Who: Genny, Varian, Tristan and Azrael What: Dinner Where: Aubade 502 When: Wednesday Warnings: IDK. Ask me later.
Aubade 502 was ostentatious, every last corner except for one white room on the second floor which Azrael had actually decorated to his liking. The apartment was rockstar garish, designer appointed, and it didn't reflect his tastes. Still, there were touches of him to be found in the space. The piano, one of many but clearly special to the owner, was burnished lovingly. Against walls throughout there were violins, ranging from simple hand carved to antique Stradivarius. Beside classic, framed works of art there were more abstract creations drawn on simple paper and with simple materials. They stood out among the decadence, did the paintings, lovingly displayed as they were, mounted and matted and overhead lit.
On the Wednesday in question, everything was as it always was for his parties. There was a catering service, all dressed in black and quiet as death, and the food was ready to be served from silver serving plates. There was music playing, early Rolla, and Azrael was sitting on the upper terrace where he could watch the arrivals. He was dressed simply in designer jeans and a black ribbed sweater.
He had been following Tristan's career since he'd left Musings. He hadn't followed it in the same way he had Varian's, who was so extravagant he barely needing following to know what was happening. No, Tristan had been a different thing - finding works of art here and there, keeping his ear to the ground for sounds of a telltale piano. In the end, Genny had made finding Tristan easier. Genny, who hid nothing and who Azrael loved for that fact alone; the eternal child.
The book in his lap was autobiographical, Nikola Tesla, My Inventions, but Azrael wasn't paying attention; he was looking, and so he kept looking. And he waited.