The Hatter and The Hare?! (Mature)

Beyril looked through the glass in the bakery window. She had never had a scone before, but something that smelled that heavenly couldn't possibly taste bad. She dug around through her pockets. The tiny bit of change she had didn't even look like the right form of currency. Her stomach growled. It was 2pm and she hadn't had breakfast even. She looked odd to those passing by, too. London was foggy and overcast, and she wore sunglasses to hide the ever-present kishin eye.

Mad Sylas leans against the window, watching her. "Out of change, love? That's unfortunate..."

She sighed, frustrated, and sat on a park bench by an old police box. She swung her guitar around on her lap, and sat her hat next to her, strumming to herself.

Mad Sylas sits next to her, wrapping an arm over her shoulder. "You could always through a hat on the ground, perform. Might get some cash..."

As much as she hated giving him the satisfaction of knowing he was right, Beyril knew he was. She tossed it in front of her, trying something more intricate in her strumming pattern.

Mad Sylas disappears, reappearing and starting to massage her back. "Now, just relax and play. Soon the cash will start coming..."

Beyril exhaled and closed her eyes, plucking out a quick Spanish-sounding melody that sounded much like Coheed an Cambria's "Welcome Home".

Mad Sylas grins, kneading deeper into her back. "Just play and relax....play and relax..." Several people walk by, tossing money into the hat.

Beyril didn't even seem to hear him, she was so lost in her playing. Her song picked up pace, and though her expression was calm and her movements fluid and precise, the song almost sounded frantic. Not rushed or hurried, but the feeling of the piece was one of fear.

Mad Sylas whispers in her ear. "Don't be afraid. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. Lose yourself in the song, but don't be afraid..." More people drop money into the hat, and several stick around to hear her play.

Her playing seems to stop abruptly, the notes hanging in the air for a brief second, then the piece shifted to what sounded more like a lullaby. Notes danced together in pairs, and she swayed ever so slightly with the music.

Mad Sylas grins, deepening the massage. "That's right. Just let go. It'll all be ok..."

Beyril's playing was fluid and precise, as though she had been classically trained, though she had the flexibility of one who was self-taught.

Several more people gather around her, tossing change into the hat. Mad Sylas continues to whisper in her ear. "Let the music carry you. Let it guide you, free you..."

The music picked up pace, but remained light, seeming to lift the people who passed by slightly off their feet. Beyril opened her eyes slightly behind her sunglasses. The kishin eye wasn't reflected in her eyes, but instead a bright, vibrant green much more vivid than her usual eye color. Something about it didn't seem like her, though. Despite the vibrancy of it, she was cold behind those eyes. Her heart was in her guitar, not in her.

Mad Sylas grins wide. "That's right, just let go. Let go and don't stop..."

Her playing grew louder, more feverish, more rushed, but the coldness in her eyes didn't fade or falter.

He laughs softly, kneading deep into her back. "That's it. Play harder, play faster. Let go, don't stop!"

She didn't react to his words at all, no flinch in movement, no blinking of her eyes. She just played. Faster, and faster, louder and louder. Like a carousel spinning out of control with the children still laughing, unaware that the only way the ride would stop would be when it had killed them all.

He cackles, pulling away and standing in front of her. "Let it all out. All the frustrations, all the anger, all the pain. Ball it up and let it be consumed..." She now has a large crowd around her, and the hat is almost half full of change and bills.

Something in Beyril shifted. Like flipping a switch, but on a grand scale. Her music became so intense, so full of hurt and passion, anger and sadness, loss and struggle, that anyone who heard's hearts broke in two. And all the while, her eyes glowed their vibrant green, and the chill of ice ran through her eyes like winter's fury.

Mad Sylas claps, and some of the crowd starts to disperse, several people crying. Mad Sylas sits next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Let it flow, Beyril. Everything will be so much better..."

Beyril stopped playing, putting her guitar on her back and taking off her sunglasses. The green in her eyes was vibrant and clear, and icy as before. She picked up her hat, and quietly counted through the bills.

The rest of the crowd leaves, and Mad Sylas pats her on the back. "How does it feel to be free?"

A wicked smile grew on Beyril's lips, "I've been trapped in there for years. I owe you a debt, Sylas."