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The Piano would wait, perfectly still and silent, for the Collector to return. Unfortunately, no easy prey showed up to explore it--it must have scared everything away with its dramatic entrance earlier. Instead, it spent this twenty minutes pondering the Collector's pun. It had found it funny in the moment, but it wondered why, and how it had learned the context necessary to understand it. It did not think it had ever seen a conductor before...?

When the Collector returned and started rattling off various side effects, the writing on The Piano's side writhed in confusion. It clacked its keys, and began to try to explain that there was no problem; it did not really breathe or sweat either way--ah, it seemed the Collector had retrieved the wrong document.

It waited patiently for the Collector to finish reading, then unhinged its entire jaw--what had been its keyboard unlatched from the sleek black wood holding it in place, and its key-teeth clamped tightly onto the bottom of the contract, leaving eighty-eight (or however many keys would fit along the page) perfect teeth-marks on the parchment. "Done and dusted," it announced with satisfaction, once it had rehinged its jaw back into place.

The Collector watched in some amusement as the rather literal keysmash left toothy imprints across the bottom of the page, overlapping the text. He did not seem to mind--though admittedly only five or six keys would fit.

It seemed to be enough.

The imprint flared with orange glow before singing black into the parchment; a thread of smoke coiled skyward. He lifted the page, sweeping it a little back and forth as if to cool it. "The contract is sealed," he murmured.

"And now. As for my end." He rolled up the paper, tucking it into his robe--and then withdrew two items in turn. One was a slender orchestra conductor's baton: white wood with a reddish-brown rosewood handle. It looked smooth, polished, very well-used and perhaps even loved. The slender cracks that touched the wood were only mild, and didn't seem to impact its stability much. He held this out in offering. "The Conductor," he presented it. "Touch it to sheet music, and it will transmit the meaning to you. I warn you that on occasion it seems to bear an imprint of its former master, or masters; should it misbehave simply try again. It is nothing sinister," he added.

Next, he withdrew a fist-sized, shining pink stone with a small hole on its top, threaded through with a loop of twine. "Keep this with you until your payment has been made. It is how I will draw you to me," he explained.

Then--two more things were swept from his robe.

The first was a sheaf of sheet music, which he offered out. "...Should you wish to test this item, I have an example for you here. I will wish it back, when you are done--but it works well for a duet... Though it is perhaps not the classical and more tasteful music you might seek. We would call it... folk, I suppose."

And he drew out his old, battered little guitar, crimson eyes gleaming.

Should The Piano attempt a duet, it will find that the music contains the piano half of a modified piano-string duet for The Devil Went Down to Georgia.

"Sealed," The Piano echoed, the golden script on its side glimmering with delight. It detached a dozen or so strings and carefully took the baton from the Collector, holding it up to the light and admiring its lovely patterned rosewood. "A lovely quirk, should it happen. It is no problem at all, but an unexpected blessing. One feels as if one is holding history in its strings, the imprints of past musical masters passed down one by one..."

It tucked the baton away, and then took the little stone. It paused for a moment, as if considering where to hang it, and then threaded it on one of its lowest strings. It would not need to play such a low note often, so the loss of that fraction of its voice was no big deal.

It hummed excitedly as the Collector withdrew sheet music from his robes. "It will be a pleasure to play with you, Collector. Worry not about the style of the music; I am embracing of all musical tastes!" It whipped out the Conductor with a flourish and touched it to the paper, then offset its hammers from its strings slightly to practice silently for a moment, reveling in the new knowledge that suddenly flooded its mind. A brief, chromatic scale up and down its keys to warm up, and then the chords and melody dictated by the sheet music. Finally, it rearranged its mechanisms into the correct position for speaking and playing once more.

"I am ready," it declared, turning itself around so that it faced the same direction the Collector did, as if on an invisible stage. "Shall we begin?"

"By all means," the Collector crooned.

Crimson eyes slid to half-mast, focus and contentment both bringing his gaze sharply to the middle-distance, though he looked always in The Piano's general direction. Claws began to pluck nimbly at the strings, drawing forth a fast, resonant music with a playful, yet dark, and catchy tune.

It was clear, however, that duets were rare for him: while he knew the song, himself, he kept playing notes that had been meant to be left to The Piano, or struggling to keep tempo with his partner. The flash of teeth behind the hood, however, indicated that he found it more amusing than frustrating--and he didn't stop playing.

As the playful notes leapt forth from its keys and the Collector's guitar, The Piano became so focused on their duet that all other senses dropped away to nothing. The golden script on its side condensed and narrowed into a single circle, staring unblinkingly at the Collector. The little motions of his head, shoulders, and arms, as well as his nimble fingers picking the strings, were followed meticulously. When the Collector sped up or slowed, The Piano would catch forewarning in his motions and change tempo with him. It listened carefully to the shape of his melody, playing louder or softer and changing its articulations as needed to support the Collector's guitar playing however it could.

It ended the song with a flourish, and allowed the last of the sound to dissipate into the air before speaking. "What a delightful song!" it exclaimed, trilling with joy. "Oh, Collector, we should play together more often! It is such a joy to make music with others. Thank you for this opportunity!"

As they finished, he let the last notes drift, then dipped his head to The Piano. "Music truly is a wondrous gift. My thanks to you, my fascinating new friend. And I apologize for the..." He paused, plucking thoughtfully at a string on his guitar. The thrumming single note echoed until he stilled it with a press of fingers. "...Clumsy notes I've played. Playing music with others is sensational--but sadly not a luxury often afforded to me."

He swept into a brief bow, and then straightened. "I wish you luck with your endeavors, then. And please," (and here he gestured toward himself, as if in invitation) "return any time you wish to share a song. You can keep that sheet music, for now, if you like. Return it to me when you've learned it fully if you wish--and until we meet again... ta ta."

He raised his hand in a little wave, though waited, for once--rather than vanishing into shadows first.

"What matters is the big musical picture," The Piano reassured the Collector, "not the individual notes played. Despite the small mistakes, it was a great musical experience to play together! And," it added hopefully, "should we play more duets together in the future, we will have plenty of opportunity to practice."

It accepted the Collector's sheet music with a half dozen strings, carefully placing it on the space next to its music stand for storage. "Thank you, Collector. I look forward to when we meet again. Perhaps I can show you some of the new music I've learned by then, too."

"That's terribly generous of you, and quite poetic, too. Perhaps you ought to add lyrical writing to your repertoire," he crooned, then smiled. It was audible in his words. "You have the makings to go quite far," (garbled actual Piano name spoken here). "I look forward to watching your progress closely--and celebrating it, I imagine."

An incline of his head followed his previous bow--and this time he did disappear, a dim coil of smoke curling out to swallow him into thin air.

The Collector exits.

The Piano considered The Collector's suggestion. "Thank you, Collector. I will have much to learn, but the Conductor will surely provide me with invaluable aid. Call on me whenever you wish, and I will show you my very best."

It watched, not really surprised, as the Collector disappeared into smoke. What an artistic exit! Fitting for such a mysterious, yet cultured, figure. It wished it had the capability to respond to his bow and nod with its own sophisticated gestures, but it had not been made for that. It was A Piano.

It watched the space where the Collector had been. Slowly, quietly, it lowered its lid and folded its stick into its hollow body. Then it wheeled away. To Cepheus, in search of new musical knowledge!