My collar felt tight around my throat, like hands choking my neck. I pulled at it to try to gain some breathing room, but it wasn’t really working.

“Stop futzing.” Damien said, nudging me.

I forced my hands away from my neck as our car approached the gala. Apparently that was the term for an event like this. Party was entirely too plebeian, while fundraiser evoked images of poverty and desperation. Apparently neither was the ideal terminology and so I was informed by Damien that this was termed a gala, at least while we were at it.

Feeling like my entirely too expensive suit held me entirely too closely, I regretted letting Damien talk me into going to this, even as I knew he was right. Our car steadily approached the gate, regardless of my fretting. That had been another argument. For once, I had been on the side of saving money. I didn’t think it was necessary to hire a car for the evening, but Damien insisted that arriving in a taxi or on foot would indicate significantly lower stature.

Though my common sense said it wasn’t worth the cost, my ego demanded we have a car.

Thus, we ended up with the car. As we approached the gala, I felt relieved by the decision, if only because at least we’d have a getaway car and driver available.

I tugged at my collar again. I really was convinced it was too tight.

“Stop it.” Damien insisted. “You’re going to stretch your collar. It’s just right. Just put up with it for now.”

When I had tried it on after Vladislav finished tailoring it I was convinced that the man had made a mistake, but Damien told me it fit perfectly. My neck disagreed with that statement, but apparently it didn’t get a vote.

The gate opened for us as our driver flashed our invite at the security guards surrounding the venue. Strangely, rather than a public area, we were at a mansion.

I saw a number of guards that stood out as military elite. You could tell by their insignia. The guards I could see, of course, were the least of the threat that anyone trying to assassinate the president faced. It was the people that you couldn’t see that assassins needed to be careful of; well hidden snipers and the like.

Of course, to me, all of them were insurmountable obstacles. Yet, with the power of the invitation in our hands, we passed by them with ease.

Before I knew it we had arrived in front of the mansion. Damien didn’t recognize the location specifically, but he was familiar with the area. It was corporate housing for a number of large corporations including, of course, Rust Corporation. Tonight the public auditorium had been rented out. Our driver finally bypassed the last security checkpoint on the perimeter, this one requiring us to submit to an Inspect spell from a tracker, granting them information about our class, equips, and items. Perhaps it was my class, or Damien’s low level, but we seemed to pass through the final checkpoint very quickly.

The driver dropped us out front, promising to return within two hours, that being the minimum time it was appropriate for us to remain, Damien instructed me.

Alighting from the car, I felt, for all my discomfort, glad that I had let Damien convince me to see Vladislav rather than wearing my old suit. I would have felt very underdressed.

We made our way inside, only to see a scene out of an old movie. Soft light bathed the interior of the building, stemming from crystal chandeliers that glistened in the evening dark.

The light accentuated the white marble floor of the staircase that led into the larger ballroom.

“Is this for real?” I asked Damien, eyebrow raised in disbelief. I had never seen scenery like this except in movies. It wasn’t futuristic. If anything, it was the opposite. It harkened back to a time when leather and hardwood were commodities, and premium designs incorporated both.

The light, perhaps reflecting the color of the marble floor and the nearby furniture, was a soft, creamy color. It felt comfortable on my eyes, soothing.

“Mr. Basil Thorn and Mr. Damien Rust of Living Dungeon Corporation.” A voice rang out to our left. I turned and saw that Damien had handed our invitation to a crier, a man who stood at the entrance to the party and announced each guest in a loud voice.

I saw heads turn toward us in surprise and Damien seemed to wilt with the weight of their gazes. I glared back at the attendees and was surprised to see a number of them drop their gaze.

As we finished descending into the ballroom, a man approached us out of nowhere.

“Basil, Damien, lovely to see you took us up on our invitation,” Jacques said as he seemed to materialize out of thin air in front of us. “Might I show you around?”

I quickly begged off, leaving Damien to take his place as enthusiastic guest and observer. I saw the two talking rapidly as they strolled towards other companies.

Left behind, I debated what I should do for a minute, before a passing waiter carrying a tray of cocktail shrimp caught me eye. The servings were enormous, and I guessed that the shrimp in question was large enough to compare to a river bass in terms of weight.

I followed the waiter and quickly arrived at a magical area of the party that convinced me that politicians weren’t heartless after all: the buffet.

I quickly grabbed a plate and piled food on it in a way that drew not a few looks. Reading the room I surreptitiously returned some of the food, which led to the looks only intensifying. I took my much lighter plate over to a table off to the side of the room and began to dig into it.

Much to my dismay, the food, while delicious looking, was not very satisfying. I ate the entire plate and found myself eyeing the buffet table hungrily.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” A musical voice called out from behind and above where I sat.

I turned to look behind me. A young woman stood behind me, her hair raven dark and skin lily white. Her ocean blue eyes held a spark of mischief as she teased. “If you go for seconds before poor old Vanderbark over there has time to finish his firsts I suspect he’ll blow a gasket.” She nodded in the direction of a large man I hadn’t noticed before. He was nearly twice as wide as I was, yet my same height, and he was glaring my way looking at my plate meaningfully.

I suppressed a snicker and responded to her. “He looks like he’s halfway there. But thank you for the advice.” I wiped my hands with a cloth napkin that had been put out on the table and held it out to shake. “I’m Basil.”

She raised an eyebrow and gently grasped my hand to shake. “Just Basil? No title or grand introduction?”

I grinned. “Something tells me that nothing I could say in this particular room would be especially impressive. Might as well stick to the basics then.”

She smiled back, dazzling me, as the spark in her eyes fully ignited, filling them with bright, vibrant life. The musical lilt in her voice intensified. “Well then just Basil, I’m just Sera.”

That smile left me dazzled. Struggling and failing to think of a response, I just smiled back. Luckily, before things could grow awkward, a man in a black suit that I pegged as hired security came and spoke in her ear. She nodded in acknowledgement to what he said before turning back to me, her face somehow more closed than before, though I still saw the mischief in her eyes. It made me wonder if it ever left.

“It was a pleasure to meet you just Basil. I have matters to attend to, but this was a fun little diversion. Perhaps we’ll meet again later.”

“You know where to find me.” I said, a small smirk on my face as I gestured at the buffet, and saw a minute quirk of her lips, so brief and small that I wondered if I'd imagined it. She nodded and left, leaving me with nothing but the memory, my thoughts, and the joy of watching the large Mr. Vanderbark glare at me as I went for seconds.