(no subject)

[pugsmuggler]

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.

Comments

[tactician]

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?"

[pugsmuggler]

"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."

[tactician]

"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.

[pugsmuggler]

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.

[tactician]

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.

[pugsmuggler]

"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."

[tactician]

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.

[pugsmuggler]

"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.

[tactician]

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!).

[pugsmuggler]

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?"

[tactician]

Calibri didn't quite register the exact innuendo or meaning in that knowing smile, judging from his completely impassive stare, but he did say something when Garamond was fully dressed.

"Did our clothing come from the same provider?" he asked curiously with a pointed frown.

[pugsmuggler]

"Oh. You are dressed," Garamond said, giving Calibri a once-over.

"Well, I ordered them from the same place."

[tactician]

"That's quiet a variety they carry," Calibri responded, brows raising. Whatever sentiment was passing through his head, however, lasted but a second before it was probably deemed unnecessary, and he stood up, proudly displaying HeroMan XVII on his chest.

"Where are we going now, on this supposed 'day off?'"

[pugsmuggler]

"Charming, isn't it?" Garamond mused, giving the cartoon graphic a last look before picking up communicator.

"Let's see... there's a theatre near by if you're up for some entertainment."

[tactician]

Understandably, Calibri looked dubious about that. "Perhaps I should return to the ship while you partake in your theatrical inclinations."

[pugsmuggler]

"Nonsense. What fun would going on my own be?" Garamond said as he pocketed the device.

"A bit of classical culture could be good for you."

omg tell him it's about romeo and juliet and they poison each other he'll love it

[tactician]

Though this was hardly a business venture or a professional excursion by any measure, Calibri had always found it somewhat difficult to turn down Victor Garamond, which, for one, made him a very good subordinate and for another, had made the last decade somewhat trying to say the least.

"I don't understand why you insist on explaining irrelevant cultures to me," said Calibri, ushered out the door nonetheless. This was, of course, not minding the fact the irrelevant culture was technically his own. "The last time you brought me to a theater, everyone present was extremely overly-sentimental, but I couldn't detect any emotional amplifiers in the air."

[pugsmuggler]

"Entertainment's not completely beyond you," Garamond reasoned as they walked. "And the plot does involve poison."

[tactician]

As expected, Calibri perked. "Your theatrical production involves poison?"

[pugsmuggler]

Garamond returned the keys to the service desk as they passed, leading Calibri out of the hotel and into the narrow sidewalks outside. Garamond smiled at Calibri's sudden interest. "Well, It's not exactly the main plot point."

[tactician]

Considering the briskness with which they concluded their business with the service desk, neither of them paid any real heed to the odd look the receptionist gave their backs.

"It's an investigation into the circumstances of a poison-induced murder," Calibri clarified, much more cooperative now in both pace and conversation. He was, unsurprisingly, easily hooked by the right...incentive.

[pugsmuggler]

The district was overflowing with characters of all sorts. The sidewalks were no less occupied than the streets, with people hurrying from one location to another. Garamond's tall stature made him stand out of the crowd like a patchy-faced beacon of sorts, his height only challenged by a few creatures of non-human origins.

"You really haven't changed at all over the years," He said as they walked, smiling like he may laugh.

[tactician]

Calibri frowned, looking up at his walking companion.

"That's not true. Technically speaking, the cells I was composed of at the time of our meeting have been completely replaced by new ones by now, and even if you didn't mean it that literally - as you usually don't, I'm well aware, sir - I'm at least five centimeters taller. You yourself have decreased in height about a quarter of a centimeter, in contrast."

[pugsmuggler]

Garamond did laugh that time.

"Have I? I must be getting old."

[tactician]

"It's just an average - your daily values differ depending on gravitational strength and hairstyle," Calibri consoled, and, in a motion he had probably observed many a time but never quite understood (though he was clearly putting in the effort, he awkwardly patted Garamond's forearm - once, and with about as much force as one would pat an ant.