It does when you're up to something.

No Al, no ale, no attention. Better he'd just stayed home, and not come to the damned thing- of course he wasn't gonna have a time, he didn't know anybody here. Scratching his sideburns with the hand upon which his head was perched to look up to that chandelier hanging from the ceiling, Cal glanced over to the doors to Old Man Harrington's manor, contemplating the idea that he'd just head on out.

But, it occured to him that he'd be being a bit of an ass if he did. Alturo must've went through a bit of trouble to get here, and he didn't want to embarass his friend by ditching, nor himself- Running out of a nice party like a petulant child cause nobody would pay him any mind.

Just as he finished that thought, however, he was jolted back into the world by the sound of a light thump, and spun his head around to the source. Across the table stood... The negress, from earlier. He felt his eyes widen, and saw her flash a self-satisfied smirk, before glancing down to what she was holding- a bottle. She spoke.

"Noticed you missed the flood. I reckoned you wouldn't get past them all, so.. Special delivery." She chuckled. Her voice sounded as sweet as honey in tea, and something in her cadence told Cal she was from out east- Harrington must've brought her from the south. The thought swelled his interest, as he recalled he didn't know anybody from the other side of America. He replied in short order, the words almost falling out of him.

"Y-yup. Much appreciated, miss." Cal felt his face flush again- he scolded himself for stuttering in his mind, but she didnt seem to take any particular note of it. "But I ain't bring any money."

She nodded. "You're in luck. All the drinks are on Harrington's dime- a little treat to the wonderful people of Los Angeles before he heads on off to the east indies." She placed a glass on the table and poured out some of the contents of the bottle into it, watching the green liqour flow into it until it reached an optimal point, and then no more. She sat.

"You're not drinking?" Cal asked, inquisitively.

She smiled and laughed. "Nah. Harrington don't let us imbibe, says he can't be having drunks attend to goodfolk. Which.." She shrugged, pushing the glass over to Calvin. He picked it up, slightly hesitantly, and gave it a sniff- the burn of **** vapours sent him reeling back. The negress stifled a smile, and as if to prove something to her, he took a sip. The liqour came in smooth, and reminded him ever so slightly of licorice. It was remarkable how easy the first sip was- Cal's previous attempts at drinking involved plenty of coughing. Harrington *was* a man of finer tastes, he mused to himself, before looking back across the table at the negress. As he did, he felt his tongue ever so slightly numb.

"So, uh.. what's your name?" Calvin asked, taking another sip. He felt at ease.

She responded. "Sary. Most people call me Sarah, though." She glanced off for a moment, at nothing in particular as Cal soon found, following her eyes.

"Well, erm.. Thank you kindly for the drink, Sary-" He put special emphasis on pronouncing it right. The corner of her mouth turned up a tiny bit. "-I really appreciate it. So, what's all this trip business anyway?"

She replied. "Harrington's going off to Shanghai to sell Opium to the slants. Turns out, with everything on there, they actually pay better for it."

Cal raised an eyebrow. Opium.. He supposed that it made sense- with the war, they probably needed plenty of tinctures. He'd seen folk selling them from time to time, but momma never got any- said it was poison. How would it be?

"Ah, yes. They'll need lots of medicine with all the fighting and whatnot. Will you be headed with him?" Cal asked.

Sary glanced off again, chuckling. She shook her head- was she laughing at him? Cal frowned, and sipped his drink some more.

She looked back. "Naw. I keep house for Mr Harrington. He needs people to tend to his manor and Lady Jacqueline while he's away. What's your interest?"

Cal shrugged. "Just wondering, I s'pose. I don't know all that much about seafaring, so I guess I'm curious." He looked over to where Al had headed off too, and he saw him sitting at his table with Tommy and the rest. Actually, he wasn't.. Was he sleeping?

Cal shook his head in dissapointment- they hadn't even been here that long, and he'd already drunk himself to a stupor. Damned lightweight. Well, Cal was made of sterner stuff, and he wasn't about to let himself pass out infront of this lady anyways, even if the lateness of the hour had it's little effects and whatnot.

He took another sip, and spoke again. "Well, you seem like a nice lady, Sary, so I'm glad to hear you'll be sticking around with us while the old man goes on his adventures. By the way- I'm Calvin. Steimachu- Steimacher." Calvin shook his head, which was feeling light all of a sudden. Lord, Harrington had some powerful stuff.

Sary gave him a little smile, but there was something of a melancholy to it, which confused him a little bit. "Nice to meet you, Calvin. I ought to head back to the bar, but.. yeah. Maybe we can talk again, one day." She stood up, taking the bottle with her- she must've noticed Cal's state. He gave her a nod as she turned and left.

As she did, Cal glanced at his glass, and saw he hadn't quite finished it yet. Leaning against the table, he let out a yawn, and looked back over to Alturo. Some of Harrington's other negroes were helping him away from the table. About time somebody noticed.

Cal took one last sip from his glass, and pulled himself up - unsteadily, he as he found his legs were rather rubbery. He saw Sary speaking to one of the other servants, who turned and walked over.

"Looks like you've had your fair share, son." Said the servant, an older-looking man with short, curly hair and a gaunt face. "I'll help you out- there's a back door just over there."

The man took Cal by the arm, and started walking with him, more carrying, really, as Cal mumbled his agreements. As the two started off, though, Cal had one last thought to himself... Why the back?