“Something royal blue, to keep you warm on these cold, cold New York days,” Heroin’s eyes had taken on their more accustomed twinkle as he teased Blues. Decisions about managing and producing and multi-tasking could wait; Heroin could talk it over with Mari on the weekend. Not for advice, but perspective, talking to talk and hear and be held while he babbled; the smile turned a little wistful and far away just as Paparazzi walked into the room and he had to shake himself back into the moment.
No getting distracted; Blues deserved more from Heroin than that. He watched the exchange between musician and media – well, Media’s daughter – with carefully concealed amusement. Of all the music genres that Heroin had known and worked alongside, Blues and his own had the least traffic with Paparazzi and her own. It made the undercurrents in the room all the more interesting.
“And mine get underfoot more often than they help, but yours seem to be on point.” It felt a little strange to be in a meeting without Maria and Kris ‘underfoot.’ They’d been his shadows for ages and - well, Maria. Blues. Management. There was an idea that was going to require more consideration. He nudged it onto the list and focused back on the meeting. “I suppose they would have to be to keep up with you, though? The club’s already looking wonderful; my family’s looking forward to the opening.”
That the Drug Gods would find their way into Club Discothèque was a given. Paparazzi being who and what she was, and Heroin’s family being who and what they were, and the type of relationship they had – yes, the Drug Gods and their substances would find their way into the club. More fodder for scandal, after all.