Author's Note: Just a little ficlet to get my creative ass back into gear. I recently got into this series and I LOVE IT!

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater.

Originality
by MintPizzaQueen

Maka could hear the radio in Soul's room. It's loud, much louder than the level that he normally has it set at, which means one of two things:

The first being that he's trying to get his creative juices going again.

The second being that he's seriously pissed off.

Considering how he nearly ripped the door off its hinges when they got home after school that day, Maka could only conclude that he was seriously pissed off at something (or someone). She had an idea of who had caused this recent disturbance in his calm demeanor, and she wasn't proud to admit that she actually had a role in it.

Okay, now that she thought about it, maybe it was entirely her fault.

It was also kind of his fault for taking it the wrong way.

But it was her fault for even thinking about it in the first place.

"I wonder if Lord Death would let me take Papa on my next mission."

The look on Soul's face was priceless. One minute he had been calmly drinking his milk, and when the words registered in his brain, he suddenly spat it across the table and dropped the small carton onto the floor.

Even the others seemed surprised at her sudden statement.

"What do you mean, Maka?"

"I wonder if he'll let me borrow him so I know what it's like to wield a real scythe."

Suddenly all eyes were riveted to Soul. Red eyes were wide, and his mouth was agape.

Maka suddenly realized her mistake when a dark aura started to seep from his body. "Wait! That's not what I meant!"

Soul didn't even say anything. He pushed himself away from the table and stood. "Whatever."

"I meant as in a real death scythe!"

His eyes flashed. "If you wanted a real scythe, go to a lawn and garden store and buy a goddamn scythe! That's as real as it's gonna get!"

"Soul!"

He grabbed his backpack and left the cafeteria in a huff, not even turning back to look at her.

Black Star looked stunned. "Woah, he's pissed."

"You think?"

"The fact that you even considered wielding your father instead of Soul—that astounds me." Kid blinked slowly at her as if trying to come up with a logical conclusion for her temporary bout of insanity. "I thought you hated him..."

"Oh I do, but seeing as how my Mama made him into a death scythe, I was just curious what it was like to wield something like him." She sighed, bowing her head in shame. "I screwed up."

Tsubaki, ever reliant Tsubaki, placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "Just apologize to him Maka, and explain it a little bit better than the first time. He will understand."

Oh how she tried, but whenever she managed to get him away from prying ears, he took off like a goddamn hot-rod and left her in the dust. She could understand that a blunt statement like that would bring about some hurt, but not to this extent.

He ignored her through the rest of the day, and as soon classes ended, he was already gone.

He hadn't even waited up for her to walk her home.

Instead Liz and Patty walked her home with some encouraging words.

"Corner him."

"Lock him in a closet!"

"Explain what you meant earlier."

"Maybe tie him up before you throw him in there...?"

"And apologize."

"Bash him with a book!"

As tempting as it was to inflict harm on his cranium to get him to listen, she considered that she had done enough harm for the day.

It was time to make amends.

She knocked on the door loudly, hoping that he could hear her over the sounds of the music that blasted in his room. It wasn't hard core rock music or anything, it was jazz.

But the saxophone played loud enough to be somewhat of a problem for her.

"Soul!" She knocked again. "Soul! I need to talk to you!"

A moment passed before the handle turned and a red eye peeked through the crack. "What do you want?"

She bowed her head and twisted the hem of her skirt in shaking hands. "Soul, what I said earlier—I didn't mean it."

"Really."

She frowned. "Soul it—it came out wrong. I just—I wanted to know what it was like to work with something that my mother created. I wanted to know what it was like for her."

He stared at her unblinkingly before sighing. "What a drag." Quietly, he threw the door open for her and marched to the radio. He turned it off before sitting on the bed.

"Soul, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it the way I did."

He leaned back lazily and stared at her. He didn't say anything so she plowed on.

"You know I would never say that Papa is better than you, because he isn't!" She brought her face up with determination written all over it. "You're not even a death scythe yet and you're better than him! So much better!"

"Are you sucking up to me now?" His bored voice was laced with teasing tones and his mouth twitched in the corner as if fighting back against a smile.

She blushed faintly. "A little."

He suddenly laughed. He threw his head back and let the sound resonate through the room, a hand clenched at his chest. "Heh, it's official. You're the craziest partner ever!" He grinned at her. "Maka, it's cool to want to walk in your mom's footsteps. It's not cool to do it literally."

"Literally?"

"It's better to be like your mom by making your own version. It may not be as cool for you, but in the end, it's your own stuff. You can say, 'Hey, I did that. I'm the proud meister that made that death scythe', or whatever." He stretched on the comforter and cradled the back of his head in his laced fingers. "Besides, your dad may be a death scythe, but he's lame."

Maka giggled. Relief filled her to the brim when she realized that he had forgiven her.

He was much too good for her.

"Basically, you're saying that I better hurry up and make you a death scythe, huh?" She smiled.

He laughed. "Well, something like that." He rapped a knuckle against his head gently and grinned at her. "I'll be the coolest death scythe ever. Just watch."