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harpstrings's Journal
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Created on 2013-08-31 09:55:01 (#2074392), never updated
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| Name: | Pizzicato |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | Feb 14 |
Pizzicato;
a technique for plucking stringed instruments
Pizzicato is a harpist automaton built in the late 1800s. As certain inventors' works became known to the world, certain wealthy individuals decided that they would like to have musical automatons of their own, and demanded replicas or simply machines based on the original automatons' designs. Many of these attempts failed; however, a small pocket of inventors did manage to create unique automatons of their own. While the quality of these entertainment-oriented automatons varied, it was generally quite a bit lower than that of the machines that had initially captured the world's imagination; none were quite so intelligent, or so smoothly expressive.
Pizzicato was built as an entertainment piece for a rich businessman to show to his guests. By some fluke of engineering, her AI became complex enough for her to form a personality and awareness of her own; unfortunately, her owner didn't appreciate it outside of the potential for her to write new songs, rather than playing the same pre-programmed pieces time and again, as simpler automatons of the time did. When she was not performing for guests, she was locked away in the basement, her harp left on display inside the main house. After all, she was very, very costly, and very, very valuable-- her owner feared that thieves would come to take his prize piece from him.
During one night in the late 1890s, Pizzicato had been put away for the evening, and her owner gone to bed, when a candle was carelessly knocked aside, catching fire to the drapes. The fire rapidly spread, destroying much of the owner's belongings. Fortunately, he was able to escape unharmed... but his beautiful home had been ruined, and Pizzicato was thought to be lost in the flames.
Decades slowly passed. The home had been in the man's family for generations, and he refused to have it demolished, despite the crumbling, blackened state it was left in after the fire. Despite being warned of the dangers of the destroyed manor, children and teenagers began to visit the house, circulating rumors of it being haunted; however, the basement, while left surprisingly intact, remained locked tight, warding away anyone who would try and enter.
Until someone found the key.
In the 1950s, a teenager had been exploring the ruins, taking photographs, when he tripped and nearly injured himself on fallen debris. With a metallic ping, out of the debris fell... a key. Of course, this explorer had heard of the locked basement; he collected the key and immediately made for the door, unlocking it and slowly dragging it open. At worst, he would have the bragging rights of having been the first person to open the basement since the house's burning-- at best, perhaps there was something valuable stored away down below.
A pair of wide, glowing eyes stared at him from the darkness beyond the door.
"... master...?" The voice was very small, edged with electronic fuzz caused by an aging voicebox.
The boy ran, nearly falling several times, scraping himself and tripping before tearing away into the day.
Pizzicato was still functional, though damaged and neglected. And there, in the burnt-out ruins of her former home, she remained, the years of loneliness leaving her face stained, her beautiful dress torn nearly to nothing, her once shining hair matted and ratty.
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