Dear reader, yes, I have written another fic with my ever faithful coauthor. We sincerely hope that you enjoy our story :) I don't believe we will be involving our OC's into romantic relationships with the canon characters. At least not seriously ;) Review please!
Chapter One: An Archer and Her Bow
Long jaws with razor sharp teeth snapped several times. If it hadn't been for my quick gymnastics, I would have easily lost a foot. This kishin was definitely not what I had been expecting. Death had said it was a fire breathing kishin; Fletch and I expected it to be a carnie gone bad. But it was a dragon. A goddamn dragon. Turns out a firebreathing street performer was the one who went bad.
The dragon's scales were a stunning shade of blue, that sparkled in the street lamps of Death City. But there was no time to be admiring the beauty of the monster before me. Despite how glamorous the scales were, the kishin's eyes were empty black with the ever familiar red iris. The dragon reared his head back, giving a snort. It roared and rushed at me again. Like a batter at the last inning of a game, I swung my Welsh Longbow partner, Fletch. He hit the side of the dragon's massive skull, which stunned the beast and gave me enough time to put some space between us.
"What was that for?" Fletcher cried in his Welsh accent. "Bloody hurt..."
"Sorry Fletch," I uttered, as I scaled a short wall to climb onto a building. "I needed a distraction."
"And you picked me? Bloody Hell, girl, I think I'm cracked. Couldn't you have taken a shot?"
"Stop your whining, he was too close. You know an arrow would have just glanced off those scales. The further we get away, the more of our soul wavelength we can put into the arrow."
"Ooooohhh..."
Looking over my shoulder, I noticed we were far enough away. Reaching back to my empty quiver, I waited for an arrow to appear in my fingertips. The soul wavelengths that belonged to Fletch and I began to sync and there was soon an arrow in my hand, being drawn back and aimed at the dragon. He had taken flight and was nearing us.
"Ready, Fletch?" I asked, slowly raising the bow to aim properly.
From my peripheral, I saw a glint in the bow, Fletcher's grinning profile in the gleam. "We're a pair, you and me; let's go."
As I released the arrow, I felt a cool rush of air as the wavelength boosted the speed. There was a warmth in my limbs when the arrow pierced the heart of the beast. It produced a blood curdling screech as it faltered in the sky and then began to fall. As the beast fell, it's body dissintegrated, leaving behind the red soul of a kishin. Slowly, it fell into the palm of Fletcher's hand which protruded from the bow. His hand fed it to his mouth which had arrived on the bow.
"Mmn, quite delicious I must say," Fletcher purred, his hand retracting to the bow. He licked his lips which also disappeared into the bow.
"You're welcome," I sighed, slinging him over me, the string and bow pressed slightly into me. "Shall we call Death?"
"It's late," My weapon complained. "Can we just go home, Arya?"
"You know he's going to be cross with us if we don't." I reminded him as I decended the roof of a business and returned to the street.
Fletcher scoffed. "Call Spirit, then."
"No," I shook my head as I drew 42-42-564 on a window to call Death. "You know he's probably at some sleazy gentlemen's club."
"What's that about gentlemen's clubs?" The high pitched, goofy voice of Death spoke.
I jumped a bit; I hadn't really been expecting Death to answer quickly. "Oh, Fletch and I were talking about Spirit," That made Death chuckle a bit and then sigh as if the private life of his Death Sythe exhausted even him. "Anyway, we just collected soul number eighty-nine."
"Oh! Congratulations! You and Fletcher are certainly on your way to success!" Death cheered, clapping his blockish hands together. "Now that you've gotten to such a high number, I'm having a hard time finding kishins that'll give you two a real challenge. So, I've decided to pair you with another team."
"Another team?" I asked skeptically. "But if you're finding it hard to get us challenging souls, then why are we joining another team?"
"Because I've found a kishin with ten souls..." Death trailed off. I could feel Fletch drooling on my shoulder at the prospect of aquiring ten souls. "But it's not as it seems. He has one soul and is in the possession of nine others."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you mean he's stolen - er, I guess killed - nine kishin souls?" I held my chin with my forefinger and thumb.
"Absolutely correct!" Death cheered again. "Spirit, Doctor Stein, Sid, and myself have agreed it wouldn't be fair to allow one team to collect all ten souls. You two and another team are going to split the souls evenly. So, go home, get some sleep and come to school to meet your new team members!"
I was about to protest to the prospect of working with someone I wasn't used to working with. "He hung up on me."
"Well, let's do what he said," Fletcher, still as his second form, floated from my shoulders and transformed into his normal self. He was tall and lanky with ink black hair and eyes to match. His skin, however, was no where near as dark as his other features. In fact, if he lost anymore color, he could easily be confused for a ghost. "I mean, he is Death, after all. Let's go home, Pinky. I'm tired."
I screwed up my face as he called me Pinky. Just 'cause I chose to color my hair pink he had given me names like Cotton Candy and Pinky. Out of those two, I preferred Pinky. Rolling my soft brown eyes, I allowed Fletcher to put and arm around my shoulders as we walked home.
Now, when I say Fletch was tall, I meant it. His full height of six feet five inches translated to his second form. At first, it had been difficult for me to fight properly with him; I was five foot nine and should have been using a shorter bow. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I liked to think myself as a better shot than Death the Kid.
The streets were empty as he and I walked home. It was slightly eerie, and I couldn't help but think paraniod things. That shadow looked like a creeper hiding behind some empty wine casks. That tree looked like a ghoul from a distance. However, Fletcher's nonchalant attitude put me at ease. At a quarter to three in the morning, we acended the stairs to the apartment we shared. I was fortunate enough to come from a wealthy family who paid the bills for Fletch and I while we were still at DWMA.
As I yanked my boots off, followed by my clothes which were soon replaced by pajamas, I wondered what was going to happen to me after Fletch became a Death Sythe. Was I going to become another burnt out teacher who only partnered with a weapon when Death called for it? Or was I going to open that restaruant I always dreamed of? Perhaps my father was going to make me take over the family business. That made me shudder.
Not bothering to brush my teeth, I climbed into bed, curling into the fluffy comforter. It had been a long night and the adrenaline was still coursing through my veins. However, as Fletch crawled into the bed, even though he had his own, the hormone went away and I was able to relax. With the comfort of my partner next to me, I found myself soon falling asleep.
I woke up later that day, the clock said two twenty-four pm, to the sun flooding in through my curtains. Fletcher laid spread eagle on my bed, which had left me little room, a stream of drool ran down the side of his mouth. With a small chuckle, I crawled out of bed and went to the one bathroom we had to clean up. I leaned into the mirror, looking for any blemishes. Once I was satisfied with my discovery of none, I teased my hair a little. It had been pink for a few months, more like six, and I was bored of it. Maybe I would go back to it's natural brown? I wasn't quite sure yet.
Once I got out of the shower, and brushed my teeth, I went to my room to dress. Fletch wasn't there anymore, probably in the kitchen eating his cereal and watching tv, so I was able to take my time dressing. I picked a black tube top which showed off my streamlined body. I finished off the outfit with a white lace cardigan, skin tight pleather pants, and flats. The whole outfit was straight out of the eighties, most of my outfits were. Fletch loved teasing me about it, but I got him back with his seventies Mod wardrobe; longsleeved button up shirts, leather jackets, skinny jeans, trench coats, and his fancy suits with pants that were hemmed just above his ankles.
Neither of us really cared how late we were. There hadn't been any classes scheduled for our level; we should have been at home, still sitting on the couch in our pj's. I'm sure Fletch was just fine with going to the school. Anything to get out of painting my toes. The time was three twenty-one when we arrived. The other students had just gotten out of class and had gathered outside the school, making plans for later that night.
Fletcher deliberately made us pass a certain group of meisters and weapons. In the group was four girls and three boys. Two of the three boys, had a hard on for every meister or weapon that were more experianced than them. I had even seen them bothering a weapon with spikey blood red hair once, asking for advice.
"They are so cool," The white haired boy of the group spoke. His meister folded her arms and glared at him. With a snort, I gave Fletcher a small shove.
"Was that necessary?" I asked, facing him when we got to the door to the Death Room.
"Absolutely, darlin'," he cooed, bending to look me in the eye, sticking his hands in his pockets. His face was breaths away; a normal person would have used this opportunity to steal a kiss. I stuck my tounge out at the weapon.
As we entered the Death Room, walking down the long corridor to the platform where Death usually stood, Fletcher whistled a tune. I wondered if it was something from his homeland, the Welsh Isles, or something he had just come up with in his head. Knowing Fletch, he had probably made it up. As we neared Death, I noticed the familiar violet hair of one of my toughest rivals at DWMA.
"Oh no," I groaned. "Not her..."
