Once upon a time musical clubs held little interest to the one and only Tympan. The human manipulation of music made him cringe, especially the most recent melodies. Sure, he didn't really keep track of human or nonhuman history—for all he knew they could be still be in the middle ages—but he did pay close attention to the steady flow of time and the effect it had on music.

People weren't singing for themselves and the music anymore. They were singing for the money.

Here, now, a lone guitarist was playing his woes in a shady corner. He had a cup in front of him for some spare change. Even intiates needed money. Pan was sure that this man didn't expect the god of music to be there, that night, that time.

The scales were okay but the tuning was all off, and it just mangled the entire song.

Pan frowned. Cocked his head to the side and watched the guitarist carefully. Tapped his fingers against the table.

tap tap tap

Three E chords per four beats, follow my lead, kid. The guitarist looked up—was that a flash of recognition in his eyes?—and slowly the muisc started to follow Pan's beat.

He could manipulate the music, but controlling the individuals playing the music was much harder.

tap tap tap

C'mon, c'mon, the music was getting a little bit better, but it still hurt his ears. It was nice to see that the guy was trying, though. Attempts were always pleasant.

Better, better...

tap tap taCRASH

Pan stood up and strolled to the exit. Every string on the man's guitar was broken.