Dietre Abendroth. (dead_silent) wrote in myth_universe, @ 2008-10-06 21:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | active, aurora laclaire, day 2, dietre abendroth, eos, greek, mortal |
Who: Dietre and OTA (The more the merrier, maybe?)
What: Dietre's forgetfulness hopefully forces him to meet some more residents?
When: A little before noon.
Where: The lobby of Empyreal Apartments.
Rating: TBD.
Status: Open/Active!
He had never meant to fall asleep, he avoided it whenever possible, for sleep rarely ever ended well. Almost always some dark, terrifying mix of memory and nightmare would creep upon him, leaving him clawing his way back to wakefulness, shaking in a cold sweat. So common place was this result, that to come to consciousness slowly, the foggy blanket of sleep gently slipping away, was utterly disorienting and foreign. He was confused, groggy and lethargic, squinting his eyes at the light streaming in through the windows, and it was a long while before he could remember where he was and how he came to find himself curled up in a soft, warm bed.
"...Vincent?" The boy's voice was so soft that even if the other man had been in the very same room, he might not have heard him. There was such a silence in the apartment that Dietre was certain he was alone. He tried to recall the man he had met the night before, his memory tended to be hazy and imperfect these days. What came to him most clearly was that Vincent was kind, generous, and most likely a little mad. No man with common sense or an intact sense of self preservation would invite a killer into his home and then leave him alone there in the morning.
A turn of the head and he found breakfast laid out and ready, along with a note and a key. A key! Vincent was so trusting! Dietre frowned, not thinking himself deserving, and the desire to repay Vincent back for his kindness rose in him all the more. It was decided, he was going to go straight out and get his payment for last night's job, and promptly give it all to Vincent. It was the least he could do, he had nothing else to give.
By this hour the food was room temperature, but it didn't matter, Dietre was used to eating out of cans after all. It had been a while since he had anything that was cooked. Every morsel was eaten, the boy not wanting to offend his host even though the man wasn't here to see. Afterwards the dishes were done and the bed made, Dietre intent on being as unintrusive as possible.
It wasn't long before he was on his way to collect his dues. There were times when it slipped his mind, and some lucky employer got a job done for free. Dietre had to try hard to avoid this, for if he didn't get paid, he was simply nothing more than a serial killer, and that thought didn't sit too well with him (mainly because he was worried that it was true, pay or no pay). A trip to central park, a brief exchange of words, and Dietre left with a black briefcase in tow.
There was a short detour to a clothing shop, though grateful for what Vincent had given him, Dietre didn't feel quite right wearing the other man's clothes. Dietre shopped the way he always did, by pointing at whatever mannequin or advertisement that appealed most to him and his needs and demanding the outfit. Today his choice was not his usual all black, today he was inspired by Vincent's apartment. The shirt was the same pale blue of Vincent's walls, the color making the boy's eyes seem less gray. Charcoal colored pants, slim cut and pressed, and a tie. Rather formal, but that was just the way Dietre preferred to dress.
He wore his new clothes home (home? could he call it that?), what Vincent had let him borrowed folded neatly in a shopping bag. Finding the building had been easy enough, but once he entered the lobby and was standing in front of the elevators he ran into a little problem. He had forgotten what floor Vincent's apartment was on. The boy blinked, brows coming together as he tried to remember, and it seemed the harder he tried, he less he knew. He was dimly aware of the unpleasant gaze of the doorman on his back, but he ignored it, refusing to ask the man. As out of touch with society as Dietre was, he sensed there wasn't something right about the doorman, something that he felt he shouldn't think about too much.
What floor was that apartment!? It was high up...yes...But not too high...He just stood there, at a loss, staring at the number display above the elevator door as if he just kept his eyes on it, the number would magically come to him. How could he have forgotten?