26 dec | 7:00 | gallery ( main hall ) @catherinedaly
Following his conversation with Mallory, Clark takes his seat at his designated table, and wonders, idly, whether his being on the Bronze table means anything. They aren’t saying he’s third-best, are they? If they are, it’s as likely Mallory’s doing as any. He supposes, a little bit, that he deserves it. The servers bring the food out dish by dish, serving the women at the table and then the men, placing the main dishes down first and then fitting in the sides around them. Clearly they train their wait staff properly here – this is the same order he was taught when he was waiting tables back in his teens.
He takes a moment to glance around at his fellow table members, recognising with a small start that Giya is among them, sitting almost opposite him. The coincidence makes him swallow, and he turns away from her, unsure of whether or not to highlight himself to her. The person on his right is a young, pale person, decked out in silver enough and lace enough to make them look only half-there. It’s only then that he thinks that he recognises her. Her photo was slid across a table to him only a few days ago, with the instruction that she would be his guard when he needed her.
He clears his throat, and catches her attention. “Catherine, is it?” He very much hopes that he’s right, but it won’t be the end of the world if not.