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Tristan T. Travers (alliterative) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Tristan and Open If Someone Wants to Hop In (Around 4:30)
Tristan stood outside Wingbeat, off to the side, staring down at his pathetic little CV. He had no work experience, and the piece of paper he'd spent a lot of time working on reflected that. He'd put down his Hogwarts achievements (such as prefect and then Head Boy), as well as skills he thought might come in handy for either position (such as organisational skills that might be useful for either the cloakroom or the bar, and an attention to details and a skill with potions, which he thought might be useful in mixing drinks despite his lack of experience there). He used his brother, his cousin, and Vikesh Moon as references, silently thankful at least one of his references wasn't family, though he was thankful for Julian and Pandora as well. His probation worker's name and contact was on there as well, along with a brief note about his conviction, incarceration, and release. If it weren't for all of that...

If it weren't for all of that, he didn't think he'd be trying to get a job anywhere, especially not a night club. He had nothing against night clubs, or so he assumed. He'd visited Wingbeat the other night, and he didn't find it to be as horrible to him as he thought it might be. But that had been a Sunday, and Sundays surly weren't the most popular nights at clubs, right? He chewed his lip as his stomach knotted, both nervous about possibly getting a job here and possibly being rejected.

He'd just come from his meeting with his probation worker, Alden Anderson, told him about the interview and his other attempts to find leads on jobs. For some reason, he'd seem sceptical that Tristan would follow through with anything, and part of him wanted to prove Anderson wrong. Even if he was rejected at every turn, he was going to try. He was going to ensure that that man was flooded with owls asking about him, that his hand cramped from having to write reply after reply. That... well, mostly that Anderson saw he was trying and might find himself a little inconvenienced at times by the random owl here and there with requests for information from potential employers.

Sighing, Tristan steeled his nerves and adjusted his robes -- simple, black, and about as professional as he figured he could get without looking like he was going to an interview at a law firm or the Ministry. He double checked his watch (half-four. Still plenty of time before the interviews were officially closed), held his head up (but not so up that he came off like he was looking down on anyone), and made his way inside the club for the second time this week.

The club definitely looked different during the day than it had during the night, though he supposed that was in part because of the open interview. It wouldn't make sense to keep candidates quite literally in the dark. He noticed details here and there he hadn't noticed in the dark, and he idly committed them to memory. Spotting where a few others were seated, presumably waiting for their turns, he wandered over to am empty black top, sliding himself into the seat. He carefully slipped his CV into an envelope he'd gotten from Anderson, set it down on the table. He gave a few nods and polite smiles to some of the other potential employees and began idly tracing the glowing dragon design on the table.