Re: [At the Carnival]
[Among the collection of dressing tables, there was a whole to see. Colors that glowed brighter under the old bulbs on the mirrors. The sequin on costumes, the ostrich feather plumage of a set piece or head piece or Oliver had no idea what as some lady went strutting by with it in hand. Oliver tornado-twisted on the toes of his Van Gogh shoes, trying to look at everything and everyone. He was looking for Misha, sure, but he was also captivated by this behind the scenes glimpse of the show. He thought it was as beautiful and magical as anything that they might show to the crowd.
Somebody asked if he was lost, and Oliver must have looked it. He was wide-eyed and without costume. His clothes were simple by carnival standards. His tee shirt was clean white, unlike the bluejeans that were ancient and patched on the thighs in all shades of paint that would never wash off and left the fabric scratchy-rough as a result. Oliver wasn't very tall, but his jeans always seemed a touch too short. His socks showed at the ankle, bubblegum pink against Vincent's starry night sky.
Oliver shook his head about being lost, and noticing Misha making his way forward, smile with actual relief. Rhubarb, and Oliver's lip twitched with a murmured response.] Radish.
He's up in the seats. [The words were soft like Misha's question, although he wasn't sure why they were whispering. Then, realizing that he might have thought Jude was really close by, his voice found a more conversational level.] I'm... inclined. [He looked down at the hand, then back up at Misha's face. His attention skipped a touch higher to the devil horns, smirking at irony.] Are you? I mean, is that still cool?