Aequitas: New blood

[nomorekaraoke]

The sky is dark up above, save for the steady light of the pearly white moon. No dark, ominous clouds in sight; but no twinkling stars either, it is a calm night, whose silence is only pierced now and then by the distant sound of sirens

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[stilljustandrew]

Andrew's dressed for the occasion: a sharp suit, with a baldric of darkly brilliant dyed fabric (one of his last remnants of Antarian finery) under the jacket instead of a tie. If he's being honest with himself, he's got to admit he's been waiting for a chance to wear it.

He's also got to admit, as he glances up and down the line, that he's having second and third thoughts about having come alone. There's nobody here he knows.

[nomorekaraoke]

All dressed up and somewhere to go, all alone, and all eyes are on him. Fresh meat to some, old news sprung to life to others - not all of the people watching him do so with the spark of recognition in their eyes, but the ones who do clearly don't know what to make of his presence.

Up ahead by a few clusters of entourages and posses, someone murmurs a low counterpoint to the sirens far far away. Green eyes, red and blue ones too, all look at him. Someone barks out a derisive laugh, someone else starts to giggle.

And just like that, the entire line is buzzing with theories. Why, they ask one after the other. What makes him think he's welcome?

[stilljustandrew]

Well. It's not like this is anything new -- but it's been years since high school, and he'd hoped, he'd really hoped this kind of thing was over.

Shh, he tells the tension coiling to life in his spine and shoulders, the muscles that want to cringe. Stay cool. These aren't the people whose opinions matter.

He folds his hands behind his back and surveys the line impartially, with a very small smile fixed on his face.

[nomorekaraoke]

Sadly, most communities have gossips, and as in most tightly knit communities, outsiders are not readily accepted.

One after the other, people are allowed in or turned away, and no one dares say anything to the giant of a man holding the mic. In this little microcosm, his word is law. On the other side of the double doors, his boss's word is law, but out here...

It doesn't take long at all for Andrew to reach the mic, and the beady little eyes peeking down at him from way up above. "Sing, pleez."

Over by the door, Reep looks on with undisguised intrigue.