HE slows down himself, as Albert does. There's still a rhythmic 'tap, tap, tap,' but its a hearts' beat, not a grand creation.

"You can play but you do not anymore. WHY? A lack in instrument? CAPITOL?" He asks, curious. And mostly confused. He can't imagine why someone with a skill for such things would simply not one day.

"Seems a shame be all," He says. "SUCH A GREAT BLESSING GIFTED, AN HONOR TO PLAY AS LIKE ONE OF MINSTRELS. A sort of sad does it seem, to not."