Dietre Henrich Abendroth (sonataind) wrote in repose, @ 2017-10-22 22:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, dietre abendroth, oliver king |
Dietre + Oliver
Who: Dietre Abendroth and Oliver King.
What: D sees for himself how similar he and Oliver might be.
Where: The Diner.
When: Afternoon.
Warnings/Rating: Low?
Dietre had been feeling increasingly down as time went on. One step forward, two steps back. His life seemed to improve, then get worse. The ties that held him in place too fragile to be counted on. The only good thing about sinking lower, was that at some point it spurred him to be reckless. He had felt similarly when he auditioned for the carnival and invited Liam to come see him play. That had gone mostly well, hadn’t it? But things were bad again, so perhaps he needed a new jumpstart to make them better. In this state of mind, Oliver’s unexpected messages could be taken for a sign. Dietre seized on this new chance, going against his inner chorus of negative voices that told him not to. Even if it all went wrong, maybe it’d cement his belief that hope was a tormenting devil and give him the courage to finally give up once and for all. Sneaking away from Quiet Home was tricky, but Dietre banked on his ability to fade into the background to help him. He was never loud, never defiant, his mental issues mostly so common and run of the mill that nothing about him generated any interest from the doctors. It was so easy to overlook him. The rabies scare riled up some of the more impressionable patients, and Dietre was blessed by the eruption of a grand fit thrown by a man convinced he had been infected by a rat in the night. His fear and outrage at not being believed spread to other patients who followed suit, and soon the whole dayroom was in an uproar. The orderlies and nurses were too distracted by the fray to notice Dietre slink off by himself, and soon enough he was on his way. Unlike his first meeting with Liam, Dietre hadn’t thought to ask Oliver what he looked like beforehand. The whole way to the diner he wondered how he’d know who to approach. The same went for Oliver. They had no way to recognize one another. Dietre certainly had no plans to announce himself to strangers. The only thing he knew was that Oliver would be around Misha’s age, and that was just an assumption and didn’t really narrow down things much. He was still fretting over this problem when he reached his destination, lingering reluctantly by the door upon entering. He stood awkwardly off to the side, waving away a waitress’ attempt to seat him. Pale eyes drifted across the other patrons, a frown of concentration on his face, hands burying themselves in the pockets of his peacoat. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he put himself at risk for nothing. Came out here for nothing. And in the end, he’d lose his privileges as punishment for sneaking off and spend the rest of his days drugged out of his mind strapped to a bed in his room. For nothing. |