The poor thing had been so neglected for so long, dust covering its battered case and sitting behind some empty crates. Stanislav had nearly forgotten he knew how to play the damn thing; a skill required and upheld by his old medic. He could only wonder where the German was, but he simply brushed off the worry as he dragged the cello case out of the old storage room and into the recreational area.
After having set up the old thing, tuning the instrument and giving a few careful plucks, he let the cello rest back against his chest. He ran the bow along the strings experimentally, grinning to himself at the smooth, rich sound.