Gemotions

The low, thrumming music of the opening night reception seemed to vibrate through Leo's very bones. He stood near the bar, nursing a whiskey, his gaze never leaving the corner of the room where the sculptures were displayed. A group of academics were currently engaged in a heated debate about the “powerful symbolism” of his pieces. Leo snorted inwardly.

He'd made it very clear he wasn't interested in being exhibited, especially not in a space that reeked of commercialism. They hadn't heeded his warnings. And now? Well, now they had to deal with the results. He had deliberately sent them the worst pieces from his rejected collection.

He took a long sip of his drink, relishing the burn in his throat. He watched them try to find meaning, to dissect something that had none. The irony was exquisite. He felt very pleased with himself.