For one last time, Az sets out the chairs in the extremely familiar warehouse. At some point, when it was clear nobody else was ever going to use this place, someone had hung up some fairy lights, and there was now a board on one of the walls held extracts of Spark news and opportunities, as well as events at The Udarnik Centre. There’s a section of the board specifically for poetry, regularly cycling through as various members take up the opportunity to share their words.

They never did get a table; Az places the gathered snacks and drinks on the traditional abandoned crates. They should really get on that, he notes absently, before remembering that after today it won’t be their responsibility anymore. It comes with a pang of sorrow but with the threat of exams coming up he knows that he won’t be able to give Spark Club the attention it deserves. Lliira rubs her head against his foot, purring comfortingly.

There’s a record turnout; it seems that the word has spread, and everyone wants to give Az a good send off. Everyone brings sweets and snacks and juice, and Az wondered why they even bothered to bring their own food this time. There’s no way all this food is going to be eaten. Even Erity has come back for the meeting, bringing a home-made cake with the words ‘Good Luck Az’ neatly emblazoned on the top.

Az takes a moment to collect themselves before starting the meeting. He looks around at the gathered people; at Arthur, at Citrus Boy (they never did get used to calling him Oscar), at Catherine, at Al, at Erity, at Kai. Yes, the club is going to be left in good hands.

For one last time, Az clears their throat.

“Hi everyone, and welcome to Spark Club!”