Ramble Story
Color
A/N: Typed quickly, read hastily, posted humbly.
It wasn't like it was a date or anything.
Soul shifted uncomfortably in his seat anyways as the silence rolled above them in an invisible cloud of awkwardness. Maka, on the other hand, looked anything but self-conscious, and absently traced the rim of her glass with meticulous precision.
It usually wasn't hard to accept the fact Maka and Soul were Level 0 when it came to social skills, what with Maka's curt behavior and Soul's edgy demeanor. Then again, they didn't usually attend these restaurants with menus that had no prices next to the food listings.
Soul supposed, in Death Scythe's own pathetically flamboyant way, the red-headed moron was trying to make up for missing Maka's birthday; which she vehemently claimed wasn't a big deal, and which he ostentatiously broke down in to loud sobs which turned several disturbed heads.
So when Death Scythe invited the two to "Merde Luxueuse" (1), Soul nearly gagged on his wonderful, ass-kicking bendy straw at the local fast-food place. That was yesterday morning. And it took several knots, choking, fights, and Maka Chops to squeeze Soul in to a black suit and tie the next day.
Maka could clean up well, Soul had to admit from his peripheral while he pretended to be deeply fascinated by the elaborate chandeliers above. She wore a silk emerald green dress with black flora lace, the combination very elegant and mature (as apposed to the usual, school-girl get-up).
He can tell she's already kicked off the ridiculous stilettos Blaire had squeezed on to her feet. She also seemed to be feeling the awkward cloud descend up on their candle-lit table like a fog as she was suddenly very interested in the conversation behind her.
Honestly, it wasn't his fault Death Scythe had to run off to god knows where, doing who knew what, while leaving a shiny black credit card in his wake that seemed to drill holes in Soul's crummy wallet hidden in his pocket.
There was an abrupt splash of liquid along with a slap and Soul watched in confusion en-laced with amusement as a brunette with too many diamonds to be considered human turned back to the table she sat at to spit venomously, "And my favorite color is purple! Asshole..."
Soul watched the stranger storm out before turning to the table Maka had been eavesdropping on to see a man soaked in red wine (sucker), clearly astounded, with a velvet box hastily tucked back in to his breast pocket. Huh...hopefully Maka wouldn't get any ideas-
"Hey, Soul?"
Aw, shit.
"...Yeah?"
"What's my favorite color?"
Fuck-
"Uuuhh..." Oh crap, oh crap. The dreaded color question that girls seemed to think to be direly important in a relationship ("What relationship!"). What was she wearing? Green!
"Gr-"
No wait... she always wears that yellow vest, and she likes ducks-which are yellow!
"Yel-"
But then again...black coat, black boots, she's wearing black-...whatever the fuck that's called, right now-uh, uh uh!
"-ack." he finished lamely.
She blinked once owlishly before giving him a look that clearly questioned his vocabularic sanity.
"Grelack?" she repeated slowly.
He gulped, racking his mind for the answer. Coming up with absolute squat, he waited for some sort of divine punishment that came in the form of a Maka Chop that involved broken glass and possibly a stiletto heel.
Maka sighed in disappointment and picked up her glass to sip the contents, Soul flinched in preparation for the onslaught.
"It's red."
"Huh?"
She stared directly in to his eyes then, as if confirming something. He understood why before the words were out of her mouth.
"My favorite color is red."
He pretends the flush on his cheeks was due to the wine and grabbed a bread stick from the basket. She follows suit, and while she butters the end he mumbles something.
"Sorry?"
"My favorite color is green...just so you know." he shoots her a look that she inwardly grins at, and they eat their bread sticks while pondering the foreign names on the menu for any sort of idea of what they would be eating that night.
"Hmm... I like hamburgers." she said suddenly. He peered at her over his menu, carefully restraining the hopeful glee building up in his chest.
"...I like hamburgers too."
"Let's get some." she quipped quickly while jumping out of her chair.
Soul made sure to pocket the black credit card from daddy-wonder while following her lithe-skip out of the hell-for-wealthy-people.
"How much do you think is in that credit card anyways?" Maka asked as they were met with the chilly night air.
Soul already has her jacket out before she could even shiver, "I'd say enough for a 100 hamburgers."
"...Should I call Black Star?"
"I said a hundred, not a million."
+(1) Merde Luxueuse- French for "Fancy Shit"
+Credit to "Stomp the Yard", because I am in love with dancing while making weird faces.
+Time took to write...about 20 minutes.