The VIP air is strong with the smell of spirits and herbaceous pipe smoke, and the sound of refined chatter and laughter.

Shortly after the doors opened, you and Tansen had mingled with the early crowd downstairs. Between his quiet pointers advising you on what to expect from the VIPs, and pointing out a handful of the more notable regulars as they made their way upstairs, he made louder, casual conversation, particularly when other patrons were near.

Eventually, as Tansen chatted with some regulars who recognised and shared a drink with him, another man pushed his way over to the bar.

“Tansen, you old dog! Ma’am; you can do better than this fool, I assure you!”, the man had said, grinning widely.

Tansen had scowled and told him, in no uncertain terms, to get lost with that. Instead, he motioned for you to join him upstairs, in order to get away from this rabble; he nodded directly at the newcomer, who laughed and said that he’d see Tansen around.

Based on a description you received earlier, that man was Sentinel Samuel Forne, and with him arriving to cover the fort downstairs, you and Tansen could now move up. You wondered whether they actually had a spiky relationship, or if it was all just an act.

Upstairs, you could breathe again. Over 200 people were downstairs, but no more than 40 VIPs were up here so far. This is a more manageable crowd. Tansen confirmed Samuel’s presence and that he usually works downstairs with the others, so you can seek him out there if you ever need him. But now, it was time for you to get to work and actually experience ‘babysitting’ the VIPs.

The first thing he pointed out was a man in his fifties standing by the balcony in a very expensive and flashy suit, drinking champagne. He spoke to two younger men, who looked quite plain in comparison, despite their own finery.

“Lord. Adrian. Veymar,” Tansen said. “A regular. Aristocrat. Very rich, very powerful. Kind of a trouble-maker. Avoid him if you can; he’ll suck you in if you catch his attention, and it’ll be hard to get back out.”

What sort of trouble?

“He likes to puff out his chest and strut around, demonstrating his superiority by being pushy with the serving staff and domineering towards lesser VIPs. He tends to act like he owns the place. He’s annoying, but manageable, but occasionally, he’ll run into some new VIP who won’t stand for his nonsense, which is when some headbutting can start, so that’s what you have to watch out for.”

He was not the only one. With the prime act not scheduled to start until 10pm, you watched as more patrons arrived, settling in as the second and third acts progressed downstairs. A varied array of wealth, splendour, and dignity.

At first, it was calm, but now, after the steady flow of drink and smoke, voices speak louder, and actions are more boisterous. A spilled drink here, a bumped table there, some uproarious laughter from one table, or louder-than-necessary cheering (or booing) towards the current performers from another.

You watch a group of three VIPs go downstairs and dance with the commoners during one song, much to the amusement of the other VIPs watching from the balcony. Shortly after, a tipsy “Sir Hedgemoor” decides to spread more mirth by scattering bank notes from the balcony onto the dance floor below; an act that causes a rush of activity as common patrons scramble to gather the free money, while the staff scramble to avoid a small crush; Sir Hedgemoor is quickly ushered back to his seat by one of the servers.

Amidst the slew of unfamiliar faces and the string of names from Tansen including Sir Doric, Master Gorden, Doctor Ashton-Smith, Maestra Flennel, Mistress Alwick… most of which you quickly forget, you notice Rizha when she arrives with her companions, her brother, and his companions. She sees you in turn and waves, but seeing you with Tansen, who has recently returned from a patrol, she opts not to join you for now, and instead takes a seat with her friends over yonder. You wonder what their group will get up to before long.

For most it seems to be unthinkable, but a distinct handful of patrons take it upon themselves to openly flirt with those around them, usually the serving staff. For the most part, it’s some excessive compliments or a cheeky pass; nothing too intense. That is, until “Lyra Ploshel”. A young Lady, prim and proper, and a picture of elegance when she arrives. Within 30 minutes, she’s persistently and overtly flirting with practically every male who catches her attention. This, despite the attempts of her own male companion to keep her in check, and, despite the disapproving glares and polite attempts at deterrence that come from the other Ladies, none of whom appreciate Lyra attempting to woo their men right in front of them. She only gets worse as the night wears on, her voice becoming louder and more shrill, her cheeks becoming more flushed, and her demands for service from the staff steadily becoming more outrageous; she demands a type of food that is not even available in Stardust, and becomes quite upset when her request is refused.

An announcement signalling the start of the prime acts are enough to create a distraction, and for a time, the VIPs settle down slightly. There is a spot of trouble now and then though, with some minor jostling, and an argument about someone stepping on another’s shoe, but, nothing to get involved in.

Most of the patrons have moved over to the balcony to watch, leaving their tables and many of their items unguarded. This hour, referred to as “the thread” by Tansen, is the most important time for staff in the VIP section. Thieves and spies and those looking to tamper with drinks and belongings are more likely to strike now, while almost all attention is on the stage. Even in cases where a member of a table remains behind to guard the group’s belongings; that ‘guard’ could actually be a perpetrator, waiting for a time to strike. This hour requires a balancing act; keeping an eye on the rest of the floor, whilst not making it obvious. A periodic trip to the bar or the Ladies’ Powder Room gives you an opportunity to look around and move through the tables, but, you can only do this a limited amount of times each to avoid drawing suspicion. Tonight, things seem clear, and you don’t notice any of the attendees at the distant tables doing anything suspicious, and those who come and go from the balcony are easier to keep track of, so for now, it’s fine.

Just as well; only being able to pay half attention to the performers is a real shame. As is having to leave the main hall. However, sometimes, you just have to make a trip to the powder room. Too many free drinks… Might as well do a little scouting while you’re up and about.

All is in order, and you idly contemplate the luxury of the ladies room decor as you leave. You glance about, noticing a male VIP disappearing into the Gentlemen’s Suite slightly further down. Further still, you just about make out the form of another person standing still near the staff door at the end of the hall, and the sudden jostling of the foliage of a potted plant resting atop an elegant plant stand across the way. As you watch, the man, slightly hunched, suddenly freezes mid movement, becoming tense. After a couple of seconds, he exhales sharply then straightens up, smoothing out his suit jacket and adjusting his embroidered cuffs as he turns to walk back to the main hall without a fuss. You nonchalantly step into the hallway proper and continue ahead of him; you both return to the VIP floor, where the prime performance is only halfway through. You’re not sure what he was doing by the staff door; is he another staff member or Sentinel? Maybe. You’ll ask Tansen when you get the chance. For now, it’s back to eagle-eyed scouting.

Eventually, with the prime act concluded, a handful of the VIPs decide it’s time to take their leave, but, at 11pm, the night is still young for most. However, now no longer distracted, and with their blood seemingly being replaced with at least 50% alcohol, antics start up in earnest once more. When one of the prime performers comes upstairs, a generous VIP decides to pay for a drink for them and everyone else in the VIP section, so of course, most take advantage of this to get themselves a glass of the good stuff on someone else’s coin. And with purses being heavy up here, it really is the good stuff.

When one of the VIPs decides to stand on his chair and try to climb onto the table, much to the amusement of his peers (and the horror of the servers), Tansen warns you about “the Inferno”, a short window when the wildest drink-fuelled problems are likely to arise, before the VIPs finally decide to leave for the night; most will not stay past 12:30. You’re in the home stretch, but still have a long way to go.

You notice, in one of the private booths, a lady slap a man across the face; he leaves and returns to his own table, head still held high. You hear a glass break somewhere. You see two gentlemen having an argument, needing to be separated by their respective companions. Lady Ploshel mopes and complains and calls for her carriage to take her home, while her companion attempts to mop up a red stain on her dress, now ruined. A couple of servers attempt to console and placate her; she claims that she will never set foot in Stardust again, but Tansen dismisses that completely; she’ll be back here within a few days, like she always is.

You watch the mask of composure slowly slipping, and note that three of the most disruptive patrons are all Aristocrats; Lady Ploshel, Lord Veyrin, and Lord James Karven, who happens to be the same man that you saw beyond the Gentlemen’s Suite earlier. Tansen confirmed that he is not staff, but just highlighted him as one of the richer troublemakers that they often have to keep an eye on. That checks out. Is it too early to believe that all Aristocrats act like this in here?

You look over at Lord Veryrin and his companions, who seem to regard the servers as their own personal staff, apparently oblivious or uncaring of the fact that the servers are often in the middle of attending to someone else. You note a fair amount of huffing when their food and drinks do not materialise fast enough, and consistent attempts to override a server’s current tasks with their own, clearly more important instructions. You wonder what it must be like working as the serving staff up here.

There is a commotion at one of the tables, and it quickly becomes evident that someone has just thrown up, based on the response from the people there, and the swiftness with which several of them vacate the area. Tansen groans.

“Oh, here we go…”

You remain where you are while a couple of the serving staff begin to secure and clean the area. You notice the looks of the other VIPS close buy; disappointing looks of disgust, amused glances followed by whispering. Is this something that can never be lived down, or is this more common than expected? Considering Lady Ploshel’s behaviour, maybe it’s not that big a deal.

You realise, with a grimace, that it is actually Lord Karven who threw up, and managed to do so partially on a table and on another man’s suit. The recipient is, understandably, unhappy, and you can faintly hear him referring to Karven as “a squalid wretch”, and comparing him to a rat dipped in a bucket of rum. He doesn’t notice; Karven is too busy not cooperating with the  server who is gently trying to encourage him to move out of the way so he can continue containing the area. Despite his gentle demeanour towards Karven, Karven seems increasingly aggravated by the server; Karven is the one most inconvenienced by all this, apparently.

“You stay here,” says Tansen, rising and heading towards the stairs, “this could get… petty…”

Eventually Karven gives up and storms off, batting aside the hand towel that is being offered to him by another staff member. At the affected table, cleaning has begun, and the affected man, now having his own suit wiped down, calls after Karven, demanding compensation for the upcoming cleaning costs; either that or compensation for a replacement suit. Karven, currently scowling into a drink at another table, stares the man down for a moment. He gulps down the rest of his drink, stands, then marches back over. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out what appears to be a folded pen-knife. He fumbles with it, pointing it at his target, vaguely threatening to ‘replace’ his tongue. He does not manage to open the blade though.

There are gasps from the other VIPs and you stand up quickly, but a security guard rushes forward and grabs Karven’s wrist; the still-closed knife drops to the floor. Within seconds, the guard and the nearby staff members are quickly swarming over the two men to keep them apart, while the other VIPs move back.

“What in Mazz’s name just happened?!” Tansen reappears nearby; you can’t tell if he’s angry or bewildered, but your attempt to recap is interrupted by Karven trying to fight his way free from the grip of a man twice as big as he is. He flails ineffectually, and demands, through slurred words, to be unhanded at once. His weak batting is interrupted when he throws up again; dry heaving after bringing up his recent drink. Then he stops, and slumps unceremoniously to the floor.