Bertie gave up on trying to sleep. Traffic seemed to continue all night in 2012, and the noise was bothering him. Or maybe it was just being in Kansas eighty three years in the future, knowing there were demons and vampires and all the horrid things he'd ever read about scampering about out there. If he had been so restless back in London he'd have asked Jeeves to sort him out with a soothing nightcap, or gone out to see if there was anything at the Drones or at any of his favourite nightclubs. Well, dash it all, if he couldn't do that he could at least get out of bed. He pulled on his dressing gown and slippers, wandering out to his living room, but it wasn't much better, dash it.
He left his apartment and walked the corridors of the complex, not really noticing where he was going until he heard the strains of a song and realised he was nearing the music room. He crept quietly to the door and stuck his head in, not wanting to disturb whoever was in there.
He thought the dark haired girl playing the piano might be the one who'd sent him the message letting him know about the music room. The song was a soppy, weepy thing, not the sort of thing Bertie cared for, but the girl could certainly play and sing dashed well.
He was thinking about slipping away quietly when he caught a glimpse of her face and realised the poor thing was crying. Well, this was the sort of situation that usually ended badly for Bertie, but, I mean to say, a crying girl wasn't something a preux chevalier could simply ignore. He stepped into the room and stood quietly, letting her finish the song.