Dinner was a success, and the evening concluded with several games of euchre; Casimir and Hutch, verses Ren and Clara. Much to their disappointment, Casimir and Hutch had been trounced, winning a single game out of the five they played. However, this did not dampen the mood, and although Clara had opted to say goodnight at the house, Hutch, Casimir, and Ren had an enjoyable ride back to Ren's house, where they dropped him off without incident.
"He's one of the good ones, right?" Casmir would question Hutch on their way back home.
"Far better than either of us," he replied, his eyes scanning the side of the road, "He won't hurt her, Cas. Not intentionally. And I can promise you, he's not out to use her either."
"I'm not worried about that," Casimir said with a faint chuckle. "That boy knows well enough, his place in this world. He's worked too hard to risk everything on the slightest of chances that my little girl might find him worthy enough to give him more than a single date. What I'm worried about, is if she does. Ren's going to spend the rest of his life trying to figure out how the hell it happened."
Hutch chuckled. "Well doesn't that just suck for him."
"You know it as well as I do."
"Yup. I most certainly do."
By Monday afternoon, the rest Hutch had managed to get over the weekend was long gone. Casimir had picked him up after school and taken him to the Tower penthouse where a new suit was waiting for him, a sign of what was in store for the remainder of the evening. However, having a couple of hours to kill, Casimir first helped with his homework, before going over the plan for the evening, while walking him through the process of teaching him how to tie his tie. A skill that Hutch found more tedious than difficult.
At five thirty, the two, showered and changed, made their way down to the restaurant, where Casmir left Hutch to take care of the rest of the preparations, and ensure every detail of their evening meal was going to go according to his instructions.
At ten to six, Casimir returned, having gone down to Celina's office to check on her.
"Is everything set?" he questioned as Hutch met up with him in the private room, located furthest from the bar on the right side of the private hallway.
"It is. How's Celina?"
"She wasn't happy about not being here until I told her what was on the menu," he replied, taking a seat at the table, which had been set for three.
"Understandable. The boar's head is being pulled from the oven as we speak. Enzo will be our waiter for the evening, and James has the wine decanting behind the bar. The only thing left is for us to wait for his arrival."
"You may as well take a seat yourself. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."
"Don't doubt it. Making it through dinner is going to be tough enough, let alone the conversation. Where did you even manage to get a hold of that head, anyways?"
"Oh, I have my ways." Casimir grinned. "And I promise, it's going to be more to your liking than you think. Tastes just like Ki'guashu, and it's nowhere near as tough."
"Really?" Hutch replied with a skeptical bob of his head. "If that's the case then thank the gods for small miracles. First time I ate Ki'guashu I thought I was going to break my jaw. But that was before I learned I was supposed to either soak it in water or grind it up and chew it like gum."
"Had a similar experience," Casimir said with a bit of a laugh. "One of the first guards I worked with after arriving on Illimev, was named Lakarys. He used to bring bags of the stuff back from his village, dried in strips. The stuff looked like beef jerky but was like gnawing on a piece of thick boot leather. I had no idea it was what half the damn guard was constantly stuffing in their mouths and chewing on for hours at a time, until he informed me otherwise."
"How long did it take him to share that bit of wisdom with you?"
"Only a few months."
"Ow, damn that's harsh."
"Yeah, took me a while longer to live it down. Personally, I always preferred it freshly roasted, reminded me more of a gamey pork. As for the boar, Celina's never taken a liking to it. Sometimes though, I miss the more exotic flavors from my travels."
"I get that. The first few weeks were super tough. Everything either tasted like salt or sugar. Didn't seem to be much in between. Still find the salt to be the worst for me though."
"I've noticed you don't use much when you cook. Not complaining either. It was tough for a few years after I came back. Sugar still is."
"You're convincing. Celina would never guess."
"Well, the thought of hurting her feelings is far worse than swallowing down a few slices of cake that I know she went out of her way to make just for me. Besides, it's better than it used to be, as long as it's in moderation. Now, come on, let's go wait by the entrance for our guest. Here's hoping he has a modicum of class and knows to be punctual."
"I'd prefer if he was so late, he'd opt not to show at all," Hutch remarked as they headed for the entrance, the clock reading five past six.
Dinner had been scheduled for 6:30, but good etiquette meant that Brett should arrive early, even though neither expected that much of him. Yet, much to their surprise, at a quarter after, Brett arrived, dressed in a grey, pin-striped suit, with a flashy dark purple tie, and yellow-gold jewelry.
His presence was as loud and abrasive as it had previously been, and the air around him felt like a thick sludge, wafting with the stench of his cheap cologne and the excessive use of pomade in his hair. Hutch could tell just by his demeanor, that he had taken nothing of what he had said to heart. As it was, Brett was not the sort of person Casimir would associate himself with. He was too much like Ensaso Sar'Basirak, selfish, obnoxious, and classless, although far more predictable in nature.
Hutch doubted that even Ensaso would have done business with Brett, as even he had some standards; happily imagining the way he would have skewered him on his claymore, just because.
Pleasantries were kept short, and Hutch led them back to their awaiting table, where Enzo was waiting, only to depart at their arrival.
Casimir had been very specific with how the table was to be set, with one plate on the right side and two on the left. Directing Brett towards the singular setting, Casimir sat to the left and moved in along the bench to the second place, leaving Hutch on the outside, as his role for the evening would demand.
"I didn't realize Jules would be joining us," Brett began as he made himself comfortable.
"It seemed remise of me to exclude him, given who you are, and how this wouldn't be happening without him. Although, I must admit that this was rather fortuitous. It's rare for me to get to share in the delicacies I come across in my travels, and it just so happens that I obtained one yesterday from my very good friend down at Stafford's Butcher shop. Have you heard of them?"
"They're the ones just off the interstate, south of the city. Ah…" he snapped his fingers, "Picasso exit."
"That's the one. Finest in the city, as far as I'm concerned. And he always keeps me in mind when these very specific items come into his shop. So, considering that our meeting was already set, I had him send over one of my favorites. Our Chef here has been working on it all day."
"Dare I ask?"
"I wouldn't. Surprises for men like us don't come around every day. You shouldn't risk the few that do," Casimir replied as Enzo returned, setting a coaster next to Brett's plate.
"Glen Fiddich 30, with ginger ale," he said, as he placed the drink onto the coaster.
"Hutch was kind enough to remember your previous order. So, I took the liberty," Casimir remarked, as Enzo set down two more drinks, one before him, and one before Hutch, without saying anything.
"You have my thanks," Brett remarked, lifting his drink in a salute, before taking a swig. "Turns out he's a smart one when he wants to be."
"Have the first course brought in," Hutch relayed to Enzo, seeing the way Casimir had tapped his hand against the table.
"Aren't we all?" Casimir replied to Brett, dawning a type of smile Hutch had never seen him wear before.
There was something eerie about it, the way it slivered his lips and only lifted at the corners, as if he were trying to conceal a growing amount of disgust.