“Clarence, you will be assigned to Team Skaði.”
The words had been music to his ears: a symphony of validation after years of trials, tribulations, and most importantly, training. Everything before had been either a simulation or errands of no true consequence. Whether it was rescuing cats from trees, returning lost goods, or helping kids find their way home none of it affected the big picture and nearly all of it involved the supervision of a random security guard or cop. There was no excitement or impact. None of these were things only he could do.
Blending into the party was easy, especially when half of the team was employed by Hale Enterprises or part of Atlas’s elite. Clarence however, was neither. Having slipped through the cracks and into Aegis’ lap he was a nobody and therefore, perfect for the role of the waiter. Per their instructions he was to be a fly on the wall, listening for suspicious activity and providing backup should something happen.
“Yes, Quillcoin is on the up and up these days,” a bespectacled man mused, “I might pick up a few thousand myself.”
“You can’t be serious Rembrandt. Money stored through the Internet? How will anyone verify its value?” his partner, a brunette woman asked.
“We already pay through cards and wire everything online. Athereum is the way of the future!” he exclaimed before downing the rest of his champagne.
God, this is so boring, Clarence held back an eyeroll as the two continued debating ecommerce. Was this what rich people talked about these days?
Before Clarence could walk away however, Rembrandt set his empty glass on the hero’s tray.
“Young man, please bring us another round of drinks,” the man said.
“Oh, and more of those lovely tapenade crostinis!”
Nodding silently, Clarence walked away from the couple and towards the back of the venue. Behind two hallways and a pair of black doors was the kitchen where the staff was having a celebration of their own (at least as much as one could while still serving the upper crust of Atlas). Empty champagne bottles, cigarette butts, and plates were all piled in the sink while a tray of stuffed mushrooms thawed on the counter top. Of the ten staff members working tonight four were in the ballroom, two of them called off and as it seemed, the rest were back here. One of the waiters had their feet kicked up on the table, the chef was missing, and the janitor was swirling a glass of red wine.
“We need more champagne and that olive paste,” Clarence announced, setting the empty glasses in the sink.
“Mmm, that’s a Kelsey problem, not a me problem,” one of the waiters yawned.
“Okay so where is she?” he asked.
“Smoke break,” the other staff member answered before pouring himself another glass.
Great. If there was one thing that people loved hearing, it was that something wasn’t available to them.
“But then... what do I tell them?” Clarence asked.
“Don’t tell them anything. Just wait for them to forget,” he shrugged, “we’re getting paid by the hour, not the plate.”
Strictly speaking, Clarence wasn’t getting paid at all.
Aside from the free food, he had no incentive to be on this specific mission. He would have been fine anywhere and if not today, he would have been happy to accept his first mission tomorrow. But being here, having this opportunity was more than just coincidence. He had no interest in bumping elbows with celebrities or learning to serve the rich. He only cared about one attendee: Alexa Lawrence. Outside of a cursory patrol around the ballroom, he had spent the last hour following behind her and her date, his plate a hodgepodge of drinks and Hors d'oeuvres he pilfered from other servers.
He wanted to say something, anything, but each time he opened his mouth he could only manage a whisper. Would she explain how she abandoned him so easily? Would she apologize? Would she even recognize him? Though they shared eyes and cheekbones, one wouldn’t have known they were related at first glance. As a child, she’d told him that he always looked more like his grandfather and given that she never met his father, it was hard to say that Clarence received anything from him.
He certainly didn’t step in, when Clarence was tossed out the door.
"Hey."
Glancing to his left, he saw the janitor gesturing for him to grab a glass.
"Come have a drink."
Nodding gratefully, Clarence put down his tray and walked over before downing the wine.
“Thank-"cough[color=#46C7C7]"-you."
"Easy there, the party's still going on for another two hours," the janitor chuckled.
"Either way you look like you've seen a ghost," the waiter commented.
Well he was half right.
Before he could correct his co-worker, a garbled noise buzzed through his earpiece.
"Say that again? Your comm acted up-"
“Hello? Mike-Skaoi? Skaoi?”
More garbled noise followed through before cutting out entirely.
“Dude, who are you talking to?” the waiter asked, knitting his brow.
“I-Uhh...”
Shit. Shit. Shit. He was not supposed to use their real names or code names...or talk out loud for that matter. Was this guy going to find out that Mikey was Skaoi? Would Aegis have to kill him? Would he?
”Are you okay? You’re getting pale. Like even more than normal,” the waiter frowned.
I’ll be right back!” Clarence announced before tossing his glass (and missing) into the sink.
“What about your tapenade?” the waiter asked.
“Tell them I’m on a smoke break!”
Bolting out the back door, Clarence circled around the premises looking for signs of a brawl. He could feel his heart beating with anticipation, ears burning at the thought of bursting onto the scene with a superhero landing. Wildman would save the day with his patented "Serenity Inducement", lulling the villains into a false sense of security before taking them out with the one-two punch.
So naturally, the moment he finally arrived, all of the thugs were unconscious and the rest of his team (Ada aside) were wrapping up their discussion.
“Aw man, you took them all down without me?"
RPG
