Re: log: caspar & dietre; an audition
Despite looking very little like a restaurateur, for he believed his suit to be tastefully spot on, Caspar hadn't given up on the professional pursuit. Not yet, at least. It was the first time in his life that he'd stuck with something like this for longer than a couple of months. Everyone was surprised, and walking on eggshells because of it. By most accounts, and one could really check the headlines, the hashtags, the scathing diary pages, Caspar was nothing more than a bastardized playboy. He had a long and exhausting history of destroying every nice thing that had ever been gifted to him, be it cars, boats, women, or professional undertakings. Caspar suspected that his family was still holding their breath, waiting for the restaurant to also go up in flames in some spectacularly Caspar-esque fashion.
But with the restaurant, he was actually trying to make a good name for himself. It was different this time. He wasn't in his fucking twenties anymore, after all. The restaurant wasn't a passion really, but more a hobby that had managed to strike a serious vein. Because Caspar wasn't a chef or sommelier, but he had enough money to throw around that he could buy the chefs and sommeliers. He felt like the regent in charge of a very tiny, very opulent little kingdom. Being the owner, there was really very little for him to do around the place on most days except for graze on manchego stuffed olives and get smashed on sparkling cava. So it was nice when he got to make an executive decision, like hiring a pianist.
"Wine, excellent!" It was probably too early for Scotch. Selecting a Rioja from the bar, he had the bottle open in moments. Caspar gave a hearty splash into the bottom of two long stemmed glasses before passing on to Dietre. He swirled his own, sniffing at its bouquet. "So, tell me about yourself. How long have you been playing?" He couldn't remember if he'd already asked while on the forum. He was better face-to-face.