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Casual engagements, although they occupied a lighter (arguably trivial) side of politics, were for Garamond as necessary as any other social obligation. The face of circle seven, Garamond handled his public relations smartly. He attended as many events as his schedule permitted, delegating the rest to representatives. This particular event, however, required Garamond in person. The invitation had been extended to him by a large corporate head and political lobbyist. Dudbar Trolt was a businessman with his claws deep in politics. To say he was a puppeteer was to put it lightly — This guy had his politicians on a noose.

The event was Trolt’s fourth marriage. The venue was a luxurious space aboard the Lunessa, a modern entertainment vessel used for meetings and conventions. It travelled around the inner Solar System to wherever it was summoned. The impromptu announcement of the wedding had forced Garamond to make quick arrangements. He’d spend the prior day cancelling and rescheduling meetings and handing out tasks to lower management. He’d packed the next morning and, after finding out his son would be unable to attend due to his pooch having an illness, plucked Calibri out of the lab without warning.

Two white suits and three hours later, they were aboard the Lunessa, waiting in a grand ballroom with upwards of a hundred others. The room was square with a high, arched ceiling. The ceiling panels looked like they opened up to reveal a window, doubtlessly to let in a view of the stars when the lights were dimmed. There were bars set up at every corner of the room and long tables with hors d’oevres. The minimalist décor on the Lunessa was the only thing that kept the environment a step away from gaudy. People shuffled about, making idle conversation and snacking. They stayed in groups of two or three, mostly. The fact that it was an hour before the wedding ceremony and that no one had much drink in them probably contributed to the lack of mingling.

Garamond, not quite sure what to do with the unexpected hour of free time, had sat down at a bar and was nursing a small glass of bourbon and ice.

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"You could be more convincing, but I'll fold," Garamond said as a taxi rolled up. He opened the backseat door, stepping aside for Calibri to enter first.

"We'll take this too the station and head back from there."

Calibri was mildly surprised anyone had pulled up at all. The statistical evidence given the contributing factors seemed to suggest otherwise, but Calibri supposed that homo sapiens sapiens were easily swayed to do just about anything if one waved enough currency bills in their face. Either way, he slid in gratefully, considerably less grateful about the squish of pastry against his back as he sat back in the leather seat.

"To the docking station," he said authoritatively once Garamond closed and he locked the door. Once the vehicle took off, he glanced sideways at Garamond. "And then to the cleaners, sir."

While the driver didn't look incredibly pleased to have his seats scummed with frosting, he didn't say anything. Either he was a very polite driver or he was reassured that, judging by the quality of the suits under the layer of whipped toppings, these customers would come with a worthy tip. Just so there were no misunderstandings, Garamond paid it upfront before giving the mam coordinates. However, It wasn't the kind of money that said "sorry for the mess," it was the kind of money that said "if you tell anyone about this encounter we will effectively silence you."

"Well, that was fun," Garamond said. "Shame to duck out early."

Calibri paid no need to the driver either way. As long as the man followed through with their temporary and social contract, what the man thought really didn't register anywhere near Calibri's list of things worth thinking about. Instead, he busied himself with wiping the lenses of his glasses off on the back of the passenger seat, oiling the faux-leather covering with fatty but exceptionally light-whipped cream.

"Will the patrons think poorly of you for making an early exit?" Calibri asked. Truthfully, he didn't much care for what the patrons thought either, but if Garmaond had thought it worth his time to make an appearance, then they must be of some standing to him, and what was important to the Boss should be important to all his subordinates. "Is this an appropriate time to send..."

He trailed off, looking thoughtful. What was it that humans did in situations like this? Their customs were so odd and illogical.

"...An apologetic fruit basket?"

Ah, yes, that was it. Humans did like sending each other bananas and apples.

"Dudbar's an understanding man. I'm sure he won't take it too hard if we skimp on the fruits," Garamond said, scrolling through the planner screen on his communicator.

"In the meantime, it appears I have the luxury of a free afternoon."

Dutifully, Calibri looked up at Garamond and was exceptionally quick to remind, "Well, sir, if that's a problem for you, there are some Balorean accounting checks you could look over before we send it to the budget department for approval-"

"It can wait," Garamond excused himself just as quickly. "In fact, I would say today's events pose no problems at all. It's a perfect opportunity to take the day off."

Calibri's brow knit tighter, a regular sea of wrinkles and consternation in the middle of his forehead. "But that would be a severe waste of time."

The cab rolled to a stop and Garamond stepped out, holding the door for Calibri. "On the contrary, I think bailing out a failed business is a waste of time. The Balorean private banking system is more or less owned by us already."

Edited 2012-12-30 00:14 (UTC)

Human courtesy and customs never really registered on Calibri's senses of recognition, regardless of how finely tuned they were in other cases. He neither noted them nor thought the absence of them were of any real consequence, so he stepped out of the car with neither thanks nor surprise at the admittedly not uncommon gesture from his superior.

"Then what do you propose we do instead?" Calibri said, looking around with mild interest. This definitely wasn't the Balorean Economic Consulate. In fact, it looked more like...an entertainment district?

The hotel Garamond checked them into was of standard quality, but it was good enough for showers and getting suits delivered. The clerk, a cephalopod creature looking to be a young adult, looked on suspiciously at the two men covered in melted cream. That look turned into pure incredulousness when Garamond asked for a rest period.

"Can I see you ID, sir?" The clerk asked, looking pointedly at Calibri.

Calibri looked pointedly back or, at least, he would have, if his vision hadn't been so thoroughly blockaded with a layer of thick, frothy cream. It must have been that, then, that kept the clerk from being put off by his death stare at all. Being covered by about five pounds of pastry apparently had a negative effect on his powers of intimidation - how disappointing.

So, instead, he chose the next most efficient solution to the problem, which was to, in fact, rummage in his suit jacket pocket until he found a relatively untouched wallet - untouched until the moment he found it, of course. The black polished leather didn't quite escape the ghastly fate of its owner the moment Calibri's oily fingers touched it, but at the very least, he didn't seem to care much about the maintenance of high-quality goods like imported Penesphean leather.

He handed an ID chip-embedded card to the put-upon-looking clerk. It was, of course, as illegitimate as the rest of his livelihood, but no system in colonized space would be able to tell.

The clerk scrutinized the identification chip with her glance, eventually handing it back with a relenting frown. She disappeared behind the counter, reappearing after with two key cards. She slid them over to the two guests.

"You have three hours. Use the room line if you need an extension. We sell commodities in the lounge room on the second floor... if you didn't bring any."

Calibri, of course, misunderstood - after all, there was only one kind of commodity he really had in mind. He raised both brows, looking mildly impressed. What a surprisingly well-stocked establishment.

"You carry laundering supplies?"

Garamond smiled politely, a hand patting Calibri's shoulder with the weight of a led brick.

"We'll be using only complimentary goods. Thanks for your help."

Unsurprisingly, Calibri buckled a little, but he didn't complain as Garamond led them away, though he did wonder why the clerk looked so bewildered, considering all the up-selling she had done about their supposed stock.

"What room is it, sir?"

"Two nineteen," Garamond said, and after a short trek up the stairs, found the corresponding door.The room was small with a king size bed. Apart from red accents, everything was a clinical white.

"You take the first one. I'll call in the new suits... unless you prefer something more casual."

"Something less restrictive would be ideal," Calibri noted, shedding his shoes and jacket in a pile on the ground before he even reached the bathroom door and closed it behind him.

The shower-bathtub combination was a great deal more spacious than it really needed to be. Its controls were, in addition, a great deal more complicated than what was really necessary too. For what reason did a large vat of water really need a 'Sensually Undulating' or 'Massagging Caress' option? And what did 'The Undersider Special' even mean?

Honestly. The practical use of Dihydrogen Monoxide was limited to imbibing and cleanliness alone, so Calibri made an educated guess and turned the dial to 'The Works' (that had to be the most practical, working option, surely) while he waited for the tub to fill.

By the time Calbri had finished, there were two sets of clothing laid out on the bed. There was a grey suit laid laid down out beside what appeared to be a pair of navy sweatpants and an oversized white t-shirt with a graphic of an masked superhero. Large foreign typography ran horizontally along the image. "Something comfortable," it was. It at least fit the bill for what Garamond had asked for.

The bathroom door opened with a hiss as steam escaped the room. Calibri, draped in a bathrobe with (now) clean glasses strode out, looking vaguely traumatized which, for a man of few expressions like him, was really saying quite a lot.

"..." he said, with an air of being greatly disturbed.

"You look like you've enjoyed yourself," Garamond commented, taking a second towel from the hanger beside the bathroom door. "Clothes are on the bed."

Calibri stood rooted in place up until the point where Garamond bypassed him and nearly closed the bathroom door for his own turn. "Boss," he said urgently, turning around.

"Don't choose, 'The Works,'" he said, with utmost sincerity.

"Noted," Garamond answered, looking back at Calibri with veiled amusement, his brow pulling together suspiciously. Towel thrown over his shoulder, Garamond disapeared into the bathroom.

Once Garamond was out of sight, Calibri stayed rooted in spot for only a millisecond longer before he all but gathered himself and stalked back toward the bed area. Garamond had clearly made himself comfortable while waiting - the projection display was still on and a spot on the side of the bed had been indented by his weight and, furthermore, smeared with pastry cream. Steering far away from it, he turned, instead, to inspect the clothes laid out for him.

They were...functional.

His opinion ended just about there. The set of clothes did fit the stipulations that Calibri had laid out and he himself hardly had a sense of taste apparently as refined as his superior's, so he simply tugged on both sweatpants and T-shirt with an air of long-suffering practicality and waited on the clean side of the bed, swathed in navy and HeroMan XVII memorabilia (The Most Heroic Man On This Side of The Galaxy!).

A cloud of steam wafted out as Garamond exited the bathroom, and he stood with a bathrobe tied around his waist and his towel draped around his head. Taking the fresh suit from the foot of the bed, he stopped to give Calibri a knowing smile and a nod. He looked incredibly tickled (perhaps in more ways than one).

Taking his suit to the dressing mirror, Garamond quickly dressed. The suit wasn't cut exactly to his specificationa, but it would suffice for the day. He thinned the loop of the belt to hug his slacks, adhusting his undershirt after. Throwing on the coat, he buttoned the grey tweed sleeves, pulling taut the knot on his tie.

He glanced back at Calibri. "Ready to go?"

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To* stupid iPad autocorrect <-- omg it just autocapitalized that p frickin sassy ass tablet

LOL

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