The Devil on Kazoo

23: After the Concert

Cheer up, sleepy Jean
Oh, what can it mean
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen?

"Daydream Believer" by The Monkees

The Crumbs had no way of knowing whether or not their concert brought more listeners, but based on the number of advertisements they were getting meant that something had to have been a success.

The morning after the show, Syl stood at the window of the wheelhouse, watching as the sky was just beginning to turn a slight shade of purple.

She breathed in the scent of tea coming from her special mug as she took a sip.

The creak of the stairs behind her made Syl turn. She smiled softly. "Sebastian."

A grinned sleepily. "Morning."

He walked up to her, then suddenly didn't know what to do with himself. He almost hugged her, then wondered if he should kiss her, but perhaps that was too presumptuous.

Syl stared at him blankly, giving no indication of what Bash should do.

He settled for a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"You're up early," Syl said.

"I'm always up early."

"I assumed you'd sleep in after yesterday."

"Too much to do, too little time." Bash rubbed his eyes groggily and Syl absently handed him her mug. He took a sip of her tea, which gave him the strength to go to the counter to make his own.

"Why are you up?" he inquired, sounding a little more awake than he had before.

Syl smiled to herself. "Painting."

She heard Bash pause in his cabinet-shuffling. "You're painting again?"

Syl glanced at him. "I can't stay away for long. You know that."

"What are you working on?"

Syl took her time in answering. "The concert. But not the actual concert, it's more of the...what's the word when something is more of an idea?"

"A concept?"

Syl snapped her fingers. "Yes. That's what the painting is."

Bash's eyebrows lifted in amusement. "Syl Krista doing an abstract painting...I never thought I'd see the day."

"I can't describe how standing on that stage made me feel," Syl said contemplatively, "but I can't shake it. I've never experienced anything like it."

"I know what you mean," Bash agreed. "It was surreal, which begs the question: how are you going to paint the essence of a dream?"

Syl shrugged. "With a paintbrush."

Bash laughed. Syl hadn't realized how much she'd missed that carefree sound.

When he came to stand next to her, she turned to face him, an eyebrow raised.

"And for future reference, if you ever pat my shoulder again instead of kissing me good morning, I'll be very cross," she said.

Bash seemed relieved to hear this, so he took her chin and kissed her.

Syl leaned back against him, which was the most relaxed she had looked in years.