The pianist clambered onto the stage with his animate instruments closely behind. Unlike the nervous, reedy man who dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, the instruments moved with the self-possessed air of virtuosos never made to question their talent. Unlike the pianist, they seemed certain that they deserved to be there. The pianist took the conventional position at the stark, white piano that awaited his chaste touch.
Chaste was the word to describe such a light touch, thought the spectator. Half of the time, no sound came from the piano at all, so lightly did the pianist ask the keys to produce music. Half of the time, the strutting and prancing woodwinds picked up the slack. Whenever the spectator thought that the pianist’s embarrassing showing might exhaust the audience’s patience, an arc of water would jet across the packed hall. The pianist stressed himself into a panic, breathing going ragged as he concentrated.
A mushroom burst through the stage, the creaking of the wood mercifully abating at last. The sprout continued to grow, though, ‘petals’ unfurling to reveal a bright green vine stretching up to the ceiling. Flowers bloomed as it corkscrewed upward, releasing pollen clouds- just in time for the the instruments to notice. A trumpet jumped towards the vine, impacting it with a rending force. As the vine tore open, the trumpet began to devour; each pump of its mechanism was another chance to devour the plant matter. No need for a dowry here, the instruments claimed what was rightfully theirs.
The spectator clapped before the performance concluded, the sound attracting the notice of the instruments. Their lip curled as the pianist’s eyes widened in fear. Perhaps he could maintain his loose grip on the instruments, long enough to finish filling the room with flowers. Somehow, by the man’s disposition, they doubted it. The pay for this one would be quite handsome indeed, regardless of how the poor sap’s night ended.