Powder Blue Pearl
There was a time where the cathedrals and spires and temples of Homeworld were filled with song.
That time has long since passed. Melodies have been replaced by more utilitarian sounds; screaming drills, roaring engine fire, the rhythmic march of soldiers' footsteps, the beep and whine of technology. Most Gems— the new ones, at least, the ones who have only emerged after the end of Era 1— have never heard music. Never even heard of it. The older Gems who do still know of the concept are too wise to ever mention it. They've survived so long for a reason. They know how to toe the party line.
This Pearl has not forgotten.
She is one of the oldest pearls in existence. She knows better than to think that her survival is due to any exceptional skill on her part. She has been lucky. She has been assigned to good masters, ones lacking in cruelty and not needlessly concerned with presentation. She has not been shattered for some minor failure, or replaced by someone prettier and shinier. She gets to spend long stretches of time in lonely, secluded areas, standing tall and straight, as decoration for what few visitors that may pass by.
That is when she sings.
She sings old songs, the ones of times long passed. The ones about loyalty, and exploration, of creation, of stars, of battle, of solidarity. Grand pieces, once performed in auditoriums, accompanied by a hundred instruments and a hundred singers and a hundred dancers, now rendered small and mournful by her single voice. Mournful, but still beautiful, Pearl thinks, with a touch of pride.
She does not sing for the simple joy of it. Or, at least, not entirely.
In the eras passed, there had been a saying: the universe dances to its own beat, its own melody, and we must express it, unless the cosmos fall silent and still.
Pearl does not know if the saying is true. She doubts that the universe, so wild and vast, would ever stop simply because Gems don't sing or dance any longer. She thinks it was only ever a metaphor. But she sings the old songs, anyway. Just in case.
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Author's Note: I find it interesting that from what glimpses we got in 'The Answer', both Sapphire and Ruby- one of whom is a foot soldier- both seem perfectly comfortable with the ideas of music, singing and dancing, while the modern-day Peridot doesn't even know what it is. Despite, of course, have built-in perfect pitch and a natural grasp of the technique. Me thinks something's up with the horrifying dystopia that is Homeworld.