Intermediate Communication Studies 202

[pugsmuggler]

The Eldabaran Gracia campus was as industrial as its students, overwhelmingly modern, with sweeping hallways gilded in glossy white and textured aluminum, doorways shaped from frothy blue glass, and ceilings the arced up like a whale’s ribcage. Eldabaran Gracia was not a school of excessive grandiose, but it was a school of considerable wealth. It had to be. Being a reputable school of technology and science among a galaxy full of competitors required up-to-date resources and tools. Of course, Eldabaran’s far-reaching range of technological equipment were not for play, and enrolled students became increasingly aware of this their first year — several dropped out within the first semester. Everything was focused, clinical, and serious, and newcomers certainly couldn’t help but notice how remarkably clean everything was, from the pale-washed walls to the reflective, slick floors.

Calibri would have noticed on that particular day, that the halls weren’t, as they normally were, populated with students poring over notes last minute or having conversations about recent test results. The halls were instead quite empty. Class 318-C, Intermediate Biochemical Pharmacology and Toxicology, was similarly empty. A class that normally hosted around 50 students (give or take) now hosted lines of empty desks and unused lab equipment. Down the stadium steps of the classroom and sitting with his feet propped up on center desk in front of the projector screen was Garamond, reclining back in the professor’s chair with a small glass of brandy. He smiled when Calibri came through the doorway.

“Good to see you again,” Garamond said. “It’s been what? Two years? How old are you now?”

Comments

[tactician]

Calibri stopped short, feet skidding to a halt beside each other right on the brink of the entranceway, toes of his feet inside, the heels still in the hallway. It wasn't that the sight of Garamond had surprised him - in fact, it took a second for him to even spot the man in the professor's usual seat, regardless of how big his frame was. It was simply that uncommon that such a question would be directed at him (and it had to have been, considering there was probably no one else on the campus within a quarter-mile radius).

The students of Eldabaran Gracia were renowned for their focus and perseverance in undergoing its infamously strict curriculum. Its graduates commonly moved on to greater things worth boasting about, whether it be politics or medicine or hyperdimensional science. That intelligence meant that they knew when to take advantage of a rare school year break and almost all of them had long since flown off to their home planets once their last class had ended - most of them, at least. Calibri was still very obviously here.

The students of Eldabaran Gracia also happened to have another thing in common: most of them seemed to stay away from the curious boy with chemical-burned hands and an odd, icy disposition. Neither interested in politics or networking, Calibri obviously had made no effort to get to know his fellow students and those that had worked with him out of classroom necessity hadn't required long before noticing his unsettling fascination with all things deadly. As children of the educated elite, they were taught to tolerate all cultures and races but toleration was one thing and friendliness was another - not that Calibri made any effort to correct the situation.

Calibri took a moment to quietly survey his situation - empty classroom, empty hallway, and one familiar face sitting in his professor's chair, distinctly out of place. Staying where he was, Calibri lowered his hand from the doorframe and quietly canted his head barely five degrees to the left as he frowned - a calculated gesture of slight bewilderment. He couldn't think of a possible reason as to why Victor Garamond would be here with his feet on the table (contaminating the work space), asking his age.

"Eighteen, two months and fourteen days," Calibri answered shortly, scanning the room once again for a clue.

[pugsmuggler]

Sweeping his feet back under the desk, Garamond leaned forward and sat his half-drained glass on its surface. He stood, dusting down the face of his coat once. His suit was coal grey and finely threaded, hiding subtle stripes that would ghost into visibility only when the light bounced off the fabric just right. The collar of a black shirt and a red tie was framed by the V-shaped neck, a matching red handkerchief in his pocket. He was undoubtedly going somewhere of certain importance.

“Good, good!” He said, and he picked up a black box from the table. The words Edmont Gauthier scribed in cursive in raised metallic ink. He walked up a few steps into the rows of stadium seating and handed it off to Calibri. “I took the liberty of cancelling class today. There’s a party going on at the communications building today, you see. Not too far from here. I have a few clients that I’d like to show who they’re investing in. It’s black tie, so I’ll need you to go and change into this. Go on, I'll be waiting right here.”

[tactician]

Though Garamond seemed to still exude that aura of charisma and confidence, the past two years hadn't gone without changing Calibri (a bit). He was taller now, though the additional two inches still barely put him at chest level with the older man, and he looked less like a child trying to fill out his limbs than...a young man who would possibly just never have much musculature whatsoever and who should probably just accept that fact. (He probably already had.) Even so, the finely tailored clothes looked neither too short nor too tight, which was enough to make one wonder how Garamond could find out a person's size and measurements so easily in advance without apparently having seen the other party for over two years.

Nevertheless, Calibri stared down at the bundle of fine fabric in his hands with a look of bafflement, which, on Calibri, was just basically a mix between utter blankness and slight consternation. The cloth was light, durable and smooth to the touch, no doubt expensive, but the precise cutting and the unnecessary number of pieces in the ensemble looked cumbersome and entirely inefficient. It was therefore, Calibri cleverly concluded, probably part of this whole 'manners' stint that people were always so unnecessarily concerned about.

It didn't occur to him to protest, at least. He knew his standing or, more accurately, he knew his standing in relation to Garamond's standing, and considering that his feet were only touching Eldabaran soil because of this man's generosity, he didn't even have to wonder if perhaps declining was a viable idea. Instead, he lifted his head and asked, "Will today's missed curriculum be compensated?"

[pugsmuggler]

There was, at first, a confused look on Garamond’s face. As unnaturally studious as he was sure Calibri could be (to hold a natural 4.0 at Eldabaran was a feat few could claim to), he never thought that getting a day of holiday would be thought of as interference rather than a blessing. Any sane student wouldn’t even suggest the possibility of compensation lesson. He took a moment to spread a thoughtful frown on his lips. The teachers would no doubt be none too happy with taking the time out of their schedules for someone who had already put a dent in their lecturing schedules, but Garamond supposed forcing one or two classes to go on with their lessons on a free day wouldn’t be too troubling. Deciding making Calibri comfortable was in his best interest, Garamond recovered his usual smile. He nodded.

“Sure, sure, I’ll see that you get a make-up day this Saturday as much as the other students might hate you for it,” Garamond said agreeably, and the door swung open as he pressed his palm against the unlock button. “Let’s hurry it up a bit, hm? I’m running a bit behind already.”

[tactician]

Without even bothering to wait for the door to shut, Calibri promptly set the bundle of clothes down on the nearest table and began to undo the buttons on his high-collared shirt. He heard the door slide shut behind Garamond just as he finished, though he was focused enough on the task at hand not to notice. He didn't look up until he was done and, after methodologically folding his un-borrowed clothes up into neat squares of fabric and tucking it under his arm, he exited the abandoned classroom to rejoin his patron.

Strangely enough, he looked a little abashed, for once. The clothes fit well enough for something that he hadn't tried on and had tailored beforehand, but he had been right - they were extremely restrictive in terms of range of motion and seemed made for the precise purpose of making their wearer stand at uncomfortable attention at all times. Calibri raised a hand and pointed to his neck. "I...am having a small bit of difficulty, sir," he admitted reluctantly.

His tie was entirely undone, looped uselessly around his neck.

[pugsmuggler]

Calibri looked positively gawky in clothes that stuck so close to his shape, but he looked a good deal more professional. His shoulders were square-cut and stiff and his posture more pronounced. The suit hung on Calibri a bit awkwardly the way it had been put on. The textured black fabric bunched only slightly at his knees and elbows, and the shirt was misaligned underneath the coat. The picture of Calibri in a suit brought out a laugh from Garamond, and he remained with a pleasant expression as he stepped forward to fix the student’s tie.

“You should pay attention, now. Knowing how to wrap a tie is an important life skill,” he said, looping the piece of cloth into a neat double knot. He gave the tie a swift tug and patted into place, afterwards straightening Calibri’s button-up and sleeves. Rather than fidget with the material, Garamond made adjustments to the bunched up fabric with heavy, firm tugs, often moving Calibri in his entirety with the direction of the pull. He clapped his hands against Calibri’s shoulders once before stepping back, observing his work.

“There we are!” Garamond clapped his hands together this time. “Perfect! You clean up well!”

[tactician]

It was easier said than done to closely examine the process of a tie being speedily done somewhere underneath his chin. It was difficult to see exactly what was being looped and pulled on when all he could see was the slight movement of Garamond's wrist, and more so when he was also being yanked in every other direction by even the slightest of tugs and nudges. Soon enough, the man pulled away and clapped his hands on his shoulders, nearly making Calibri buckle where he stood from the unexpected contact.

How heavy-handed, thought Calibri. Garamond would have upset an entire table full of test tubes and beakers by now.

Pulling hesitantly at the end of his tie and slowly feeling up the smooth, silk navy material until his fingers bumped into the knot, Calibri looked down with a contemplative frown, still unable to see anything past his chin and the bridge of his nose. If knowing how to do a tie was as an important of a life skill as Garamond made it out to be, he would have to do some independent research later on.

"Thank you," he said, although he was relatively sure that Garamond's comment implied that his normal state of dress was 'unclean', somehow (which was preposterous, considering he kept nearly every possession of his as sanitized as possible). He looked up at Garamond then and though gratitude and some degree of respect was probably expected, all that registered on his face was sheer perplexity, as if he still didn't quite understand why Garamond was here, why he was dressed in these clothes, and why being able to do a tie was a necessary human skill at all.

[pugsmuggler]

Not seeming at all perplexed by Calibri’s confusion, Garamond quickly ushered him along. The space where the party was being held was only a few blocks away from the campus, so they walked. Garamond would have offered to drive, but he was well aware of the fact that he didn’t exactly look like a trustworthy chauffer, being already suspected (quite accurately) of being a criminal. After crossing several sidewalks, a pair of double doors, and a brief ride on an elevator, they arrived.

The room appeared to be some kind of guest lobby that had been hollowed out completely except for a few spare chairs hugging the walls, some houseplants, and a bar. And although impressively large and emptied of furniture, the room did not at all give the impression of emptiness. In fact, it was downright claustrophobic. People filled every corner of the room. Humanoid, Insectoid, Reptilian,— a huge toad-like man that had to bend over to prevent from hitting the ceiling —the party seemed to cater to all sorts.

There was no one, however, around Calibri’s age. This made Calibri a target of attention as soon as he walked onto the mauve carpet.

[tactician]

Calibri was promptly swept up by the idle pleasantries of introductions and smalltalk before he could even consider the prospect of dodging behind his host. The crowd swept both men up into its folds almost immediately, and just as immediately, Calibri found himself at the mercy of a handful of questions that more resembled interrogations than proper curiosity, but he answered to the best of his ability nonetheless, even if sometimes, his curt responses attracted strange stares.

It was odd - everyone he spoke to seemed to have expected him to be a great deal more interesting than he actually was. They gave him plainly incredulous looks when he repeated that yes, he was a student here and yes, only a student and that no, he was acquainted with Garamond but really did not know what was going on with the illegal trade embargo in Aclides and absolutely in no way was he a "boy toy" of any kind, although they shut up very promptly when he tried to clarify that unfamiliar slang.

What ultimately broke through the drone of voices was a distinct clicking noise to his left - one that was followed by the stilted words of a translator moments later, though he paid no heed to that. Calibri looked through the sea of faces and let the sound of the Insectoid language ground him Finally, something he understood completely!

"I am not from the Erclessian area, actually," he responded in the Insect's language, an entire tongue made of broken clicks and clacks that ranged in frequency and pitch, ignoring how it made a few guests frown in confusion. It sounded odd, no doubt, coming from a human mouth, which was made for much more lyrical, melodious languages, but at least the brief silence it had instilled allowed him to look around for Garamond.

[pugsmuggler]

Fortunately Calibri didn’t have to spend long searching for Garamond, because Garamond was quick to find him. Garmond weighed a hand down on Calibri’s shoulder as he stepped up. A glass of alcohol had materialized in his other hand since they separated. He extended it out with a nod towards the small crowd that had sprouted up around Calibri. “I see you’ve met Nathaniel,” Garamond said with a grin, giving the boy a small shake. “Good kid, good kid. Going to be the star of Celga Labs once he graduates.”

“Ah, Bradley,” Garamond said, his hand leaving Calibri’s shoulder and extending out to tale the claw of the insectoid at Calibri’s side. Shaking hands was not a common gesture of the Krellidae species, but ‘Bradley’ seemed perfectly adjusted. “A pleasure.”

The insectoid turned to Calibri, “My real name is Qlrk’riqktvlek. I’m a cross-species anthropologist. Mammalian tongue usually cannot pronounce our language. What a pleasant surprise to meet a human that is fluent.”

[tactician]

For once, the heavier-than-usual weight of Garamond's hand was entirely welcome, even if the shake that followed it was less so. Calibri raised a hand to push up his glasses, which had slid down his face from the jolt, before responding to Qlrk'riqktvlek, who didn't seem to expect a handshake in turn, as that was an entirely human construct of behavior.

"My family is stationed on Krellida; I was born there," he explained, and because there was a mutual dislike of small-talk between the two of them, neither felt obligated to partake in it, much to Calibri's relief. Instead, he turned to look up at Garamond, who really was the only solid clue he had as to what was going on in this little congregation anyway, only pausing to call out a customary Krellidae parting when 'Bradley' began to move away: a strong and echoed, "Bountiful be the Queen."

"Sir," he said immediately afterward to the larger man, once there was enough of a lull in the conversation to do so. "What is this party for?"

And why was he missing class for it?

[pugsmuggler]

"Business!" Garamond replied simply, his hand finding Calibri's shoulder again. "A few clients of mine insisted they get a chance to meet you. This is a good opportunity for you to network, you know. Get your name out there. You'll need some connections once your contract with Celga expires anyway, hm? ...But you're not really the social type, are you?"

[tactician]

It was very slight, the change in his face - a twitch of one eye, the slight curl of one corner of his mouth. Calibri might have not even been aware he was making a face, but it made it very clear, nonetheless, exactly what he thought of networking. "I was just under the impression that in your line of work, fame found you."

[pugsmuggler]

When Calibri awoke, he'd find himself in a laboratory— just not the one he was used to. The circle's visiting ship was small, but it had an impressive medical wing. The walls were crowded with equipment, and whether occupied a computer or a line of test tubes and beakers, not one counter was bare. There were a few technicians scattered about, working on various projects. None seemed particularly concerned with Calibri, and considering he was tagged and with on an IV drip they had been done with him for quite some time. Calibri had been out for awhile. Despite the blinding bright whiteness of the room and the deceitful lack of windows, the big digital clock on the wall read an hour late into the night.

It a few minutes later still until Garamond came in to check on him. He had changed out of his suit, but he was still dressed garishly (at least for Calibri's standards) in a roan colored button-up and an onyx wrist watch. He smiled when he saw Calibri was awake. "About time you came to," Garamond said. "Hungry?"

[tactician]

Looking up from where he had been staring at the compounds composing the IV drip, Calibri opened his mouth and promptly found that he was parched. His tongue felt like dry sandpaper and the insides of his mouth were not much better off. Even when he breathed, it felt like he was blowing out dust and air instead of moisture. It was not uncommon for someone that had undergone a poisoning, considering the body would have worked doubly hard to flush out the foreign elements from its system, but it never quite ceased to be uncomfortable, even for someone so used to dealing with them.

"Water," he mouthed.

[pugsmuggler]

Garamond retrieved a bottle from a mini-fridge and handed it over. Calibri still looked a little pale, but he seemed to have regained the strength in his limbs. Garamond pulled up one of the metal chairs folded up against the counter and laid it out beside the reclining table where Calibri lay. He sat down in it backwards, arms folding over the backrest.

"Hanging in there? You were asleep for awhile."

[tactician]

"There doesn't seem to be any lasting brain damage," Calibri reported dutifully after taking a few sips of water, as if that were the most pressing concern of them all at this immediate moment in time. Holding the bottle in one hand and resting its base against his lap, he held his other in front of him and flexed the fingers, waggling them one from thumb to pinky finger and then back the other way. Good - he seemed to have regained control of all his limbs and digits, which made re-capping the bottle and placing it on the bedside stand much easier.

"What is my current location?" he asked, looking up.

[pugsmuggler]

"About ten miles from your campus," Garamond said. "You're at the Eldsboro docking bay. This is the my ship."

I NEVER GOT AN ALERT FOR THIS

[tactician]

So not the chemistry lab, then.

Eyes trained on the sheet covering his legs, Calibri lowered his head, clearly abashed. "I see.... I apologize; the concentration of the substance in the champagne was much higher than I thought."

[pugsmuggler]

"Ha ha ha! I'd say I'm in more of a position to apologize," Garamond admitted with a smile. "Didn't exactly foresee a business social attracting this kind of chaos, but I guess I'm a popular guy."

Garamond sat up in his chair, his arms still hanging off the backrest as he rolled his shoulders into a shrug. "I'll arrange for someone to take you back to the dorm when you've got your wits about you. I don't imagine we'll be seeing each other again any time soon, so you should be able to finish the rest of your education in peace."

[tactician]

Nodding along to whatever Garamond said, Calibri looked up sharply at the last statement. "Will you be all right?"

By which he meant, will your money, which funds my education, be all right, at least until the end of my term?

[pugsmuggler]

"Of course I'll be all right," Garamond said as if the answer to the question was obvious.

"And a contract's a contract," continued Garamond. "Even if for some reason I'm not all right, you'll still get your funding. Revoking that from someone who I may owe my life doesn't exactly make a lot of sense, now does it?"

[tactician]

"That depends on whether it was a hostile takeover or not," Calibri pointed out, apparently not at all ashamed that his real meaning had been seen through so easily. To his credit, it wasn't as if he was trying to hide it particularly well. "New management and new rules are often precursors to the annulment of prior responsibilities and debts, to my understanding," he commented, lacking the proper social custom understanding to realize that it was not in particular good form to speak of such unfortunate possible ends so plainly. "But either way, I am relieved that that's the case."

A pause.

"That you will be unharmed, I mean," he added as an afterthought.

[pugsmuggler]

He smirked at the blunt edge to Calibri’s words, but he exchanged an understanding nod. He reached into his coat pocket, unpacking a thin cigar, and looked up at Calibri with a surveying glance. "Generally, that’s the case. But as a business we like to make all of our payments in full, meaning you’re already paid for. Only reason there’s a waiting period between each stipend is so that it’s not spent unwisely. Taking on any kind of debt isn’t in the best interest of our circle. If we don’t have the money, it’s not budgeted." — He didn’t add that debt, particularly debt owed to him by governing parties, was how the circle stepped so easily outside the circle of the law. Money is king.

"Don’t look it, but you’re pretty tough, kid," Garamond lit his cigar. "You might actually have potential for our kind of lifestyle."

[tactician]

Taking care not to rip more skin than was necessary as he cautiously extracted the IV needle from the inside of his elbow, Calibri looked up and paused as Garamond took the first drag of his cigar, butterfly needle still in hand. "That's detrimental to your health. You should stop, if possible," commented Calibri off-handedly as he lowered his eyes back to the needle, because ingesting poison when you knew it was poison was so much healthier.

"And thank you." He looked up again with slight consternation. "If that was a compliment."