Post by sachertorteforall on Sept 25, 2011 20:54:52 GMT -5
Yes, Roderich would admit it, this wasn't the social event of the year, but it was good enough, and he was happy to be employed.
As far as he could tell, this was some kind of military function, with all the men dressed to the nines in their pressed uniforms, the twinkling lights from the chandelier glistening off medals and pins of honor. Occasionally someone's polished boots would squeak on the floor, but after an hour and a half of enduring this, Roderich was used to it. The women walked with shoulders back, just as proud as their male escorts. Conversations were succinct and in hushed tones, as if those present were discussing classified state secrets instead of making small talk.
That was all from his offhand observations while his mind drifted. It was easy to play automatically when the hosts had requested that he play only toned-down pieces. Nothing fun, only background music to be casually renoticed every few minutes during pauses in conversation.
Confident that no one would miss the tinkling piano notes if he stopped and took a ten-minute break--these military types only liked beating drums, anyway--Roderich drifted from the piano and over to the appetizer table. Arranged as sophisticatedly as food could be, hors d'oeuvres of all kinds lay down the length of the table, ranging from fancier versions of normal foods to things he couldn't identify at all.
One of the appetizers in particular caught his eye. It was shaped and textured rather like a cream puff, but he had a particular instinct that told him it wasn't. Roderich was no adventurous eater, so he decided to go for the next best thing.
"Excuse me," he said to the person nearest him, a rather grim-looking man with blonde hair and green eyes. "Do you know exactly what this is?" he asked, pointing to the faux-cream puff in question.
As far as he could tell, this was some kind of military function, with all the men dressed to the nines in their pressed uniforms, the twinkling lights from the chandelier glistening off medals and pins of honor. Occasionally someone's polished boots would squeak on the floor, but after an hour and a half of enduring this, Roderich was used to it. The women walked with shoulders back, just as proud as their male escorts. Conversations were succinct and in hushed tones, as if those present were discussing classified state secrets instead of making small talk.
That was all from his offhand observations while his mind drifted. It was easy to play automatically when the hosts had requested that he play only toned-down pieces. Nothing fun, only background music to be casually renoticed every few minutes during pauses in conversation.
Confident that no one would miss the tinkling piano notes if he stopped and took a ten-minute break--these military types only liked beating drums, anyway--Roderich drifted from the piano and over to the appetizer table. Arranged as sophisticatedly as food could be, hors d'oeuvres of all kinds lay down the length of the table, ranging from fancier versions of normal foods to things he couldn't identify at all.
One of the appetizers in particular caught his eye. It was shaped and textured rather like a cream puff, but he had a particular instinct that told him it wasn't. Roderich was no adventurous eater, so he decided to go for the next best thing.
"Excuse me," he said to the person nearest him, a rather grim-looking man with blonde hair and green eyes. "Do you know exactly what this is?" he asked, pointing to the faux-cream puff in question.