Re: log: caspar & dietre; an audition
It wasn't just the tangible beckon of success that Caspar found mouthwatering, but the artistic elements that came with constructing his own little universe from scratch. The business part was genealogical barbed wire sutured through his bones, irrefutable catgut string forever tying his wants and needs to the pursuit of fatherly approval.
The only way that his father would ever, ever approve, all without ever saying so of course, would be of Caspar achieved financial success. Everything else was his for the sake of being his. The artistic touches on the menu, the colors, the golden fucking lion hanging from the ceiling like an angel of idolatry to pray on, these were all for Caspar. And now too was Dietre and his music.
Caspar had always loved beautiful things and had grown up learning to appreciate them for no more than their existence. He'd learned a long time ago that this was the way of moneyed people, to possess for the sake of possession. To keep and hoard beautiful things, keeping them from the rest of the world, whether those things were women, or paintings, or exotic pets. After Caspar had a near death experience, one that had placed him under the heavy veil of many hours of surgery, he had found a certain comfort in surrounding himself with beauty. All that color, all that texture, after so much flat gray.
"Then I will see you this weekend. Have a solid night, Mr. Abendroth." And with that, Caspar took one last pull of smoke before pushing its cherry against the bricks. Then, he slipped right back inside.