Calibri remembered the company he had brought along, and upon turning to ask Garamond how he was faring, found himself promptly with a mouthful of the man's hair.

"Bo-mmph!"

Very promptly, he leaned his head away. It took only a split second after that for him to realize the state they were in, and judging from the muffled amusement from their previously-irritated neighbors, it hadn't taken them much longer to notice either. With a dip in his brow being the only evidence of his long-suffering mentality, Calibri thought for a second before deciding that there was really no subtler way to do this. He shrugged the offended shoulder very slightly, barely enough to stir the other man, and cleared his throat. "...Boss. Boss, the lecture is finished. Please wake up."

Calibri’s gentle approach to waking the older man was predictably not successful. Garamond, on average, did not get a lot of sleep. He made up for this deprivation by sleeping twice as hard during the slim few hours that his days allotted him. While the second-in-command’s shove did not wake him, it did cause him to lose his balance, and he landed face-down in Calibri’s lap.

If Calibri were a man of lesser composure, he would have yelled out.

As it was, he just froze until he comprehended the situation, which only took a second at most, and, ignoring the curious glances of the people passing around them as they left the auditorium, placed a hand on Garamond's face. At first, he hit it lightly, alternating between pats on the cheek and shaking the man's shoulders, before, with an impatient huff, Calibri all but slapped his superior with a resounding crack.

“OW!” Garamond yelped out, cringing back from Calibri’s strike.

Still nested in Calibri’s lap, he curled his hands over the offended spot on his head, turning to glance up at Calibri with and indignant scowl.

“What the hell was that for?!”

Calibri pointedly stared down. When, after a moment, it seemed like Garamond was still not intent on moving his head from his lap, he looked away, rather callously. "I'm sorry, Boss, my hand slipped."

“You’ve got some gall to go hitting your superiors, you know,” Garamond mumbled back as he finally rose in his seat, his brow scrunching as he glanced out over the empty seats in front of him. He blinked vacantly.

“So it’s over already, huh?” He yawned out.

"I didn't hit you, sir," Calibri said, a bit petulantly. "My hand slipped while I was trying to shake you awake. I apologize."

Most of the others had already left the scene, probably hurrying onto the next lecture of interest. Even the lecturer himself had long since collected his heaping pile of notes and wandered out the stage door, leaving the two of them in an evacuated auditorium, the lights on but low, set to a dim. To his credit, then, Calibri raised a hand to Garamond's face, feeling around the area of injury. The cloth of his sleeve separated his hand from making skin contact, but that was probably for the better - the mottled fingers were probably better off unseen.

Upon letting it drop, Calibri nodded. "It finished a few minutes ago. I don't dare say that you were enthralled by the exposition." And that made one wonder. Tilting his head back up, Calibri frowned. "How and why did you obtain the tickets, Boss? You are clearly no fan of this study."

Calibri’s wallop had caused some reddening, but not a bruise. Compared to the wounds Garamond had contracted before, this was nothing, but it didn’t stop him from groaning in protest when it was touched (melodramatic, really).

“Threats, blackmail,” Garamond answered, flat-toned. “You know, the usual.”

"Oh," Calibri said, accepting that answer simply enough, regardless of whether Garamond was joking or not. Even if he hadn't been, the response wouldn't really have struck the second-in-command as strange, considering their line of work, and considering, more specifically, Calibri's own strange sense of 'morals.' Thus unfettered, he stood up, stretching out his legs. He hadn't even noticed the hours pass, and the muscles strained as he stood. In fact, his right leg was hardly ready for the impact, and almost immediately, filled with the uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles, like a thousand tiny insects crawling down his veins, and in slight surprise, the young man toppled down almost as quickly as he stood.

“GWAHAHAHAHA,” Garamond exploded with laughter so loud that it seemed to shake the curtained enclosure. Standing, Garamond extended a hand to his second-in-command. “You need a hand there, Calibri? What’s got you stumbling over your own feet?”

“This event’s funded in part by a big name school,” The mob boss explained as he lifted Calibri by the wrist. “We’ve done a lot of ‘favors’ for that school, you could say, so it just kind of worked out in my favor.”

If Calibri hadn't been accustomed to the sound of Garamond's explosive laughter, he might have cringed. Even as he raised his head, he could see, from the out of the corner of his eye, shadows pausing in the slit underneath the closed doors as passer-bys no doubt stopped and stared curiously at the entrance, wondering about the strange sound echoing from inside. "My foot, sir," he said quietly, with a very slight hint of embarrassment. He cleared his throat before continuing. "It's numb."

“Well no better way to get rid of that than to walk it off,” Garamond replied, yanking Calibri forward (no doubts sending a tingling resistance down to the second-in-command’s sleeping foot in the process).

"Nnngh!" It was a helpless response, and while Calibri would usually be better in possession of his voice, the surprise as uncomfortable sensation shot up his leg superseded that. Instinctively, Calibri clung to the closest anchor (that being Garamond, since it was the man himself who yanked him forward) as his legs quite literally and not at all metaphorically went weak at the knees. He almost face-planted right into the other man's stomach, only managing to catch himself with his other leg at the last minute, and with an indignant edge to his voice, snapped, "Boss!"

“Hey, easy—” Garamond anchored his hands on Calibri’s shoulders, holding the man in place in case he decided to lose his balance again. Calibri was rarely this cross with him. His second-in-command’s frustrated expression teased another small laugh out of the mob boss. "That must be some serious numbing."

"Your head is very heavy, sir," Calibri said, by means of retort, and it was a rare show of humor and wit that was not acidic, for once. After a moment, with the blood rushing back into his extremities, he managed to stand up to full height on his own, and gradually, the strange discomfort faded, as did his frustration. It was replaced with a clearly awkward embarrassment, judging from the way the second-in-command kept his head down even as he pushed his glasses up, looking at their feet. "I'm all right now, though."

Garamond and Calibri Playdate :D

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