Work Text:
The musical was cathartic for them both. At that long shriek drew from the violin, and Sammy breathed a sigh of relief.
The same bow he had been wielded like a weapon more than once, wildly gesturing to the rest of the band, up and down, guiding notes. Norman considered Sammy quite the conductor at times, having said as much to him between brief pauses in the recording. Entirely a passing compliment, yet the bright smile; entirely caught off guard, reminded him of a hopeful fellow from years prior. The man who had first walked through the doors and declared himself this century's composer. So bright. The response Sammy had given him was a brief, 'hm' noise of affirmative, the blasé response hardly hiding the rose tint on his cheeks and he'd skipped off with a considerable cheer to his day.
There were no accompanying instruments to deliver the 'pre-written, bland drawl song' as Sammy had so disgustedly put it, not long after hours had finished, deep into the night. Only the ringmaster, no bells and whistles, and certainly no instructions. Sammy Lawrence, defying established tone, pulled measures from the instrument. It sang for him.
Norman had noted the almost symbiotic relationship between him and his ensemble of instruments through nights spent content in each other's company. The musical hum of Sammy's grievances was accompanied by freestyle of whichever instrument he happened to be compelled by.
Often, it was the violin. A classical model, rosewood, they'd remembered every detail he had proclaimed- Spruce for the front plating, even, 'Reliable', Sammy had whispered. Shelving the physical details, It was perfectly expressive, and catered to blooming midnight tirades. Each bounce against the strings was perfectly punctuated to the particular point he was attempting to portray. Growing irritated hardly ever resulted in a break, despite Sammy's frustration leading one to assume he'd sear through the strings at a rapid pace. But his anger was never taken out on his work, rather, it was channeled beautifully.
The violin itself was so terribly precious, he carried it with a strange sort of pride, and cared for it with a gentle hand that was almost motherly. In fact, they recalled the only time Sammy had broken a string- he'd mourned over it for days, tied the loose ends around the polished wooden frame, and hadn't let it out of his keen eye for months.