#;theopening

Ashton might’ve given more freedom than ever in the last two years in New York, but the DIA always occasionally checked in, making he knew they were watching. This time, getting him into the exhibit to look out for a potential crime. Intel noted suspicions and he was given a day to prepare. But that’s all he got, go to exhibit, gather Intel, of suspects, of muses, of artists newly bonded, report back. The exhibit opening felt normal, like any other upper class event, Ashton did his best to blend in, looking more like a guard than any of these people. A suspicious figure caught his eye as he reacted to follow them, lightly knocking into someone incoming, “sorry-” Shit. Ashton sighed at looking eyes on them before turning back to his current mistake at hand, “thought I saw a-- friend.. you alright?”

Tomas was so sure he’d never get another catering order for these classy art galleries after that first one, after the disappointed whispers of the food not being to the art’s standard, of not having a muse. And yet here he was, an order for a dessert bar catered to some fancy art gallery again. And it was good money, how could he say no? He and his chefs had long set up already, every delicate bitesized pastry and dessert on display on a glass sculpture (they insisted), so they took turned wondering off into the world of modern art. Tomas had pinched off the savoury side of canapés from a different caterer for the hors d'œuvres and stared confusingly into one of the art work before mumbling, “…I don’t get it.”