The sudden incredibly loud question nearly makes Albert drop his spear but he regains is composure quickly, giving his arms a rest for a moment as he answers. "I do, yes. Piano and violin, though I haven't done either in some time now."

Months, years... how long has it been since he wrote music? Or even played someone else's? How long has it been since he'd felt motivated or happy enough to do it? Or anything strongly enough. He used to play for everything, before he was a cyborg. Every feeling, good or bad. Hilda used to say that even though he wasn't the most expressive, she could always tell how he was feeling by how he played. Not what, but how. How hunched his back over the keys, how tightly he gripped the bow. Since he'd been remodeled it just didn't seem like something to pursue in emotion, even when he'd given it a try decades later. Nothing came of it.

But this, at least, is something.

"Thank you."