Re: Quicklog: Dinner and company
Sieglinde basked in the attention, tail thumping loudly against the wall so great was her enthusiasm. She was Dietre’s opposite, a furry social butterfly who viewed everyone as a potential friend. You wouldn’t think this would be a source for guilt, but Dietre had a way of finding a reason to be guilty over everything. He sometimes felt that Sieglinde would be happier with an owner who liked to go out and do things and see people. Being stuck with a social recluse had to be stifling. His only consolation was that she, being an animal, couldn’t dwell on what she was missing like he could.
“Oh, no, no… I didn’t-- It was like this when I moved in,” Dietre was quick to confess. He couldn’t take credit on the decor, he hadn’t changed a thing from the day he arrived. He was embarrassed by Sadie’s praise, it made him feel like an imposter. Truth be told, he actually found the style of the house to be far too modern for his liking. The only thing he could say he shared with his father aside from those high cheekbones and that icy gaze, was a love of antiques. He liked beauty, curved forms, intricate details, soft velvet, slippery silks, dark wood with deep lacquer… But he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and was not about to complain. Damian said it was his, but Dietre hesitated to put his own stamp on the place. He never felt like he would stay long, and already he was being moved. Supposedly he could come back, but he was not convinced.
Feeling ‘rubbish’ at something was relatable. “I am too. Actually… I’m going to be moving. Misha suggested I live with a friend of his for a time…” His foray into self sufficiency had failed. A roommate was a better option than returning to Quiet Home, and though the idea of living with a complete stranger was frightening, it was the lesser of two evils.
Dietre took the offered bowl, the scent of hot food somewhat awakening his dormant appetite. “Sitting is prefered, for me. There are stools if you’d like to too.” He perched atop one, setting his bowl on the shelf that served as both window ledge and dining room table. There was space for Sadie to join him if she so chose.
Bean soup was not something he’d ever eaten before, but he was not fussy. Food was not something he took much interest or pleasure in the way some people did. He only ever ate because he had to. If he could live solely off music, he’d never bother eating at all. He swallowed a spoonful of soup, then a bite of bread before politely nodding at Sadie to show he approved.