Feuilly peeks into the back room of the Musain, only to find it empty, save the tables and chairs and the floating dust that the sun, setting in the window, makes visible. Of course, his luck precisely, he thinks. He rushed straight from work in desperation to avoid being late to the meeting, only to err on the wrong side and arrive first of all. It doesn't matter so much, he thinks, taking a seat. He'll just wait for the others to arrive.
Frowning, he rests his hands, palms up, on the table, as if feeling rain. "It's got to be somewhere," he says logically, though there's a note of doubt in his voice. "I'm sure it'll fall sometime." He looks down, just a little, to smile sheepishly at Feuilly. "That sounds nice," he admits.
"We'll hear it, when it does," he says, offering a little smile in return. "Unless there's a reason for it, I'm sure it would be nicer to share a table than to each be alone at our own. Please, come sit by me, and we will have Adrien pour the first wine."