It's a very intriguing image to see when one thought about minorities having prejudices and stereotyping other groups. At least it was in Matthaus' mind. This is mainly due to the fact that when he thought of prejudice or stereotype, he thought of southern white male preventing blacks from voting or preventing the Irish from getting jobs. He didn't think much about those Irish wondering around thinking similar things, and when other's did think of it, it sometimes passes as reasonable. But the contortionist can be sure that it is never reasonable. Especially his own.
Matthaus rolled his eyes merely at the thought of another clown running around with their magic coins and cloth. If there weren't enough clowns in the word already without it being a profession then he must have especially low standards when it comes to human intelligence. Or in this case, stupidity.
He tucked the note of the potential new member away in the file cabinet in the back of his mind, passing by several tents being put up and pinned down in their stable position. Some of the tents were done faster than others, some had more design or colour,
As the performer made his way back to his tent to, the androgynous man felt a light tap on his shoulder. Not too many people tapped his shoulder on any given occasion unless it was a curious child asking the innocent question of his name and whether he was a boy or a girl, which didn't happen as often as one might think. Usually he was just called from across the Big Top or his name would be yelled angrily for one reason or another. It was convenient at the very least and much more efficient than walking over and tapping him. Or maybe it made people uncomfortable because of the way he reacted when people tapped his shoulder.
For a brief moment, the blonde's eyes fluttered closed for that second as his shoulders fell forward, his scapula moving under his skin. His neck took a sharp turn and his chin raised over his shoulder and landed on the back of his shoulder. His eyes woke and his shoulder returned to their natural position which forced his neck to turn even more until his head rested peacefully as he continued to walk. It took a moment for the darkly coloured eyes to adjust to the light since their brief darkness, but Paul was a recognizable man, even with sun spotted vision. "Hello Paul." His gender neutral voice spoke in a coquettish manner. It wasn't very often that people responded with the same frisky sentiment, not that it was expected, but Paul seemed much less enthusiastic about the question than Matthaus, even when blonde knew how the interaction would end.
Paul needed help again.
There was always something particularly alleviating when Paul asked him for that favour. It wasn't the first time he helped pitch the tent and it wouldn't be the last, but the comfort that radiated off of the task never failed to better the set up times he had so long endured. Matthaus would like to think he knew himself well and understood why he thought or felt certain things or in certain ways, and although he knows the general answer as to why with Paul's case, he hadn't been able to pinpoint the actual source of this gratification. He knew it came from both the task and the question itself, but nothing specific ever came to mind, and he had put in numbered hours contemplating that very thing.
Nevertheless, Matthaus has never refused.
"Alright." The emaciated man lifted his chin so his head can return to it's rightful throne. "But I believe you'd have to be a Kangaroo because your other option doesn't actually move." If shit started jumping around then he wouldn't be sure if it would be the end of the world or the beginning of the ape's take over of it. Of course it was just a joke, but what a satire that would make.
Stopping in his stroll, he turned to fully face the picture book, running painted fingernails through his hair and pulling it up into a long tail. "Where are you pitching it?"