The musician plays his instrument with a steady hand, coaxing music from it. One to delight the ears and minds of those who listens.

A virtuoso does not play his instrument. He is the instrument, he made sweet and tender love to the song he plays. He seduces those who listen, showing his love for music to all who would listen. They are moved to tears by the emotion within the music.

Alec Delacour made sensual love to the song that he played on his violin. The name he bore wasn't his by birth, the violin he played wasn't his, but the music that he played, that was his. The emotions in it was his, magnified and given a fullness that he almost never felt.

A simple serious of vibrations of strings, amplified to echo in the hall as the well to do danced and spoke to each other. They were the new nobles and elites of the city, their wealth parlaying into power even if they lacked the nobility and traditions of the nobles and royalty of yesteryear.

The song he played was what some would call classical. He didn't, to him... music was music was music. Genre was but the bindings wielded by those who didn't know this simple facet.

Certainly, the old man hadn't seen the point of learning how to play music, even if he had seen the hows of it and allowed it because it was a useful way of learning new skills. After all, Alec could control people and puppeteer their bodies, and that was all people saw of his power. They never considered that to be able to affect something, one had to be able to sense something else.

And he did.

Everything that those he hijacked felt, he felt.

Everything that they did, he did.

And what is practice but the art of repeating something over and over? So that it was engraved in the muscle memories of one's body?

And so, he learned how to play music.

Learned how to force music from one's instruments, first with the body of a simple musician. Then with his own body.

Learned how to coax the music from within himself. How to love and be loved in return by the music. To allow his faint, muted emotions, to sing, to dance in his music.

To live.

To truly live.

And he flew away from the grasp of his father, because in order to live, one needed to be free. That was something that the old man never really did understand. Or rather he understood, but didn't care.

And so, Alec flew the coop.

He traveled from city to city, his violin paying for his way as a simple busker. As Alec Delacour. Not as Jean-Paul Vasil. Not as the villain Hijack. Just a simple musician whose music spoke more than he could.

And so, he made sweet and tender love to his music, his instrument merely the conduit of his love. And those who heard him could hear that love. Could feel the joy in his song. The name he bore wasn't his by birth, the violin he played wasn't his, but the music that he played, that was his.

And that was enough for now.

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The Musician
Theo Anders and the Black Exaltation OMAKE

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Writer's Notes~
So, I wrote an omake for Skitzyfrenic's quest on Questionable Questing called "Theo Anders and the Black Exaltation". It's SFW and hilarious.