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1:53 AM
[It's not until night fall that Tyki bothers with this, yet another 'exciting' day of celebration having gone by to honor 300 days of captivity. Two hundred and seventy days for him, specifically. Why this merits flashing lights, games and a parade of food is beyond him but humans were always fond of doing what they were expected to. And in this case they were celebrating their own lives wasting away like sheep. He'd find this more fun to watch if he wasn't also wasting away with them rather than a witness.
He could be busy, but he has things to strike off the docket before he can relax again. Punishments, specifically. Tending to horses was easy enough, but he still owed a performance of some kind to his fellow inmates. So late this evening as things wound down and the night swept over the dome, he'd borrowed from the sector 0 stage a violin and sat himself in shadow on the floating speaker island. It was a little past midnight when the music from the speakers lulled away. And it was then that he set his device aside to record the dark; the hard to distinguish outline of his silhouette moving every so often, bathed in shadow.
He had borrowed a violin, stiff as he was to try it again. Fiddling was an easy way to make a buck, a cheap instrument to travel with as well. He'd had one a long time ago until it'd splintered, and hadn't picked up one since. But even after all that time when he began to play, the notes floated back to him with ease.
He doesn't speak, he just plays. You like what you hear? Well, there's more to follow.]
He could be busy, but he has things to strike off the docket before he can relax again. Punishments, specifically. Tending to horses was easy enough, but he still owed a performance of some kind to his fellow inmates. So late this evening as things wound down and the night swept over the dome, he'd borrowed from the sector 0 stage a violin and sat himself in shadow on the floating speaker island. It was a little past midnight when the music from the speakers lulled away. And it was then that he set his device aside to record the dark; the hard to distinguish outline of his silhouette moving every so often, bathed in shadow.
He had borrowed a violin, stiff as he was to try it again. Fiddling was an easy way to make a buck, a cheap instrument to travel with as well. He'd had one a long time ago until it'd splintered, and hadn't picked up one since. But even after all that time when he began to play, the notes floated back to him with ease.
He doesn't speak, he just plays. You like what you hear? Well, there's more to follow.]