[ Dream - 005 ]
Black and red checkered floor, dim lighting, piano...
"Not this place again," Soul mumbles, finding that he is trapped once more in the room with no door and no windows. The same record is playing, but it's a different tune, somewhat dated in style and lending an almost unwelcome atmosphere to its surroundings.
"Hey, hey! Back so soon?" Near the corner to his right is his terrible host, red face mocking but delighted. In Soul's mind, the demon's voice is every bit as convincing as a cheap car salesman--a car salesman from hell, anyway. "Bring your friend again sometime. It's getting dull in here."
It had been awhile since Soul and Maka had resonated; since she had had reason to be in this very place with him, egged on by the same annoying company, dressed in the same formal black clothes. Soul rolled his eyes. "Why would anyone else want to come here in the first place?" he asked rhetorically. "Listen, I came here to tell you that I'm not going to play for you anymore."
The grand piano shines, waiting, muted and black, not far from where he stands.
"Really." The demon isn't displeased, nor is he remotely convinced, if his constant grin is any indication. "Maybe not now, but you'll play again. You have to. Don't you want to protect her?"
"Shut up," Soul shoots back calmly. "I'm not going to play the piano."
"Oh, you will," says the demon, pressing the tips of his fingers together, eyes blazing with certainty. "Again, and again, and again."
===
[Frowning slightly, Soul, now very much awake, silently grips the chest of his t-shirt for a moment.
Noticing the glow from the bedside table, he reaches for the Dreamberry, angling it toward his face to read the words "RECORDED". The grip on his shirt slackens visibly and he sighs.]
Great. Apparently this thing has horrible timing, too.
"Not this place again," Soul mumbles, finding that he is trapped once more in the room with no door and no windows. The same record is playing, but it's a different tune, somewhat dated in style and lending an almost unwelcome atmosphere to its surroundings.
"Hey, hey! Back so soon?" Near the corner to his right is his terrible host, red face mocking but delighted. In Soul's mind, the demon's voice is every bit as convincing as a cheap car salesman--a car salesman from hell, anyway. "Bring your friend again sometime. It's getting dull in here."
It had been awhile since Soul and Maka had resonated; since she had had reason to be in this very place with him, egged on by the same annoying company, dressed in the same formal black clothes. Soul rolled his eyes. "Why would anyone else want to come here in the first place?" he asked rhetorically. "Listen, I came here to tell you that I'm not going to play for you anymore."
The grand piano shines, waiting, muted and black, not far from where he stands.
"Really." The demon isn't displeased, nor is he remotely convinced, if his constant grin is any indication. "Maybe not now, but you'll play again. You have to. Don't you want to protect her?"
"Shut up," Soul shoots back calmly. "I'm not going to play the piano."
"Oh, you will," says the demon, pressing the tips of his fingers together, eyes blazing with certainty. "Again, and again, and again."
===
[Frowning slightly, Soul, now very much awake, silently grips the chest of his t-shirt for a moment.
Noticing the glow from the bedside table, he reaches for the Dreamberry, angling it toward his face to read the words "RECORDED". The grip on his shirt slackens visibly and he sighs.]
Great. Apparently this thing has horrible timing, too.