#piano basics

[kids-worldfun]

Building Foundations: Essential Skills Covered in Beginner Piano Lessons for Kids

Music is a great teacher. It opens our creative minds and enhances critical thinking. It also helps cultivate discipline and builds communication skills. With all the social, intellectual, and cognitive benefits music education delivers, it’s no wonder parents sign their kids up for music lessons as early as possible. The piano is often their instrument of choice. This guide helps you understand…

[serendipnpipity]

Thank you for living your truth, @danielhowell. You've helped me live mine, too.

Image Description under the cut:

[illustrated YouTube notification: “Daniel Howell uploaded ‘Basically I’m Gay’”]

Five years ago today, I was lying on the couch in my family home, watching the words of a person I had grown to find pieces of myself in as he bared his soul to the world just to make somebody like me feel a little less alone. 

[girl lying on her stomach on the couch, looking at phone]

He said something at the end of that video,

[Illustrated video screenshot of Dan saying “You are valid. It gets so much better.”]

And I’ll never forget hearing those words. Never forget drying my tears, quickly, before my parents came back. 

[Three panels: girl wiping tears from face, putting phone down, silhouette walking through front door]

See, the girl on that couch was planning far, far away futures. She couldn’t believe his words just yet, but now she could hope to. 

[open shoebox with rainbow flag inside]

Five years later, today, I wish I could tell her:

You don’t have to move halfway across the country to set a flag out on your desk. 

[school building and stack of books]

Your parents are coming over tomorrow to help bring you home for the summer. (They’re only an hour’s car ride away.)

[cartoon sun and car]

And see that?

[rainbow flag in a mug with a cat whiskers design]

Yeah, that’s the one decoration you haven’t packed yet. 

And that something he said at the end of the video, I still quote it to this day. 

[computer playing the Dan birthday livestream with "Misty" on a Zoom call in the corner]

Better yet, I believe it now. 

[same girl, older and with shorter hair, holding mug with flag and looking back at someone off-camera that’s saying “Ready to go home?”]

Happy five years of Basically, I’m Gay!

[onebizarrekai]

♪ blue's theme - ALL OF THEM (mostly)

mr. character development's tangible rehab from a stupidly evil power hungry bastard who has committed treason against every country to an idiot pacifist with a zebra print fedora, a moped and a license to teach yoga

( note: the 'mostly' comes from two things; one, the very very first version of this song sucked, and two, there are versions that are mostly identical )

[anglerflsh]

I found out that I'm, like, so bad at playing the piano. Which is ironic because I'm really good at typing fast so it's not a hand muscle problem, it's a problem of me not recognising a single note for the life of me. Saw could put me in a trap and ask me which note I'm listening to and I would die

[wandering-nushroom]

Hear me out:

Jean learning to play piano a year or so after graduation when he’s trying to find some sort of outlet that he likes, on recommendation of his therapist

Then one day he stumbles across a Debussy’s Rêverie on a playlist and suddenly recalls a very distant memory of twirling Elodie in the living room to it

It takes him a year to be able to play it to his satisfaction.

[welcometogrouchland]

I like to think that when the batfamily inevitably runs out of money and jobless Bruce, Tim, and Dick* find themselves in financial need, Steph reveals that she's made thousands of dollars taking odd jobs around Gotham City that we just never saw bc Steph hasn't been in a comic for months. Nobody checked in on her and while they weren't looking she made 6 grand babysitting and playing piano at a local theatre. Bruce has to grovel for enough money to buff out a scratch on the batmobile and Steph is revelling in it. This is the closest she's ever going to get to being a supervillain

*(Cass and Jason don't need money to survive on account of being homeless as kids + Babs funds Cass' basic needs and Damian is on his mom's payroll, same w/ duke even if it's obvs not al ghul money)

[yuri-is-online]

congrats on 500 followers, you deserve it!! ^_^ i adore your writing! for the masquerade event, may i request prompt 11 with trey, jamil and rook? thank you so much!

11. There is a really lovely moon outside tonight that you find yourself admiring, but if you would just turn around you would find someone admiring you.

Annon my lovely annon how does it feel to have such a wonderful beautiful brain, this is perhaps the most perfect line up of characters for this prompt. I'm happy you like my writing and really hope you like this.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, I can't speak French so none of that for Rook, sorry I do not trust google translate. So many references to music in this one... the other event quests can be found on my masterlist.

Trey

If Trey had to pick something about himself he liked he would probably pick his height. It made certain things easier, like walking through crowds and looking at things in the far off distance. It makes these little emotions he has when he sees you easier to deal with, he can always excuse himself and observe from afar. Trey prides himself on being realistic about these sorts of things, prides himself on his restraint and ability to keep things calm.

But it's hard to deny the truth. Painful even. He can feel the ache even before he sees you, his hand even twitches with the desire to reach out and break your reverie. But he can't, you aren't exactly alone, you walked out on to the balcony with Ace and Deuce close at your heels. They're joking with you, distracting you from the moon and stars he thinks you wanted to observe, but you can't seem to bring yourself to be annoyed with them. That's fine, Trey can be annoyed enough for you both. He would never call himself "massive" but he is certainly blessed with a broad set of shoulders.

And an exceptionally creepy (Rook had insisted it was fancy, très magnifique) bird mask that sends the dynamic duo fleeing back to the ballroom "abandoning" you to your fate. He would be tempted to laugh but he does not want to talk to you just yet. You shake your head in amused affection, relaxing onto the railing and letting some of the night's tension roll off your shoulders. He does the same, trying to give you space but not avoiding you when you move closer.

"The moon is beautiful tonight." Trey says after he's let you have your moment, surprised when you turn to him with a flustered look on your face. "That's what you came here to look at, right?" You cough, not helping his certainty but the shy smile that flickers onto your face suggests he has not made a misstep, not exactly anyway.

"It's a nice night." You say. "Stay with me, won't you?" There's emotion to the request he's tempted to read into. Tempted to classify as the same longing he feels and barely swallows when he looks into your eyes.

"I'll stay as long as you like." He says softly, and tries not to smile too much when you lean your head onto his shoulder.

Jamil

He is in love. You look like a ridiculous child and he is in love, Jamil is smiling at every move you make like he is actually happy for once. It's all he can do to pull himself away from his hiding place out to the courtyard you have decided to to stargaze in, as much as he wants to continue admiring you he would rather no one else see him in this horrifying mood.

"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie~" You are dancing, he thinks, but it looks more like you are jumping trying to catch the moon in your hands, the rest of your silly song devolving into fits of giggles as you twirl, obsessing over the way the fabric of your costume follows you as you twirl. "Jamil!" You notice him the second he joins you, your hands immediately reach out for his. He lets you take him, lets you guide him in a jerky series of movements he knows aren't real dance moves. You're happy, and seeing him has made you happier.

"Just what are you doing?" He's almost laughing himself now, letting you guide him through your made up dance. "Wouldn't you rather be back in the ballroom?" You hum and shake your head.

"It's too busy in there, I wanted to look at the moon." Your dance slows to a gentle sway, Jamil takes advantage of the lull to take control of the flow, guiding you into a more structured dance. The silver light seems to kiss you, as if the moon is happy you came to look at her. Too bad, Jamil doesn't intend to let your attention wander back her way.

"You know, the view of the moon from Scarabia is especially beautiful, perhaps you would like a change of scenery when you're ready to leave." Jamil helps you twirl your costume, doing his best to guide you back towards the ballroom. He might have been spending his time hiding among the furniture of the ballroom, but he had a plan for tonight. One that involved you wrapped around his finger and waltzing well into the hours of the morning, and while he is not exactly picky about where-

He would very much like everyone to see just where you are ending your night.

Rook

The music in the ballroom drowns the tiny hymn that comes from the balcony. Even if anyone else had been looking for it, they would have found it impossible to hear, but Rook is no casual observer. To the casual observer, Rook is merely standing near the windows and their curtains, the Prefect's strange tune barely recognizable even there.

But then recognizable is not the right word. Rook highly doubts anyone in this world other than him had heard this song.

Initially you had walked onto this balcony because Grim had mentioned seeing a piano there earlier and that had struck you as odd. Why stick a piano out on a balcony if there was going to be a ball with live music inside the actual ballroom why stick an instrument out in the cold? You had thought it would look lonely, but the moon has decided to make it look romantic. Seeing no one around you settle yourself at the keys. And begin to try and play along with the tune in your head.

Rook holds himself back from going to you, telling himself to wait until you look his way, but you don't. You are content to sit and pluck at the piano, seeking the keys that match the memory of another world, another moon. He waits and waits, but still you only idly glance up at the night sky, and never his direction.

"What sweet torture," he murmurs into his mask "to be so ignored by such a perfect sight." As the music finds a stride you still hum, to his great relief. The pitch and quality of the melody matters little when observing someone's most private reflections. What matters is the far away look in their eye, the pride with which they rest their finished fingers on the keys and think aloud some words unlikely to be theirs but fitting all the same.

"Their song interweaves melancholy with moonlight, quiet moonlight so sad and lovely that it makes birds dream in their trees, while fountains sob in ecstasy..."* Your eyes finally turn his way and you startle. He pries his mask free from his face to reassure you of your safety; to you, it is like he has appeared from thin air, but you know him well enough that your surprised smile is more a courtesy than genuine surprise.

"Just how long have you been here Rook?" Your fingers twitch with embarrassment at the keys.

"I was lured here the moment you began to sing my lovely trickster." He bows, mask placed over his heart in genuine devotion. "Truly the power the your soul's voice has to command my steps is frightening." You sigh, embarrassment twinged with joy as you move yourself to make room for him by your side.

"Well then why don't you sit next to me and listen to just how badly I can butcher this piece." He very much doubts you could do such a thing, but who is he to deny your every request?

"My Trickster, I would love nothing more save you."

*Clair de Lune, Paul Verlaine 1869, translated by John Argo 2017. As a note to the interested reader, the linked song is named after the poem. I'm rather fond of it as I once owned a music box that played it.

[vimbry]

I've always had this weird shyness around admitting I'd like to learn to make music. I don't know why. I was raised in a very pro-artist family. I think it's a fear of failure if I'm just not very good at it, which heightens once you're vulnerable about something and now everyone knows you like it and makes it more humiliating. I think it's also because I had a parent that blew money they didn't really have on home studios and instruments and always fancied themselves a bit of a wannabe musician with no actual drive, so I subconsciously internalised the criticism that got.

anyway I'm saying this because fun community events like tmbptmbg, spending a day listening to and discussing the music of artists with such a creative, eclectic output get me inspired and motivated. or hell, just reading about the band's process in general in articles and interviews gets me like this.

[asnowfern]

When Words Fail

Summary: Elain doesn’t get out of the town house much. But on a rare occasion that she did, she runs into Lucien at a piano studio.

Rating: G

WC: 2.5k

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy @elucienweekofficial (aka one of the best times of the year🥰)! This was originally intended for the day 2 prompt: Golden. BUT I was in bed with a flu so you get it on day 3 instead 🤧 Enjoy ☺️

When words fail, music speaks

- Hans Christian Anderson

The city of dreamers buzzes around Elain, comes to life with energetic shouts across the streets advertising for new shows and wafts of delectable street snacks. Doe eyes widen to take them all in.

A biting wind passes her by and Elain pulls her cloak closer around her, enveloping herself entirely in the thick feathered coat. Tugging the soft hat to cover the pinked edged tips of her ears, delicate button nose twitches slightly to sniff the wondrous buttery scent.

The middle Archeron rarely leaves the confines of the town house, usually content to bide her time in the greenhouse or in the kitchens. But just for today, astounded by Feyre’s artistic depiction of the Rainbow, did it occur to her just how much of the city that she has lived in for years but still has yet to see, so much that she has yet to experience. It stokes the long dormant part of her that once dreamt of adventures on the continent. All before…

Elain shakes her head with a grimace. Tonight is not a night for dwelling. Her thoughts short-circuit when a particularly fragrant scent hits her. The edges of her lips quirk upwards as she holds herself back from bouncing towards the street stall.

She exchanges a silver coin for a rich buttery pastry, wincing as molten chocolate ganache floods her mouth from the very first bite. With a palm still cradling the hot soft pastry, she continues her way through the bustling street.

Then her feet halts in front of a plain beige unassuming building.

Despite the lively chatter of the Rainbow, the sound of light flowing keys of a piano effortlessly reaches her. She turns towards it, stuffing the remainder of her snack into her mouth and hastily swipes the crumbs away from her cheeks. Her feet move mechanically on its own accord, like a rope that has been tied around her waist and pulls her into the building.

The city noises muffle, blocked by the wooden door frame of the building entrance. Elain is able to clearly hear the melody now, muted and uncertain, supported by the gentle running chords in the lower register. A simple but melancholic beauty that tugs on her chest and pulls in the most heart twisting manner.

The music turns as she passes by door after door within the studio. The same melody returns, bright and daring. Her chin tilts upwards, chocolate brown orbs widening. At last, her feet stop. Exactly where she needs to be.

It is a cozy quaint space, barely larger than her bedroom. The room is bare save for a grand piano plonked in the middle, the walls are lined with oak panes with a full length bookshelf pushed into a corner.

A golden spotlight streams down on the pianist, gliding along long auburn hair which has been pulled back into a simple low ponytail. A featherlight caresses an all too beautiful face and neckline, accentuating the contrast of his white billowing sleeves.

He doesn’t see her, she thinks.

Not as his fingers gracefully glide up and down the midnight and ivory keys, never ceasing to stop the flow of the music. Not even the slightest hitch in its tempo.

At that moment, Elain admits quietly to herself.

He is truly the most beautiful being she has ever seen.

She doesn’t sit and neither does she linger. After the piece ends, she gives a curt nod before turning around. It is only in the safe space of her own solitude does she acknowledge the melody that is still a constant flutter in her ears, her chest, her heart.

She returns the following night at the same time.

Foolishly, maybe. She doesn’t even know how long he will be in the city, doesn’t even know if he has left. Yet as she stands, just two steps beyond the doorway, so quiet that not even the sharpest fae ears can register a sound, there is no denying the little part of her that went, oh thank the Mother he is still here.

When the piece ends, the embers in her chest are fanned by a raised eyebrow, an open challenge in the dancing flame of a russet eye. She takes a seat next to him, the bench barely long enough to fit the two of them. Close enough to feel the heat emanating between the narrow space.

She resists the urge to shudder for a different reason and lifts her hands to the keyboard.

He doesn’t rush her, sitting in patient silence as she considers the different pieces she could play. Her mind skips through numerous music, each as showy as the last, each learnt under strict tutelage with the very intention of impressing guests and suitors. She gives herself a mental smack of a head (no, that will not do, she chides) and settles for a simple folk melody from her childhood.

Perhaps it’s anticlimactic and a letdown. Perhaps it’s a peep into years past that she hasn’t shown anyone in Prythian. One that draws a quirk of lips in her peripherals that she pays no mind.

It surprises her when skilled hands join her when she plays a repeated section, effortlessly complements her with his counter melody. A smile plays on her lips in the simple joy of music. The vehicle in which they embark on their unspoken conversation. She goes up, he goes down, then they loop around. The piece stretches and reshapes into a dozen different variations.

But alas, it all comes to an end when another fae interrupts with a knock, signalling the end of the session. It shatters the spell that they have woven with black and white keys, a glass splintering into hundreds of pieces.

It is with a wry smile that they come to a stop. Elain’s hands drop from the board, her insides twisting in disappointment. Lifting her chin slightly, she sucks a breath in and asks, “Maybe another time?”

The smile that blossoms on Lucien’s face leaves her breathless. A crinkle of happiness that threatens to rip apart the seams of intricately weaved vines burying the golden thread deep, deep within her chest.

“I’ll be here.”

The thread lights up with promise.

“So will I.”

***

The duo steps outside back into the frigid night air of Velaris. Before they take a further step, Elain pauses, her hand raises to her cheek to shield her face from a passing wind. Her petite form shivers a little in time with the slap of freeze.

In that moment, her entire being is engulfed in a tall shadow, and a translucent curtain of shimmery maple drapes over her to shield her from the chill. The brunette tilts her head back at a carefully impassive face.

It is the simplest of magics. Something she should be used to after so long with the fae. Even then, it is still a simple gesture that causes rose to dust across her cheeks, a different type of warmth that spreads from her chest. She resists the urge to scoot a little closer to her mate.

“Walk me back?” She asks, brown eyes meeting russet head on, stubbornly holding the stare until the edges of Lucien’s lips slope upwards.

“In need of a personal heater?” He quips.

A smile spreads on her face as she points out, “It’s freezing.”

Elain loops an elbow around Lucien’s as she forces her speeding heart rate to settle.

I can hear your heart beating through the stone. Can you hear mine?

Surely, he must.

Cocooned in their little bubble of warmth, it feels like there isn’t anything that can be hidden from the other. Not the rhythmic drum beats the organ in her chest plays or the shimmery glow of thread tying them together. Thankfully, that doesn’t stop the tall redhead from tightening the space between their arms as they walk down the lively alleyway in companionable silence.

He takes a step back when the entrance to the Town House comes into view, their arms unwinding. And though the shimmering warmth still covers her, Elain feels a smidge colder.

“I will be returning to the Human Lands tomorrow morning.” Lucien informs her softly.

“Oh—”

“But if you would like,” he almost rushes to continue, “I’ll send you a note the next time I’m back in the city.”

“I would like that.” She returns finally as her mate raises one hand to brush the back of her palm. The flame in his eye returns with a spark.

The moment feels surreal and for just a moment, Elain could pretend that she is a simple lady out jn society, and him, a charming suitor. There is no mess of biting cold dark waters of the Cauldron between them. That the rushing beats of her heart and brush of lips on skin is nothing more than the promise of something new, something exciting, something hopeful.

***

Elain’s brows furrow as her fingers speed up to follow the fraught tempo the Autumn son had set. Her frown deepens as she feels herself get pushed out of the music. Two hands drop to one until she eventually lifts her hands back to her chest and sets her gaze higher to the male himself. His fingers continue to fly across the keyboard, so lost in the music that his lips are parted slightly, his mechanical eye clicks to follow the notes. He seemed unaware that she had even stopped.

He throws his weight into the wooden keys, the force of it unravelling strands from his low ponytail. The air rattles around them with the vibrations of his final chord until it dissipates into nothingness.

“Lucien?”

The thread between them pulls taut as her voice brings him out of his reverie and brings mismatched gold and russet eyes on her, round and tinged with the slightest hint of manic.

Even with all the time they had spent together the past few winter months, it is uncharted territory for them to share more than a piano or playful words that mean nothing. Still, Elain gingerly catches the hand that has just fallen back into his lap and draws it close to her.

“What happened?” She asks, rubbing light circles into the soft flesh of the back of his palm, where the index meets the thumb.

She feels his wordless response, of fingers that close around hers, of the tension simmering in each muscle fibre.

She tries again, “Shall we get out of here?”

With a simple nod, her world transforms into the warm licking golden flames of his winnow. It disappears to reveal a simple apartment where familiar city noises continue to trickle in from the windows.

It dawns on her immediately that this is Lucien’s apartment in Velaris.

Utilitarian. Perfunctory. Devoid of personality. Vastly different from the homeliness of the River House or even her own room in the Town House.

Elain had never seen his room in Spring or in the Human Lands but she can say with certainty that it did not look as empty as this. She ignores the slight lump forming in her throat and pulls him over to the plain brown couch. Without letting herself overthink her next actions, she tugged him down with her to settle his head on her lap.

Something twinges in her chest. The bond that she had tried so hard to submerge under the deepest hedge of thorns that threatens to give way to blinding light. She hastily covers his eyes with nimble fingers, lightly brushing the gnarly scars surrounding his left eye, tracing thick brows with her fingertips and easing the tension filled lines.

Slowly but surely, Elain feels the hard muscles relaxing into the plush skin of her thighs and the soft nuzzle of his face into her dress. She shifts her attention to those silky tresses, carding her fingers through them.

“We are losing Vassa,” he mumbles into the soft rolls of her stomach, “the transformations have always taken their toll but it’s getting even harder. To see those sharp cerulean eyes blank and empty, devoid of her usual sharpness and intelligence, even for just a few minutes.”

A sourness pulls at Elain, a sly voice starts to whisper in her ear. Yours. Thief. Claim. Her fingers tremble, entangling digits into thick locks.

“Have you told Rhysand?” She asks instead, not trusting herself to say more yet also, hating her response for its implied immediate deference.

Lucien pulls away, his head turning away as he replies bitterly, “We need more time to gather allied forces from the continent before we can take on Koschei. He’s not wrong,” his eyes flutter shut and the lines between his brows deepen, “but it’s hard to watch.”

“You care for her.” She wonders if she sounds as petulant as she feels.

The look he gives her is reproachful in answer. Yet, he still reassures her, “She’s a good friend.”

Friend, he had seemed to emphasise. But did she even have the right to lay a claim after all these years of nonchalance? Even as the hissing beast prowling the stairs of her ribs calm slightly, placated at the clarification.

Elain continues her ministrations, nimble fingers absentmindedly braiding then combing them out. The monotony diminishes the world around them into the random sounds of the Velarian nightlife and the occasional crackling wood of his fireplace. It envelopes her mind and lets her thoughts stray to the majestic firebird soaring through the skies, screeching as it flies over a lake black as coal. A cold scaly presence yanks her past the line splitting air and water.

It is cold, so cold. Like the Cauldron, like death, like—

CRACK

Elain’s eyes snap open, brown eyes wide with fear. They find mismatched russet and gold instantly, concern and alarm warring within them. She pauses, waiting for the questions that are sure to come.

None came. Just a wary gaze and a firm grip around her hand. Unyielding and grounding.

She asks finally after a few fraught moments, when her heartbeat resembles what felt like normalcy. “What if I can help?”

Lucien sits up, sending a flurry of movement as the mass of flesh and muscle moves in her lap. He is still impossibly near, the heat emanating from his body an entrancing addiction. He asks carefully, “Are you sure?”

“It’s better than…” she trails off because better than what? Better than the comfortable life accorded to her in her sister’s court, surrounded by everything she could ever need? She clears her throat before meeting those assessing eyes. “It’s better than just waiting passively for things to happen to me.”

Lucien stood from the sofa they were sharing, his body angled away from her. And just as Elain opens her mouth to backpedal her decision, he turns back. Eyes gleaming and determined.

“There’s a piano in the manor.”

Elain almost gasps in that moment. Her hand twitches by her side, itching to claw at her chest, to hover over where the golden thread has burst out of its burial site.

It’s bright, it’s dazzling.

It’s iridescent.

END

[imageingrunge]

Updating Vlad's place

[nylonnye2]

Shoutout to Arthur Malevolent's dead ass daughter you inspired me to play piano again

[soulmaking]

9 Unhinged Women in Film Who Shaped Me, a mood board

[virsancte]

good days aren't easy to come by

[touchlikethesun]

🎶period accurate spotify playlists, part 1

these are just my own headcanons for what music i think they all would listen to, if they had spotify back in the 70s.

i'd love to hear thoughts, if you agree, disagree, or think i should add any songs!

sirius: glam rock: bowie, queen, and t.rex. classic, vibey, with just a hint of gender.

remus: british punk: ian dury, the clash, x-ray specs. anger, anti-conformism, and activism. a little bit sexy, or so thinks sirius.

james: mostly prog rock: supertramp, electric light orchestra, and stealers wheel. what i would consider dad rock, easy to sing and dance to.

regulus: soft oldies: chet baker, edith piaf, and the platters. love songs with jazzy instrumentals and strong vocals. it's nostalgic to him. no one but james has even seen his music collection.

[crime-scene-psychic]

I've had this idea for a while so here it goes:

(also feel free to do this yourself, I'd love to see what y'all's fave songs off of each album are ❤️)

[siblingshuffle]

Sibling Shuffle: Doodles & Lore Expansion

AKA: Rough doodle of Rock’s first time being fully activated, and a couple of events that followed.

Follow-up to "Something’s Missing…"

Dr. Wily, sir, I’m a little confused. I can tell we’re in some kind of storage unit, but… why? What’s stored here? Up until now, you. I’m using this place as a temporary base while I re-adjust my plans. Run a self-diagnostic, Rock; I need to know if you’re fully operational. Uhhhhh… everything LOOKS normal… but…

"But"?

…I feel like something’s… missing…

What, like a component? No, I don’t think so… Then you’re fine. Now, come on - we have work to do.

————

LORE: Rock’s activation takes place right before MM2. At first, he was just Dr. Wily’s assistant, helping him build robots. (He didn’t know that the first of the DWNs were made to die). His first official meeting with Roll was when she succumbed to the virus in the first few DWNs. He felt his connection with Roll (seemingly stronger due to proximity), and got confused and curious.

As Wily was planning for his scheme in MM3, he upgraded Rock with combat capabilities (which was when Rock got the scarf). Rock was never really keen on the whole weapons thing, but, since Wily had continually lied to him about how he was the victim in the whole situation, Rock went along with it. He’s got a low tolerance for bullies, and that’s what Dr. Light & his family were… (right?)