Creation, in a different sense.
[The island tends to bestow gifts when one least expects.
Sometimes the island's presents are obvious - undisguised blessings that seem catered to provide for the exact need of the recipient at the time that it's given; others are subtle, their value or meaning perhaps not recognized at the moment they're received. The piano currently sitting in that clearing in the CMA is a gift, something that obviously wasn't there before; it's difficult to tell from Cyrus' reaction if the island granting him such a thing lands within the former category or the latter, as far as he's concerned.
He studies it for a moment in silence, head cocked slightly to the side, before drawing the bench out from beneath it and opening up the fall as he sits down in front of the keys; his touch is light at first, to the point of not even getting any sound out of it, though it's clear that he's focused on something other than anything the keys might produce at the moment.
It's been a long time since he's done anything with this sort of instrument; he doesn't remember much of it.
Eventually, however, his left hand settles into one of the few positions he recalls in order to get a chord that sounds anything like what it should; his touch is tentative with the right, picking out a few notes that ring halfway decently, eventually settling into a fairly basic pattern that he alters once in a while, sometimes more successfully than others. It's an almost mechanical way of playing; it doesn't flow very well, and it's more than a bit on the repetitive side. At the same time, it's not exactly terrible, either.
Of course, he's also doing this out in the open, which is more or less asking for something on this island. You're more than welcome to talk to him, even if it's just to do something like request a song that it's almost guaranteed he won't know. Or observe. It's your call.]
Sometimes the island's presents are obvious - undisguised blessings that seem catered to provide for the exact need of the recipient at the time that it's given; others are subtle, their value or meaning perhaps not recognized at the moment they're received. The piano currently sitting in that clearing in the CMA is a gift, something that obviously wasn't there before; it's difficult to tell from Cyrus' reaction if the island granting him such a thing lands within the former category or the latter, as far as he's concerned.
He studies it for a moment in silence, head cocked slightly to the side, before drawing the bench out from beneath it and opening up the fall as he sits down in front of the keys; his touch is light at first, to the point of not even getting any sound out of it, though it's clear that he's focused on something other than anything the keys might produce at the moment.
It's been a long time since he's done anything with this sort of instrument; he doesn't remember much of it.
Eventually, however, his left hand settles into one of the few positions he recalls in order to get a chord that sounds anything like what it should; his touch is tentative with the right, picking out a few notes that ring halfway decently, eventually settling into a fairly basic pattern that he alters once in a while, sometimes more successfully than others. It's an almost mechanical way of playing; it doesn't flow very well, and it's more than a bit on the repetitive side. At the same time, it's not exactly terrible, either.
Of course, he's also doing this out in the open, which is more or less asking for something on this island. You're more than welcome to talk to him, even if it's just to do something like request a song that it's almost guaranteed he won't know. Or observe. It's your call.]