Now here's one directly from my imagination. After rereading Leviathan, I just loved the references to Alek being a 'Mozart at the controls'. Of a walker, that is.
Disclaimer: I in no way shape or form own any bit of the Leviathan universe, all rights go to Mister Scott Westerfeld.
Mozart
"Keep you're hands up! Can you not read music, Young Master? That's not the right note. Where's you posture gone? Don't slow down! You need to feel the tempo!" The wizened old man violently rapped the time on Alek's piano's music stand, nearly causing the sheet music to flutter down. "One-e-and-a two-e-and-a three…"
Alek bent his head and continued his clumsy attempts at music. His fingers scrambled across the keys, committing glaring mistakes in their haste. Each blip hung over his vision like a cloud of red; a mound of frustration swelled in his stomach. Alek pushed the keys harder, anger fueling his desperation. His song tramped along like an inexperienced pilot in a broken walker.
"Stop," Herr Kurtler snapped. "Just stop." Alek immediately removed his hands from the piano with a grimace still painted on his face. "This is how the piece is supposed to be played."
His tutor snapped his fingers and Alek leapt off of the bench, yielding the seat to the teacher. Herr Kurtler plopped himself down with pompous finality, and gave his tiny round glasses a perk up and his fingers a stretch before almost tenderly laying them on the ivory. Then his music started.
The piano seemed to possess the man, he swayed and moved and pounded with the rhythm of the piece. The sound seemed to emanate from him, not the instrument. He made the notes move across the page, and couldn't have made the piece sound more different than Alek's rendition. The man created a world behind the music.
When the last note lay reverberating in the air, Herr Kurtler turned to Alek and said, "That'll be enough for today. We will still be working on the piece next week. Practice." With his nose upturned he left.
Alek stood at attention alone in the music room. His least favorite lesson. Besides Arithmetic, of course. He had never excelled at the instrumental world, never fully 'lived the music' as his vocal coach said, or 'let it take him away' as his violin instructor told him. And he never 'felt the tempo', like Herr Kurtler. All those phrases, they just seemed so abstract and unreachable. All sheet music was to him was a collection of notes on a page. All he did was play them. There was no living or taking or feeling to do.
But it certainly sounded good. Alek stood still, letting his eyes flit from the keys to the door, to the floor. Then he sat down at the piano bench and poised his hands. He wanted to sound like that. So he started slow. One by one, each chord drifted into the air. They sat there somberly and heavily, but not unpleasantly so. Just, pondering. A bit thoughtful, to the casual passerby. All Alek concentrated on was the music, the notes.
No one saw hide or hair of the boy for a long while that afternoon. They never thought much of it, and didn't ever ask him about it. If they had, it would have surprised them to know that he had been in the music room all afternoon. For everyone knew, while he was quite the Mozart with walkers, the boy was god-awful at playing music.
I have often felt this way about the playing of music. I love it, but so many times the true passion of playing seems out of my reach, thanks to the teacher's use of high and vague language like, 'feel the music', 'let it flow through you', 'live in it', 'create your own world'. Now, this kind of teaching is wonderful-with the right kind of student. But for practical people, like Alek, this isn't instruction. It doesn't translate. So, this piece was easy for me to write, I felt that what I and what Alek would probably have felt overlapped well.
Well, sorry for the long and rambling author's note. Until next time!