Dietre Henrich Abendroth (sonataind) wrote in repose, @ 2017-08-07 09:37:00 |
|
|||
Dietre's messages to Misha had only been a glimpse at the inner turmoil he put himself through in the days since agreeing to come to the carnival and audition for a job. He was convinced that he had been too careless during his first forays into the online side of Repose. He spoke too freely about his emotional state, revealed too much about his past, and though all those he spoke to had been accepting, he was filled with regret. It was easy to talk about being a madman when you weren't face to face with anyone, how stupid he had been to not have considered how things would be once he met these people in person. The only reasons he managed to work up the courage to go through with the audition, in the end, were Misha's valiant efforts at encouragement, and the fact he had once been a Quiet Home patient himself. The dog days of summer had descended and the heat was oppressive and relentless. Dietre felt it keenly as he made his way through the maze of stands and tents, but he had too much on his mind to let it affect him. He stuck out from the carnival staff like a sore thumb, dressed in clothing that was far too fine and formal. Pressed pants, a collared dress-shirt, shined shoes and a waistcoat. He would have worn a tie too if he had been allowed, but they were sadly considered a means to hang oneself and so were forbidden to him at the moment. He was pale, the telltale shadows of an insomniac around his eyes giving him a sickly sort of look. Tall and almost too slim, he moved with a languid grace that he gave off an impression of elegance rather than lanky awkwardness. Though he hated to do it, he forced himself to stop and ask where he could find Misha before he ended up wasting the whole day walking in circles. He was led by a helpful carny toward a carousel that, even in the day with all its many lights dead and dull, he found distractingly lovely. He was so caught up in staring at it that it took a moment for him to realize Misha was standing nearby, fiddle in hand. “...I’ve come for my audition.” No other greeting was offered. Though he had been talkative online, nothing seemed to have changed when it came to an in-person interaction. Dietre had a habit of speaking as if he were conserving his words, his voice soft, lower than one might expect given the borderline androgynous prettiness of his features, husky from lack of use and lingering damage from his time on the rope. |