Dumas usually arrived at Wonderland just in time to begin his official work schedule.  However, tonight he’d shown up a full hour before the club’s normal opening -- partially so that he wouldn’t need to bother Mari while she was busy with her hostess duties, and partially because he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.  Dumas had spent years bravely facing death (if a mixture of violent anger and bitter resignation could really be called bravery).  And yet, this scared him worse that combat ever had.  Fighting and killing?  No problem.  He was good at that.  But deceiving somebody else?  Somebody that he liked?  Not so much.  Dumas’s hands were sweating and his stomach felt like he’d swallowed a cannon ball.  For at least the fiftieth time, he wished that Chester had chosen someone else.<br/><br/>But Dumas had never backed away from a mission and he wasn’t going to start now.  Reminding himself that this was all for Mari’s own good, he sucked in a deep breath and set off to find her.<br/><br/>As Dumas searched, he became aware of some odd looks being directed his way.  Was it just people  trying to decide if they were seeing him or DEE?  Or was it something else?  Although Wonderland enforced its own unique dress code, Dumas’s seclusion granted him an informal exemption.  So his usual work outfit consisted of jeans and a T-shirt, with a jacket thrown on to conceal his shoulder holster.  But this evening, driven by nebulous anxiety, Dumas had actually primped.  He was clean shaven, his curls were slightly less messy than usual, and he wore a ‘new’ suit.  He’d bought the suit right after getting out of the military, in preparation for some version of civilian life that had never quite materialized.  As a result, the suit’s cut was somewhat dated.  But its fabric, which seemed to shift from grey to silver depending on how the light hit it, remained in pristine condition -- since this was the first time Dumas had actually put it on.<br/><br/>Finally, Dumas spotted Mari.  Sliding a hand into his jacket pocket, he fingered the necklace resting there.  Then, after giving himself one final pep talk, he approached the hostess.  “Um.  Hi Mari.”  The words were spoken softly, almost a mumble -- but at least he’d gotten them out.  “How’s it going?”