Re: Carnival: Sadie M & Damian W + Open
The woman entered, after a fashion. Cool gaze was appraising.
"Hello, Sadie." Damian lacked an accent as well. His lack of accent was such a lack, indeed, that it betrayed his framework of English as book-learned. He was fluent. Bilingual. (Multilingual, technically.) But, it—English—was not what had been most spoken around him when he had been enwombed or thereafter. Too, he lacked affect, any and all. His voice was deep and flat, unencumbered by emotionality or any other social cues as to mood. His gaze was leveled at the woman and her bell-belt, at her throat as she swallowed, at the jut of her hand outward in pale offering.—The man stood from his desk, abandoning pencil there, along with cigarette in a makeshift ashtray (a small cup for Turkish coffee, for the curious; absolutely nothing for the incurious). He crossed the close space, though he did not shake the Sadie woman's hand. Instead, he looked her over with open scrutiny, standing some feet away, still near his desk.
Whatever she said after her apology, such as it was, was both uninteresting and unnecessary. Damian ignored it, as he did her dangling hand. "You are to audition, no?" He leaned back against the desk, ass resting there, ankles crossed over one another and arms folded over chest. The man lifted his chin. He nodded only slightly, as if telling her to begin. "So, audition." Surely the music would be more bearable than inane chatter. Hopefully, anyway.