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[Tobias might be at work or home when the invitation comes. But rather than any regular ol' mail handler, this one is a little different. The doorbell rings, or a slow, insistent knock lets out. Whenever Tobias does answer, he will find dear Sally standing before him, a knowing smile on blood red lips. She holds out a golden envelope with Tobias' name handwritten in careful, precise lettering, handing it over with that smile still in place.

And with that she turns, leaving Tobias with his invite. By the time he looks at what's in hand and back up to say something to Sally, though, she's vanished, leaving only the scent of cigarettes in her wake.]

[...all right, then. That wasn't strange in the least, it wasn't like something scripted in a drama or anything, no. That was utterly and completely normal, wasn't it? Just an everyday sort of thing.

Toby has to commend his employer on this display of theatrics. Never a dull moment with him around, that's for certain.

Perhaps he'll pay March an after-hours visit, just to make sure he isn't actually working on the night of this invitation. After all, maybe he just isn't scheduled, or other staff are covering it since he's an imPort or Dorian's fiance or... well, any number of reasons, really.

Yeah, after hours, he goes to do just that—pay March a quick visit, maybe have a little conversation if he's around... There is still time before sun up.]

[Mister March is in his office, Toby is told when he arrives. The staff on hand makes a quick call to see whether or not he's accepting visitors. Seems the answer is "no" until a name is mentioned, at which point the receiver may as well be cartoonishly vibrating with how enthusiastically and loudly March is changing that answer. So Tobias is sent off to Room 64 with the front desk person wiggling a finger in the offended ear. They'll learn to spit out the important details first or suffer the consequences for it.

For once, the door to Room 64 is wide open. Inviting, even. If Toby considers a lingering trail of smoke and the quiet sound of old jazz music played on a phonograph inviting. His office is home and work in one, an art deco love affair more so than the rest of the hotel. Even the rug between the door and his desk has those geometric patterns all over it. Nothing is out of place; shelves with books, business and leisure, some art along the walls. A dark curtain is drawn to separate that side from what serves as a bedroom.

March is situated comfortably behind his desk, dressed down in shirt and suspenders and ascot, puffing away at a pipe while he waits. A comfortable leather chair sits in front of him, pulled out just enough for someone to take a seat. It's almost like he got up, opened the door, situated the chair, and then sat back down the moment he got off the phone...because he did. Hospitality is important. Presentation? The most important aspect of hospitality.]

[Toby finds it hilarious watching his co-worker get chewed out for not name-dropping him earlier. Yeah, serves him right. Names and networking are the keys to getting ahead and obtaining whatever one desires. It would be best for his co-worker to understand that.

Room 64. As Toby enters, he thinks there's something very intentional about the picturesque, old-time atmosphere. He can't help studying the room with a sense of awe and wonder. Everything seems so perfectly placed—could March have done it all on purpose? It'd not entirely unbelievable, as there have been many times in the past when people paid such attention to detail and more.]

Hello, Mister March. Thank you for seeing me. [It's a shame they don't talk more often in spite of Toby's employment. He regards the seat, notes that there's enough room for him to take it, and so he goes for it.] I do hope that I'm not disturbing you or interrupting anything.

[It is all purposeful, yes. Makes what goes on out of sight and behind the scenes so much more fulfilling. One image projected to the world, another lurking beneath it that's not at all, seemingly, in line with the other. His bread and butter.]

Mister Matthews! Not at all. Thank you for coming. [The pipe is set down so his hand can wander to the cane next to his chair. It pushes out from there, giving him a relaxed-yet-still-business appearance. This is also purposeful.] I've been craving a break from this paper work, honestly. Here you've come to save me.

[A fond, genuine smile follows. One finger idly moves his cane back and forth. It seems a mix of toy and additional limb from the ease and familiarity March has with it.]

I trust our dear clever Sally found you and did her duty. Is that why you've come?

[His eyes light up with familiarity. Sally, of course.]

Ah, yes! Indeed it is. [Toby glances at the cane for a second or two before regarding his expression once again.] Speaking of which, I greatly appreciate the invitation.

Though if I might be so forward, am I correct in assuming that I have that night off?

Of course! [The cane gets an idle twirl, a habitual gesture. Unlike his smile. That's as genuine as ever.] You are a guest at this party, Mister Matthews. We don't expect our guests to operate in their staff functions.

[That would be the worst, wouldn't it? Not really getting to enjoy the party. Like having some staff holiday affair except it's during business hours. No. Not welcoming, not hospitable. Not the mood he wants to inject.]

If you've concern over the missing pay, that can be easily remedied.

[He's a stingy bastard, to be sure. But when being stingy works against his other interests? Nope. Suddenly the most generous fella around.]

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