Re: log: caspar & dietre; an audition
There must have been one shard of calcified wisdom hidden away in Caspar's stoic stack of such finely tuned bones. Showing off some phronesis in the moment (his two brain cells were beginning to spin, lubricated with a fresh spike of wine), Caspar began to thumb scroll through his phone with millennial speed when Dietre confirmed Caspar's suspicions that he didn't have a tuxedo. He could get one. "Well, sure, anyone can get one... but it's a different experience altogether in having one made especially for you." He wasn't sending the boy to some basement tuxedo emporium for the discounted seersucker special. God, no.
The phone's endless list of contacts gave up the goods, and Caspar found a pen from behind the bar so that he could write the details on a bar coaster: Armand the name stationed like a neatly penned blockade above a phone number with a Capital area code and street address to match. Caspar flicked the coaster for demonstration before setting it aside on the bar, "Just call this man. He will get you all set up."
When Dietre asked, mouse-coy, if he might be able to play another piece of music on the piano, Caspar raised an eyebrow. Oh, to still be so easily pleased by the inanimate. Envy stoked his blood, but the feeling was brief, dissolving away easily by the time that Caspar made a flippant 'go on' gesture with his hand. "By all means, serenade me." He poured more wine.