Re: log: dietre a. & daniel w.
In some ways, Daniel was accustomed to being a mystery. He didn't stride about in the sunlight, he didn't hobnob with the villagers (he did think of them that way, a sort of rural populace fed on gossip and wheat bread), and more importantly, he didn't come out of his house much. He knew that some of the occasional visitors to the town viewed the shuttered music shop with resentment, as he gathered it had been worth the journey for collectors&emdash;the words "hipster mecca" had been used in his hearing, and he still wasn't entirely sure what that meant&emdash;except that the music shop's locked doors were viewed with wary annoyance. Then there was his inherent foreignness: while he was moderately good at adapting to an American accent, his word choice was old, and he was constantly being corrected. At this point in his life Daniel was seriously considering becoming a true shut-in. He was strongly tempted to throw the glowing computer screen and overloud phone out of the window daily. And if one more person told him to "look it up in wikipedia," he might tear their throats out on the spot.
While Dietre saw a mystery, Daniel saw what he expected. Dietre looked dark, uncomfortable, and light-starved, all the hallmarks of good artists. He suited Daniel's mental picture quite well. Daniel didn't bother imagining what he might look like to Dietre. He was too busy being just slightly surprised by the Germanic accent, which he heard immediately, having spent a number of years floating through the Austria-Hungary, as it was called then. Daniel gave the other man his hand, ascending the step to the tiny house's door so they were closer. Dietre was substantially taller than Daniel, who was not a tall man, but rather average, in a carved way.
"Your invitation was most welcome." It was a formal response. Daniel was already looking past Dietre into the tiny house with obvious interest. He locked eyes with the dog for a split-second and then looked again at his host with a slight genial smile. He wasn't at all troubled by Dietre's stare. Artists were odd. Everyone knew this.