"Admirers?" Tony suggested immediately, meeting dryness with a smile that stubbornly denied it - perfect innocence. "Reproductions? A bust in every hallway? That's what art usually encourages - inspires," he corrected himself, never quite able to help going just a little more grandiose. He waved vaguely with his beer in the direction of the room where the empty space in question now stood. "Way better than the piano. That fucker's the only one who ever played it, anyway." There was no real question as to who that fucker was; there were only so many people who felt at home sitting down and helping themselves to his possessions. Normally Tony just avoided talking about him at all, but he was a little bold this evening. Treason begat treason. "This would be - a contribution to society. But I guess we can get something boring, instead."
A tasteful nude of someone else, whatever the point of that might be. Something more contemporary, more shocking. He had enough acquaintances in artistic circles that he could probably find something suitably impressive, expensive, and attention-grabbing, which were naturally his three primary criteria.
"I just figured there was no reason to keep something around I don't know how to use." Which didn't mean it had deserved as violent a death as it got, but he did also enjoy explosions. "And honestly, it's been around, what - almost ten years? Since I moved in here. I don't play it. I got tired of him picking one of the same five damn songs out on it every time. Really, what I should have done," he said, drawling a little, and pausing over a drink, "was leave it broken on the floor. That's totally 'art.'"