It was one of those days for Ludwig von Koopa.
Those days that inspiration for a song had become ensnared in his mind like in a dreamcatcher, and if he did not sit down that very day and channel forth the masterpiece into creation, it would throb and buzz disruptively through his brain for the entirety of that day until he broke down and allowed it to do so.
And so he sat up at the piano in the high tower where he kept his musical instruments, playing out the melodies as he felt them, and feeling the melodies as he played them out, and writing down every part that felt and played best.
It was a good thing he had written a good bit of it down too, for his trance was broken about three-quarters of his way through the spell by the voice of one of the last people he would expect to stray near him during his musical mode.
"Hey Lud!" Larry asked while knocking on the padlocked entrance.
Ludwig thrust his fists on the keys, angered that the muse had been knocked out of his dreamcatcher mind. He proceeded to unlock the door, knowing that he would not fully realize the symphony today, if ever.
"What desire of yours is so urgently important that merits such unwarranted obstruction to my coursing channels of genius?" Ludwig growled.
"Oh, well, first off I just wanted to say that was some really nice Beethoven you were playing a sec ago."
Ludwig palmed his forehead in exasperation at Larry's musical ignorance. "That was not Beethoven. That was an original composition; as a matter of fact, your ears had the unique experience of bearing happy witness to its BIRTH before you went and aborted it..."
"Cool story bro. I was just thinking... see, I have decided... I want to start my own record label."
"Good for you. Hmm, if I may guess, you desire genius advice from yours truly?"
"Well, hehehe, who would be better for advice than the most BRILLIANT musician I know! That performance was splendid! Remarkable! A masterpiece! Bravo, whatever it means, bravo..."
Ludwig's eyes rolled in response to Larry's flattery and hand shaking. Since when is Larry, a wannabe gangster whose musical tastes are limited to mainstream rap and hip hop and whatever else the feebleminded listen to these days, so appreciative of his eldest brother's classically styled, breathtakingly complex, meticulously composed masterpieces?
"Thank you for such overdue patronage, but I shall not have anything to deal with your record label.
"But LUDWIG... think of all the money you would make!"
"I am not quite so wanting for money, thank you very much, and in any case I have other means by which to earn it."
"But... but haven't you always wanted to record and sell your own album? If not for the money, for the publicity! The fame! The POWER!"
Ludwig thought for a moment. Publicity is a double-edged sword; on the one hand there are the rumors and the lack of privacy and the swarms of crazed fangirls; on the other, there is the power to influence others, to at the very least share his music with others and make the world a little more... CULTURED.
"...That is one interesting prospect. But first, tell me... why do I need YOUR help to become a popular recording artist?"
"Cause, I will handle all the business matters for you. That way you just concentrate on the music while I do the producing and the marketing and the money making..."
"Fair enough. I shall participate in this likely scam of yours, under the condition that I retain full artistic control."
"Sure, sure, and I get all the money."
"Just one second. It is only fair that I ask for a reasonable share of the profits."
"Fine. Five percent."
Ludwig shook his head, his eyes maintaining a sinister glare upon Larry.
"Sheesh. Ten then."
Ludwig grabbed Larry by the neck and pulled him toward his face, his bloodshot eyes more arresting than ever.
"Okay okay..." Larry gagged out. "Fifty."
"I truly deserve a larger cut than that, but fair enough." Ludwig let go of Larry's neck with a throw to the cold hard ground.
