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Jet practically rolled his eyes but decided to acquiesce to the demon’s wish. Primarily because a Dynast with a heavy high-realm accent aiding the poor would attract a lot of unwanted attention. But he made a mental note to return after adjusting his disguise a little. He turned towards the music with a deep exhalation.
“Fine. I’ll listen to some of the damned music. Can’t be that fun…”
As soon as he reached the square where buskers were however, and not in the street where he only heard a mere fraction of the notes, Jet froze. The totality of the song finally hit him, with the notes forming a harmonious whole and reverberating in his chest. His heart started beating to the rhythm to the drums, his bones rang in tune with the string and brass instruments.
“By the Dragons, yes!”
The demon cackled within him.
“Yes! The rhythm Jet! Let it loose!”
“But how?”
He spoke aloud, forgetting about even himself and his precarious situation with the voice in his head.
“T-This is not at all like the refined music at home! I only know how to dance in a ball room!”
“You don’t dance with your legs, idiot! You dance with your heart! It already knows what to do, so let it! Let go!”
Markolab did not speak another word, instead he started vocalizing the bass of the music like a metronome to guide his infernal master. The stimulation got too much and Jets body started moving on its own, or rather he started moving without a care in the world or the desire to stop. He raised his arms, drawing a full circle before throwing them forward. He stepped out of the crowd and into the open with every part of him moving unceasingly. Left, right, up, forward, backward, spin. His legs and arms moved harmoniously but in a wild fashion to the pace of the music.
At first the onlookers pointed and laughed at his foolish display but their jeers slowly turned into awe as the musicians noticed Jet, and feeling his excitement upped the pace themselves. The dynasts movements followed suit, becoming faster, wilder and less inhibited. Every note the performers hit was reflected in his movements. It was an uncanny sight. Were one to try to determine, they wouldn’t be able to tell if they were puppeteering him on strings or if somehow the dancers moves were the ones making the music.
