Maximus wasn't the skater boi type, nor were they the hardcore metal head or one to listen to country music and say 'y'all' in every sentence. Calm, quiet, and soothing music was what got them by, one particular song allowing them peace in an otherwise chaotic world.

Large hands tapped away at the keys of the piano, having spent about an hour figuring out which note each key made and carefully plotting them out in their mind. Up and down their fingers went, plodding away quietly so as not to disturb anyone in the palace. They were just practicing.

The foot pedals were another thing, one quieted the notes, one held the notes and allowed a softer sound, and the third drew them out, letting them ring out across the ballroom. They'd played around which each, figuring out what did what, which sounds created the best melodies, going up and down the piano and figuring out scales.

They didn't know what the notes were, that they were A, B, C, and so forth, nor that there were such things as flat or sharps, or that keys could be major or minor. Maximus was solely focused on the sound, of how the piano sounded like thunder when they brought their hands down on the lower notes, how it could sound like nails on a chalkboard, how it could sound beautiful and terrible if played right or wrong.

They vowed to learn to play, to learn what each note was and how to listen to music, play it, and then to make their own.

Maximus drew out their music box and twisted the small key, opening it slowly and setting it atop the grand piano, balanced along two outer walls with the inner workings of the masterful instrument exposed. After so much time the music box rang true, not a note flat or sharp as it chirped merrily, bring calmness to Max's heart.

For a time they sat, listening and breathing, their eyes closed as they swayed back and forth, humming just quietly enough to not overshadow the melody.

When they were ready, they shut the box.

"Down up up down up up down up up...", they mumbled, carefully playing the first simple notes of their music box, focused solely on their hands and fingers, "Down up up... dah duh duh duh... dah duh duh duh duh duh..."

It was slow going and nowhere near as smooth as the box's lilting melody, with mistakes littered between by missed notes and fat-fingered mistakes, but they were calm, their patience never-ending with no one around to see their failures. They were learning, slowly but surely, and as they ran through the simple rendition of the waltz, they noticed they made fewer mistakes.

One note at a time they played the melody, letting their eyes fall shut for just a moment before they missed a key and shocked themselves back into reality. Right. They weren't there yet. Perhaps a few weeks and they could let themselves fall into the melody, but skill came first before then.

Max paused for a moment to stare at the pristine keys. Perhaps they were ivory, made from elephant's tusks, or perhaps they were synthetic. Of course Max wouldn't know, for their knowledge, however vast it might become, would always be narrowed to the caves they called home. If they were lucky, maybe they'd see the sky. The sun, the stars, the technologies that might be present or might not be.

Time would tell, and time was what Max needed, and had. Time spent on practicing, of course.

Hours later they'd made a little bit of progress, having begun to use their other hand to accompany the first. They were still slow but they were proud of themselves, having managed to figure something out that worked for them. They were nowhere near graceful or good yet, but they were getting there.

Every new play through was a tiny bit better, and they'd moved on to trying to play their own little pieces, with limited success. But that was okay. Practice made perfect.

Perhaps no one would be proud of them, but it made them happy, so they wouldn't complain. They could strive for their happiness now, they could learn to play the piano and have something all to themselves. Something only they could do.

And now their fingers were sore, their hands ached, and they couldn't be happier.

Maybe this was what they were good at! Playing the piano, maybe music was their calling, or at least this was.

As they closed the piano and stood, they felt better than they had in a very long time. Rejuvenated, almost, and they muttered a silent promise to the grand piano that they'd return the next day, like a friend they'd made.

Their hooves clicked as they left the grand ballroom, leaving the piano alone again as they headed out to sleep, heal their sore hands, and grab a bite to eat from the gardens outside, perhaps.