Man, this was a bust.
Maybe he hadn't tried hard enough. But walking awkwardly throughout the studio, steps heavy on the wooden floor, with the utmost silence all around him, in a world so alien to him it made him want to withdraw to a dark corner until everyone was gone... it wasn't his idea of a good time. Why couldn't the girl have worked at a strip club? Or a bar, or a cabin in the woods, or right on top of the Rockies, or anywhere that made him feel more welcome than this place. Only an elusive sense of duty kept him from running off, for now. He didn't know for how much longer he would be able to hold onto it.
He sat down on the floor and lowered his head. One hand was on his neck and the other was holding the feather pendant hanging from it. He wore simple jeans, running shoes, and a grey t-shirt, so the pendant was the only thing remotely remarkable that a mortal could appreciate other than his scars. He worked on his breathing, trying to make it as even as possible. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. He had never been good at this yoga crap. Sarah got him into it. She could be really New Age-y when she cared to. It always seemed to come naturally to her, but he had never gotten the hang of it, much to her frustration. He tried to focus on the feather. His eyes were closed, but he pictured it in its head, in all its black and white detail.
Under his breath he recited the story. He knew it so well, almost by heart. What bits and pieces he had forgotten he could fill in on his own. It had a calming effect on him, gave him a sense of purpose, which in turn gave him a better hold over himself. All of his sorrows seemed to come from his losing control. He didn't fear much, but he feared that more than he would dare to admit.
He was too absorbed to notice or care about anyone watching him.
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