The party was a touch magic, in the depths of Hutch's mind. Guests had begun to arrive promptly at eight, dressed in all their finery, from every available elevator stuffed to capacity, and this did not slow down until well past the hour of nine.
As the hosts, the Salvador's spent much of that first hour near the entrance of the 65th floor restaurant, with Hutch close by to get them whatever they may have needed, while doing his best to remember every name, face, and pertinent connection they managed to spew forth.
At first, most of the guests were of the older generations, refined in wealth, dignified, par noble, aristocratic in sense, corporate bigwigs with their spouses and adult children all in tow. With the aging of the hour, the guests arrived in the reverse, seeming younger by the elevator load. These were the wealthy, those left with the legacies of the generations before, heirs and heiresses, along with the self-made and fortunate, thriving where few manage to survive, and lastly the youngest, barely adults still clinging to their parents' fortunes, the trust fund children, aberrant ivy league scholars destined for more than their peers, and the lucky recipients of the golden invitations, eager to hobnob with the who's-who while bragging of their won prizes.
Shortly after nine, when the elevators slowed in their arrivals, Celina released Clara and Julian to enjoy the night as they saw fit.
"Save me a midnight dance." Were Clara's parting words to Hutch, before she wandered off into the crowd, and despite his appearance, Julian being twenty-five, made his way to the bar, before taking the stairs up to the observation deck.
With the children having accomplished their duties, and the mysterious arrival of Rod, Celina lovingly shooed Casmir away.
"Make your rounds, while I make mine. And when you feel more at ease, return to me, and I'll let you take me for a spin on the dance floor," she remarked as she draped her arms over Casimir's shoulders, and caressed his cheek. "Just remember, that once you're back, you're mine until the new year."
"And you, my love, are mine forever," Casimir replied, Hutch diverting his eyes when he saw the inevitable incoming.
A moment later, and a tap on his shoulder, Hutch turned back to find Celina whimsically smiling, the slender form of her fingers, slipping beneath his chin.
"You are allowed to steal me away for one dance though," she said, as her hand dropped away.
"If he'll allow it of me," Hutch replied, as he bumped his elbow against Casimir's side.
"Only one," he muttered, his tone far more serious than Hutch had expected.
"A rare exception," Celina added. "Now, off with the both of you. I have ladies to mingle with, and a faithful bodyguard to bore."
Despite her prompting, it was Celina who walked away first, moving to join a circle of women, a few feet beyond the entry way. Casmir shared a glance with Rod, and then he and Hutch began to walk away as well, moving through the growing crowd.
As they wandered, there was a strange familiarity to it all. The pattern, although altered for the space, carried the same rhythm, speed and gait. Hutch's eyes soon caught sight of the security guards moving about, effortlessly blending in with the guests, that even Hutch hadn't noticed their arrivals.
When Casimir would stop to speak, he was deliberate with where he stood, drawing who he engaged with to adjust to him, so he always had the most desirable of views. And just as Casimir had predicted, Hutch became no more than background noise, practically vanishing beside him. Few bothered to acknowledge his presence, and fewer still inquired of his name. Those that did seemed more confused than curious, the conversations starting with similar notes of, 'Oh, is this your son?' or 'Julian, it's nice to see you with your father.' These misunderstandings were promptly corrected, for despite the novelty of it all, and the inside joke it would become, Casimir loved his son far too much, to allow such a mistake to stand. Thankfully, these incidents, were few and far between, but it did leave Hutch to wonder how many others were making the same assumptions, and choosing not to speak, as he continued to follow Casimir back and forth about the room.
"At first I thought it was a coincidence, but you're still doing it," Hutch remarked, as they walked away from another mundane-quality exchange.
"Might want to be more specific."
"The dance of the first division. Celina being your queen. You've even kept your glass full, and in your right hand."
"So, you do remember this," Casimir replied, lifting his glass in response to another's friendly greeting as they passed by.
"While I admit it's been some time since we last shared a dance, you always were my favorite partner, Cas. Who could have guessed that I was the one lucky enough to be dancing with the King back then."
"Oh Hutch," he remarked, setting his arm across Hutch's back, his hand resting on his shoulder, "you would have been the envy of every woman seeking my decoys attention, and the focus of all their ire, if only they'd known the truth."
"Lucky for me, they were as ignorant as I was," Hutch muttered, as they shared in their own private amusement, and the dance of the first division resumed.
Hutch had kept his eyes occupied, as Casimir conversed, following the movements of both Clara and Celina when he could, along with regularly checking the signals passed between the guards.
"It was nice catching up with you, Bradley. Have your assistant schedule that luncheon for some time in the second week of January," Casimir said, before departing yet another conversation, this time in a slightly hasty manner.
Picking up on the change in tempo, Hutch swept through the guards, but saw nothing reported.
"I know I'm rusty, but what did I miss?" he asked, as Casimir grabbed his hand and pressed his drink into it.
"I don't know. Move to Clara," he replied, tapping him twice against the chest, "but keep your eyes on Celina, she was the one who sent the message."
As Casimir weaved his way back through the crowd, the atmosphere remained unchanged. The guards had remained in position, and no one appeared to be acting strange. Focusing on Celina, who was standing near the entrance to the private dining rooms, he caught a glimpse of Michiyo beside her, as they both began to scan the room.
Without any extra height, or foreknowledge of where to look, it was a difficult task to find a person in a crowd, and with no idea of who they were looking for, Hutch knew he could be no help in that regard, and prioritized making his way to Clara, as Casimir had ordered, who was across the room, mingling with her peers near the bar.
Casually downing Casimir's drink, he watched his interaction with Celina from the corner of his eye.
"Pardon the intrusion, Clara," he announced himself when he arrived, for despite the way Casimir had joined Celina in searching through the crowd, neither had made any attempt to signal him from his current course of action.
"Of course, Hutch," Clara beamed at his arrival, promptly taking hold of his arm, and leaning closer. "I'm so glad you came over."
"Then it seems I'm just in time. I wanted to know if I could get you anything," he replied, resisting the urge to pull away, not because he was against her friendly affections, but out of an instinct and necessity to have both his arms free.
"Not at the moment, but thank you for checking in," she replied, as one of the three women she was standing with reached out and set her hand against her arm.
"Clara, darling, have you been holding out on us?" the woman, of some manner of beauty, standing directly beside her asked.
"Perhaps just a little. Ladies, this is Jules Hutchinson. My family's premier butler, and a close, personal, friend of mine."
While Hutch found the insinuation questionable, he refrained from contradicting her, knowing better than to interfere in the social behaviors of women, saying only, "it's a pleasure to meet all of you."
"Hutch, these are my friends from university. Stacy and Jaclynn Leroux…"
"Cousins, not sisters," they interrupted in unison.
"And Alexandria Vishtagӓarden."
"Lexi, please," she insisted.
"Of course. I, myself, prefer Hutch, if you would all be so kind," he replied with a bow of his head.
He may have forgotten some of his training throughout the years, but how to act with a sense of nobility befitting a King's Guard, was not one of them.
"Young, handsome, and charming," Stacey commented, her hand leaving Clara's arm to adjust a section of her hair. "I don't know about them, but my night just got better."
"You are the first new face we've seen this year," Jaclynn remarked, eyeing Clara's reaction.
"So far, that is," Stacey pipped back in, "and that does make you something of a unicorn."
Hutch politely chuckled. "You flatter me, Ms. Leroux. But I'm afraid this evening, I am already spoken for."
"Bother," she huffed, dropping her pretense of interest, "the best ones usually are."
"Please don't misunderstand," Clara corrected just as Hutch caught sight of Casimir, signaling him to come over. "He meant to say that he's working."
"True, but I like to think my way was a touch more poetic. But with that, you will have to forgive my abrupt departure," he explained, turning his attention to Clara, "your father is summoning me."
"Don't keep him waiting," she responded, letting his arm slip away.
Turning back to the women, he bowed his head, saying, "Enjoy your evening, ladies," before departing.
As he made his way to Casimir, despite no one else being on alert, he could tell something was wrong. Michiyo had since left the couple, and other guests had taken her place, each hoping for a further word with their esteemed and gracious hosts. Hutch noticed in seconds, that they were trying to keep up a jovial and welcoming façade, but Celina wasn't quite as convincing as Casimir, her eyes giving away the con, as a faint yet distinct look of worry, hung to their corners, all while refusing to settle, still wildly searching through the crowd.
"Please, excuse me," Casimir stated, removing himself from the conversation at Hutch's approach.
"Cas, what's going on?" he questioned, but it was too late for him to respond.
An ice-cold shiver shot like a bolt down his spine, as a man's voice cut through the crowds, asking, "Jules, what the hell are you doing here?" in a flagrant, displeased tone.