[ Dream -- 001 ]
He's in a dimly lit room, and a familiar one at that. He recognizes the curtains, the floor... the piano. He also recognizes the voice of the one addressing him, and it's not a pleasant reintroduction.
"You're late," says his would-be host, a midget of a demon man with a mocking smile and a suave suit. "Why don't you play for awhile?"
"No thanks," Soul says, and he too is dressed in the same dapper fashion. Smooth jazz music is playing quietly from a record player in the corner, the sound scratching slightly. He adjusts his tie, not bothering to make contact with the little demon. "I'm not in the mood."
"C'mon!" his company urges, like a party host that doesn't know when to back off. "Dip into the music a little. Let it all out."
With bored reluctance, the boy moves over to the piano and slides onto its bench. "I don't know how you ever talk me into this," he mumbles, but begins to play nonetheless. It starts slow, quiet and free, and is jazzy like the record. Before long, however, the music hits a fever pitch and he leans into the keyboard, playing with force and fervor, forehead nearly touching the keys.
Crazy energy starts to creep up around him, licking at the sides of the piano as though coming from the very force of his soul. Suddenly, he can't stop. The notes are almost coursing through his body; he can feel them rumbling from the piano as hammer strikes string.
"Soul, stop it! Stop!"
Maka's voice. She sounds panicked; afraid. Maybe even insane. She's doing her best to get him to listen.
"Soul, you have to stop!"
But the music is engulfing everything.
---
[Soul sighs in agitation and squishes his pillow over his face.
He hasn't realized it's been broadcast, much less that anyone could see or respond to it.]
"You're late," says his would-be host, a midget of a demon man with a mocking smile and a suave suit. "Why don't you play for awhile?"
"No thanks," Soul says, and he too is dressed in the same dapper fashion. Smooth jazz music is playing quietly from a record player in the corner, the sound scratching slightly. He adjusts his tie, not bothering to make contact with the little demon. "I'm not in the mood."
"C'mon!" his company urges, like a party host that doesn't know when to back off. "Dip into the music a little. Let it all out."
With bored reluctance, the boy moves over to the piano and slides onto its bench. "I don't know how you ever talk me into this," he mumbles, but begins to play nonetheless. It starts slow, quiet and free, and is jazzy like the record. Before long, however, the music hits a fever pitch and he leans into the keyboard, playing with force and fervor, forehead nearly touching the keys.
Crazy energy starts to creep up around him, licking at the sides of the piano as though coming from the very force of his soul. Suddenly, he can't stop. The notes are almost coursing through his body; he can feel them rumbling from the piano as hammer strikes string.
"Soul, stop it! Stop!"
Maka's voice. She sounds panicked; afraid. Maybe even insane. She's doing her best to get him to listen.
"Soul, you have to stop!"
But the music is engulfing everything.
---
[Soul sighs in agitation and squishes his pillow over his face.
He hasn't realized it's been broadcast, much less that anyone could see or respond to it.]