"Why'd it have to be a ship?"
The complaint had been muttered more than a few times tonight, each repetition accompanied by a napkin dabbing the sweat from his brow and a straightening of his sunglasses. There was an amount of envy welling up within the pit of his stomach, alongside whatever else had been churning all night, towards the occupants of the fancy affair. The way they seemed to chat with one another so absentmindedly, the way they walked so gracefully from place to place, and worst of all the way they seemed perfectly fine with enjoying food. Between his own uneasiness and the enjoyment of the partygoers, sickening simply didn't do it all justice. However, despite his own motion sickness, Jacy kept his mind focused on the task at hand. He frequently ran it through his head, over and over, in hopes to take his mind off the situation. Periodically there would be a moment of fiddling with his ear-piece, or tugging the strap of his holster. Anything to keep himself from dwelling on his ailment. After all, he was incredibly aware of how difficult it becomes to 'lay low' after letting your lunch up.
"Y'don't want a repeat of the nightclub incident. Focus. Breathe..."
"...How's the bastard do it?"
It wasn't until he caught the garnet glint of Vincentius' eyes that Jacy realized the dirty look he must have had on his face. With a short breathe he rectified himself, aligning his tie and his posture before concentrating on his role; Intimidating bodyguard. Specifically 'intimidating' in order to compensate for co-worker. The simple idea of Ara guarding anything put a grin on his face. Occasionally Jacy would glance and find that he'd lost her in the crowd. When he did have a clear line of sight, he was forced to stifle the chuckle that came with catching a glimpse of her best toy soldier impression. Thankfully, muscle was not high in demand when dealing with a ballroom of luxury-living business owners, and tipsy, fancy-pants patrons. As tempting as the free flow of liquor and unwatchful eyes were on his habits, he made an effort to keep his eyes off the drinks for two reasons; One reason being that he grew weaker in constitution with each glance. The other being that he could only presume that Fujie was mingled in the crowd somewhere. Frankly, he could never quite read the woman and dropping dead from a poison filled drink would, assumably, put a damper on the room's mood. These things in mind, he reined himself in, never straying too far from Vincen-...Arturo Santo's side. Occasionally a passerby would step a bit too close or try to penetrate the circle of conversation, only to be stopped short by a stiff-arm to the chest and the same short-lines:
"Not so close to Mr. Santo."
"Mr. Santo. This woman would like a word with you."
"Watch yourself around Mr. Santo."
Before long the routine became instinct. Jacy would gaze off into the crowd and listen to the rumble of hundreds of voices, only to be brought to attention as a body drew in close or brushed beside him. When he received a couple taps on the shoulder he obliviously went to brush away the person, until the sight of Arabella departing snapped him back to reality. Briefly there was hesitation, before a wave of elation washed over him. That listless feel of patience was replaced with the growing titillation of work, and it coaxed a sharp grin out of Jacy. Promptly, he glanced over his shoulder towards Vincent, his smirk remaining even as he gave a short nod. Now it was a simply matter of playing the waiting game.