Heavy footsteps echoed down the stone halls of the palace of Qor'ropi, as Hutch and Cascel made their way towards the ballroom on the ground floor at a casual pace. The day was reasonably mild compared to the previous ones, mostly due to the pleasant overcast of thick, dark clouds, and the deep rumblings of distant thunder, warning of potential rain.
"Dammit," Hutch groaned, as he rubbed at the back of his neck once again. "Why is the neck on this thing so freaking itchy?"
"It shouldn't be," Cascel remarked as he motioned for him to stop at the next open window. "Lean down and let me take a look."
Having grown nearly a foot over the course of the last year, he was now capable of looking Cascel in the eye, forcing him to take a knee so that he could more easily examine the back of his neck.
Pushing his hair to the side, he could hear Cascel snicker, and was tapped at the back of his head before he stepped back in front of him and offered out his hand.
"How bad is it?" Hutch questioned, as he took Cascel's hand, and was pulled back up onto his feet.
"You put your neck protector on the wrong way. The stitching goes to the metal, not your skin," he stated with a heavy sigh, and slight shake of his head. "Sometimes, I really do wonder about you, Hutch."
"Well, stop wondering, and help me fix it. There's no way I'm making it through the next two hours like this. If I don't die from the weight of this armor alone, I'm going to bleed out from the gouge I'm about to scratch into my neck," he replied, his hand harshly batted away as he went to claw at his neck again.
"Stop that, and follow me," Cascel ordered, leading him back the way they'd just come from, until they reached a vacant guest room, and headed inside. Setting their helmets on the table next to the door, Cascel motioned for Hutch to sit on one of the chairs, as he went to the window and pushed open the shutters to let in what little light, he could.
"I'm only doing this because of how important tonight is. I can't afford you being distracted or being a distraction," Cascel explained as he helped unfasten the upper pieces of Hutch's ceremonial armor, staring with the metal shell of his neck guard. "Once the doors of the ballroom open, it's a two-hour long dance and we have to preform flawlessly."
"It would be easier if this armor didn't weigh so much," Hutch commented, unfastening his left shoulder guard, so Cascel could pull the front and back panels of his breastplate apart enough to pull out the cloth section of his neck protector, one of the many vital pieces of his under armor. "Thankfully, it's not so bad when sitting down."
"This is half the weight of the armor the previous king forced upon his guards, and there was no three-hour time limit set for how long they'd be expected to stand while wearing it either," he explained, while he pulled on the back of Hutch's breastplate and fished out the edge of the neck protector. Once the laces were accessible, he began to untie them as he continued to speak. "As inconvenient as this armor is, in a situation like a crowded ballroom, it's an excellent defense against anyone who might think about doing something stupid. In there, we don't have our eranth to rely on. Plus, it's the cloak that's weighing you down, not the armor. I'll help you adjust it forward so it's not putting such a strain on your back. Should make it less noticeable."
"I'd appreciate that," Hutch said as he looked at where the cloak was laying across his shoulder.
"Next time, perhaps you will consider asking for assistance."
"I would have been fine if I wasn't so nervous about tonight. I just earned back my name, I don't want to lose it by screwing something up," Hutch admitted, followed by a heavy sigh. "My mind just won't let go of the worst-case scenarios."
"This is a worst-case scenario, and as it is being handled. Let's change the subject," Cascel said as he managed to loosen the lacing enough to pull the neck protector up over Hutch's head. "I heard you sharing stories with Xig a few days back. It sounded like you were interested in a woman. Tell me about her."
"Ah, well, it's Kahlala," he confessed, before taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment before releasing it all at once. "She's beautiful, Cas. But she's also Ghan'dono's daughter."
"And that's stopping you from pursuing her?" Cascel asked, as he handed the neck protector, now in the correct orientation, back to Hutch.
Taking the protector, Hutch slipped it back over his head, and turned it so the lacing was at the back of his neck.
"Of course. Ghan'dono's been like a father to me, and I respect him immensely, which makes confessing my feelings to her, even more difficult. I don't want to offend either of them, by thinking I'm good enough to be with her, when even I'm smart enough to see that I'm not."
"Oh, so you're smart enough to see that, but too stupid to know how to dress yourself?"
Hutch craned his head back over his shoulder to glare at Cascel, who was wearing a broad toothy grin, obviously quite pleased with himself.
"Here's a hint for the next time. Tie it in the front, and then shift it to your right, to flatten the overlayed part underneath the lacing to keep it off your skin. If it isn't lying flat, and the laces aren't lined up with the seam between the front and back sides of your breastplate, you have it on wrong."
Shifting the neck protector into the proper position, Cascel tied up the laces for him, and together they worked its longer edges, back down underneath the armor forcing them flat so that they were comfortable.
"There, now how does that feel?" Cascel questioned, once the hardest part was done.
Hutch turned his head side to side a couple of times. "Amazing. That's a thousand times better. Thank you. I will be certain to never screw that up again."
"You'd best see to it, because the next time, I'll be striping you of a merit, on principle alone."
After fastening all the pieces of his armor back together, Cascel had Hutch stand up, and removed his cloak, which proved what Cascel had told him, immediately relieving him a hefty amount of weight. Turning over the collar, there were three, small metal plates, with a keyhole shaped opening in the center, minus the flare in the narrow channel. Pulling the first two out of their pockets in the fabric, he slid them into the next two pockets further back along the collar. Picking up the cloak, he dropped it back onto Hutch's shoulder, lined up the plates with the posts and pressed them down, letting the weight of the cloak, force the posts up into the channel, locking it into place.
"Does that feel more balanced now?" Cascel asked, giving him a moment to move his shoulder about.
"That also feels way better," Hutch replied, and apparently satisfied with the answer, Cascel helped adjust the ropes and insured they were in their proper placement, before giving him a final look over. "Will I pass inspection?"
"You'd better, considering I did all the work for you. Your hair's a mess, but no one will see it under your helmet, so I'm not concerned. Now, let's go. By now the rest of our division will be waiting for us."
Cascel closed the shutters on the window, and then together, they grabbed their helmets and made their way to the grand ballroom, where as predicted, the rest of the first division was awaiting their arrival.
It was a small thing, to see them all together, dressed in their finest sets of armor. It was showy in silhouette, with sharp forms on the uncloaked shoulder, and straight edges where the plates would overlap, but the matte black finish made it easy for them to disappear into the background, where shinier things were bound to catch the attention of the masses. Yet every member of the King's Guard knew the value of what they were wearing and wore it with a sense of pride.
Hutch smiled at his memories, as he sipped at his hot chocolate, admitting to himself that perhaps Casmir would be right in the long run; a tuxedo was bound to be more comfortable than the armor. For even in his memories, he could still recall the ache he felt in his shoulders on the days after he'd worn it, more than he could recall the noise of the guest's chatter or the sound of the music it worked so diligently to drown. And more than the flourish of the noble and tribal garb that blurred together into a chaotic mesh of colors, that was anchored to the foot of a hand-carved wooden throne, he could recall the statuesque King sitting comfortably, dressed in a lavish, silk robe of ruby red, patterned with foxlike creatures of orange fur, silently watching from beneath his elaborate golden veil and haloed crown.