"Of course," Hermes said, smirking as he bowed and crossed the room. He disliked that he was wearing shoes at all, but at least these were fine enough that he could feel his balance and footing easily. He doubted he'd have need to climb or run with his Master so close, but stranger things have happened.
He slipped away easily from Carrick, moving not as someone needing to be invisible, but as though he owned the room. There was a time and a place to be subtle and when everyone saw him walk in at Carrick's side, made so much note of it both out loud and in their heads there was no reason to demure.
Carrick's presence, of course, made it so much easier for those who were prone to paranoia to think too much. Two minutes. Not bad. He was sure he could do so much better as he waited at the bar for the slave to return with drinks. He listened, his attention fixed physically on the werewolf he was having a conversation with even while he marked everything a witch not ten paces away was thinking.
When the drinks came, he moved gracefully back to his Master, not spilling a single drop on the way there or as he knelt to present the vampire with what he requested. As he rose again, he leaned to speak against Carrick's ear, giving him the name, the woman's attachment to a particular slave who'd been lost in combat, her duplicitous romance with one of the organizers, and who she reported to where.
He pulled back to look his master in the eye, a laughing grin on his face as though he'd just told a great flirtatious secret that had nothing at all to do with the witch's likely sealed fate. The smirk and arched brow, however, belonged to a smug little boy who knew what he was doing, that he could do it so very well, and that his master shouldn't have doubted him for a second.