They bobbed and weaved. They danced to and fro. With every stroke of his bow, a loud, resonant note would erupt from his cello and the motes would frolic along with it. When he played fast, they would throw themselves into a frenzy, bouncing and shaking as they darted from one end of the room to the other. When he played slowly, they gathered close, spinning around him in circles, and following along with his hands. This was his kind of audience! They were more reactive than anyone he’d performed for in the past. He would close his eyes and feel the music, and the motes would feel it along with him. A gesture left, a gesture right, they followed his every move. It was so cool! He was smiling for the first time in weeks as he watched his audience dance.
Even with his eyes closed, he could see them, like they were his own personal laser light show. They really added to the performance. On particularly climactic pieces, he would make them dash across the tent, their usually subtle light becoming a blinding flash for only a moment. He could make them twirl around him like a carousel. It was the perfect accent to a slow and gentle cadence. With some practice, this could make for one hell of a show! It would take some time though…Not that he had much else to do, except for practice Life Magic, or whatever it was called...
“...Son of a bitch!” He opened an eye to scan the tent for where he left his clay. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten. After he had gotten his cello, magic had taken a back seat. But he could do it now. He could CONTROL THE MOTES.
He spotted the Sovereign Clay sitting on the table near the middle of the tent. He didn’t dare stop playing as he attempted to direct the motes in that direction. His first attempt was less than successful. Like a shotgun blast , they scattered in that general direction but none entered the clay. Using his head, he guided them left, and right, missing it by feet every single time. Up, down, still no good. His depth perception at this range was awful.
His music suffered as he grew more frustrated. His cello screeched, and the motes violently shook in response. “Come on…” Back and forth, left and right, it didn’t seem to matter. He just couldn’t stop missing. He groaned out loud, the sounds of his instrument coming to an abrupt stop. “For the love of…WOULD YOU GUYS JUST GET IN THERE?!” He motioned once more with his bow, and all once the motes dived into the clay.
“Oh…" He shrugged. "Cool.”
He made his way over to the little, blue mass. He picked it up. It was warm to the touch.It was almost glowing now. In fact, it WAS glowing, brighter and brighter every second. And those were the last moments before it exploded in his hand.
