Minmiks looks upon the Nafpaktan amphitheater. Perhaps the last refuge of the arts on the entire asteroid of 3 Juno. Untold sets of dazzling, Awoken eyes glimmer out from the crowd organized to view his performance. He would be remiss if he didn't say it truly was an assault on his nerves. Not just normal stage anxiety, but it was something he had established many times before, it physically hurt to look an Awoken in the eyes.
He was dressed in a fine suit, fitted snugly to his body as he sat down on the bench and looked over his instrument. The lovingly recreated Grand Piano stood before him, the synthesized wood laminate was ornamented with a dazzling array of Reef Amethysts, a gift from the Sovereign Princess to him. The fingers on his right upper hand danced across a few keys as he began to play the beginning chords of the Queensong, a well liked piece among the Awoken, composed upon the conclusion of the Reef Wars so long ago.
As he grew familiar with the notes and settled into the familiar rhythm his hands moved on reflexes and instinct, his hands dancing over the keys as he filled the amphitheater with his music. With his mind free of controlling his hands he began to let his mind wander. Unable to get his mind off what the disheveled man in the alley had called him. Traitor.
Thoughts bled into actions, he continued playing, he ruminated on his place in Nafpaktos, his place in life. He wished for this life, he wished somewhere he could cultivate his talent, where he didn't have to secure bulkheads and sort through cargo, where he didn't fear his Captain seizing his instruments and sheet paper and ripping them up in his claw. It was why he hadn't rebelled when he so easily could've. Why he helped the Awoken, who he decided could better allow him to nurture his talents than his own people.
But now here he was, a showpiece, a performance, a living trophy. Twice his people had been beaten by the Awoken, twice he had seen them be driven lower and lower into squalor. And here he was, playing for them, playing an ode to their own success, and a requiem to his people's downfall. He continued playing.
His fingers danced against the keys, his foot depressed a pedal, the music continued to flow through the amphitheatre, Awoken music, music he continued playing. Could he play any songs his people composed, was any of it left? In a vault or encoded into a Servitor? Had any bit of the culture that was truly theirs survived the Whirlwind or the long flight into darkness afterwards or the Reef Wars or Final Attempt or the Scorn or...?
He continues to play, his fingers dancing across the keys, but he misses a note here and there, the song is distorted, it's keys falling out of tune, the tempo increasing. The audience is quiet now, not out of respect, but of confusion, of disappointment. And Minmiks is quiet too, the anger inside him building, and building. The tempo increases, the piece shifts its scale, it is darker sounding now, Minmiks thinks it fitting. A dying piece for a dying Reef. The final spasms of the Awoken matching the disjointed, discordant notes of his masterpiece. He wonders what he can do now, so deeply embedded into their ways, so reliant upon a life where he is Minmiks, the Musician. What can he do?
He stops playing.
His fingers stab at the keys in one last final gasp. The abrupt note echoing through the amphitheater, hanging in the air. He rises from his bench. And walks offstage. He will not play for them anymore, he will not.