Ensemble of Shards

{6} Time slows down when you walk into the room

Honestly don't know what I did with this one. Possibly an observation of how it feels to be a stranger in a room full of people? I am as clueless as you.

To Stefan Bachmann, one of my favourite authors, 'cause we both love steampunk and so MANY other things, and you give me inspiration in writing and my everday life and dreams, even though we aren't really friends yet. 

powered by: a drawing I made of a steampunk boy after discovering who Stefan Bachmann was, scriptwelder's real name-Matt Sokalszlhdfsaealkjhxcsomething, as stated in his Twitter :3, Oliver Tank's 'Time Slows Down When You Walk Into the Room' track-which was one of three of my writing music when I finished this up, and whom I'd discovered after playing Raptus which has no correlation with this scene.

~

It was a costume party. Everyone in the class was invited. And there was a contest. At least, I wanted to be someone who was mentioned for the costume I was going to pull off. Not even up there, onstage, but a random "Look, the Matthew kid has a cool costume" would be enough. Everyone called me 'Matthew kid', as my name was quite a handful for them. Even I can't spell it, it's like Matthew Sokalszlhdfsaealkjhxcsomething. So most of the people in class just ignored me because I was weird, and I didn't really have friends. But yes, I had very much liked to be noticed.

***

Everyone really lived it up that night! All of the costumes were mind-blowing and brilliant - to me, that is. And I really thought my steampunk attire paled in comparison. The popular class members awed over each other's costumes and the notable kids in my class, but scoffed at the others. The ordinary kids came up silent when they passed by, and occasionally complimented the humble ones and their friends in low voices. 

I, on the other hand, awkwardly walked in, with eyes trailing me for a few seconds. I hurried to the buffet because of the pressure, and everything returned to normal. Well, no dream too big, and no dreamer too small, right?

It was probably my goggles. Still, I saw some people in the crowd wearing weirder goggles than mine, and I shrugged. I took them off, and looked at my reflection in the slightly-tinted-brown glass. Long, mousy brown hair; eyes containing the stormclouds in summer, or slate from random rocks in the garden. I couldn't see the details clearly, and I even had to upgrade the lenses to see through my astigmatism. The goggles had a black ribbon on each side, like dysfunctional earflaps.

Then someone tapped me on my back. I turned, and they beckoned to me as it was my turn to take my plate. Sigh. Another minor embarrassment that will distance me from them again. I took my plate and reached for my fork and spoon. They tapped me again, and he voiced, 

"Nice costume, uh..." 

"Matthew. Thanks, er, you too, Oliver." I cheered inside. Yes! Someone just noticed me.

After I'd filled my plate with enough food, I looked for a seat and stood by a suit of armour while looking. Our party was in an old castle used for events and galas, and it was pretty awesome. There was grey cobblestone everywhere, flags with family crests, big windows and Middle Age relics. Yay. I picked an empty three-seater table far from the centre, but not too far into the corners as I'd be away from whatever series of events would happen.

I placed my plate down on the dark wood table, and sat on the chair. Oh crud. I need to wash my hands. Force of habit. Can't get out of it, even when it seems illogical sometimes. So I placed my steampunk-ed bag on my seat and hoped no one would take my food yet. There was a waiter by the iced tea booth near me, so I asked him where the restroom is. I scrutinised my full reflection as I rinsed my hands. 

I wore rust-coloured necklace that fits right before my neck ends; an old painter boy's button-down with big black buttons, with a few gears on my right shoulder and drawings of gears and tubes attached to the pockets; my watch was on a thick band with a steampunk-gold hue, wings and swirly things were inscribed; and my ankle-high boots were Victorian ones from a garage sale. My friend Stefan, from before we moved away, helped me with getting most of them, and I just recollected them for this event. I hope he's getting through with that steampunk book he'd told me he'll write.

Satisfied with my appearance, I skipped back to my seat.

Luckily, my plate was still okay. They played chart music and most of my classmates nodded along to the beats of today. I preferred melancholic Owl City or something else, and the food was delicious by my standards. 

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Someone was coming towards my table. It's Oliver! He searched my face to see if I would let him sit by my table. I dunno, but he placed his sparse plate on the wood. I smiled, yeah, I smiled. 

"Hi," he said. "How come you've remembered my name?" 

"I have a good memory," I answered, and tapped my goggles which were back on. We chuckled, and begin eating, again, for me. Maybe I might actually have friends now. Thanks Stefan.