Chapter 4: performance soon to begin! please enjoy!
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It seems that music was the key to calming your creation all along. Just as with weaponry, she can pick up practically any instrument and learn to play in minutes. She has a particular affection for stringed instruments, and your electronic piano. It at first made you quite uncomfortable for her to end her recharging cycle, then enter your quarters in the dead of night, and begin to play a song. However, she only plays soft, gentle songs, and it has actually lent a marked improvement to your sleep patterns.
What does not put you at ease, however, is that she is reluctant to return instruments to you for placement in the community music room. It's like a child, convinced that even if they are on their best behavior, they still might never see an object or a friend again. Thus, with how she has behaved previously, it's understandable that she's well-aware that you would have your own reasons to not indulge her musical fancies. What she does not realize, however, is that you are not the cold man she assumes you to be. Thus, you pay a visit to the musical director - who is also your coalition's foremost expert on nanotechnology - and convince him to give her one chance, one single chance. He has been one of the few individuals that you've confided in about the cyborg's unruly behavior, so you do not blame him one iota for needing much convincing that she would not wreck the room. Once you have reasonably satisfied him, he goes about gathering his three assistants, and you visit your creation.
She is sitting in her charging cradle, eyes staring blankly ahead. As soon as the door whirrs open, her eyes flick over to look at you. A spark dances over one orb, attracted to her pupil, as you sit in your chair next to her. "Now," you say awkwardly, "you have been given an opportunity, to, how to say...Prove yourself. I am going to bring you to the musical center, where they will allow you to play piano for the staff there." Her mouth tightens in consternation. You're the only human she's known in her brief 'life' thus far. You can understand why she might not trust this offering. "The community rules dictate no firearms or other weaponry," you offer appeasingly, "but I promise, so long as you behave as well as you have been, you won't have any need of them. They just want to hear you play. If you play, and show them that you are deserving, then you can visit the musical center under supervision." Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly. You see the corners of her mouth twitch upwards, once, twice. "They have an electronic piano, like what I have in my room; they also have mixing tables, guitars, violins, anything you'd like. You just have to behave well, and not harm anyone, and you will be fine. I know that there are going to be times when you'll want to hurt someone, inevitably, once I introduce you to the outside world...But it will pay dividends, I swear it, to be the bigger person, and not sink to the level of someone you hate. Now, do you promise me that you will behave?" You watch her cautiously.
With a twitching movement, her hand rises up. Her fingers flex, once, twice, then begin to make a gesture. She's giving you a thumbs up. With a smile, she nods with just enough motion for you to see. You smile, murmur your thanks, and leave to allow her to finish her charging. Minutes later, you can tell she's finished charging, but still wait. It was certainly awkward the first and only time you entered her personal quarters without her permission. Soon, she exits the room again. She's wearing a bulletproof vest, and woven armor pants. Well, you suppose that after all the research she's done on humanity, she has every right to want to take that extra ounce of prevention, in case of an unexpected attack.
It takes mere minutes to head down to the musical center. The room sinks into the floor towards the rear half, with three rows of seats facing the main area. Said main area houses a number of instruments, including both an electronic and a regular piano, two synthesizers, and several more in cylindrical cases. The musical director, with his bushy beard and wire-rimmed spectacles, gives your creation a look. She stares back at him blankly, expression unreadable. As she passes him by and heads down to the main floor, the man whispers to you, "I do hope you know what you're doing here, Maddock." You nod, and go down after your creation. The three assistants are aleady seated, and look unaware of your creation's more ornery habits. Fortunate, that.
She sits at the piano, and rests her fingers on the keys. Her foot taps once, twice, thrice on the floor. Then, she begins to play. It is the same song she played in your room, but somehow refined even further. Faster, flowing out of the central area like a river, not a single note is played in vain, not one key is hit improperly. Your creation has made an improvement upon perfection, and you find something grabbing at the pit of your chest. When she has brought her song to an end, and the small audience is clapping in approval, and she smiles, and she hugs you tight, you can now put it into words.
"You are so amazing," you say, choked, down to her. "I am so, so proud of you."