disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater and I'm not making any money off this
2/17/14- chapter completely re-written!
A/N: The idea for this story was inspired by my love of historical fiction and my awesome beta reader KirstyKakes!
Please enjoy and it would mean a lot if you could leave a review!
Every single thing changes and is changing always in this world. Yet with the same light the moon goes on shining. ~Saigyo
Outside, the streets echo with the sounds of clopping hooves and clattering of carriage wheels. I clutch the rim of the window to stay as steady as possible, but headache and nausea, partly from my constricting garments, and partly from motion sickness, still overcomes me.
Across from me sits my grandmother, gazing out the window with a look of utter contempt. With a back as straight and tall as an iron rod, and gloves hands folded gracefully in her lap, she is the very embodiment of a high-class woman. I try to straighten my own shoulders before she notices, but I believe it's futile as my knees keep bumping hers despite how much I try to tuck my legs.
I glance at my Papa, whom is sitting beside me. Despite being cramped together in this cabin, he appears delighted. He wears a new tuxedo and has his normally shaggy hair slicked back neatly. It's been quite some time since I have seen him so cleaned up that I am almost pleased to be his daughter.
A sway of nausea has me clinging to the window again. As for me, I am a rather plain girl with a taste for more practical things. Unfortunately, right now, my waist is unforgivingly bounded by a corset with metal ribs and weighed down with a series of hoops secured to my hips. I have the illusion of feminine curves that I have yet to develop. With layers of fabric, powdered cheeks, and hair piled high on top of my head, I feel like I have been crammed into the ideal woman; a space that's busting at the seams, with little vacancy to breathe, and especially no capacity for books.
We ride in complacent silence until we suddenly hit a fissure in the road and are jolted upward. It wasn't as bad as the one we had hit earlier, but with my Gran not as strong as she used to be, struggled to regain composure. I immediately reached out to her, and let her use my strength to push herself back into her seat. Though, instead of releasing my hands, she tightens her grip and turns my palms up.
"Maka, where are your gloves?" Her voice is thick with disdain.
I prepare myself for the worst and smile sheepishly. "Ah, I must've forgotten. I'm sorry Gran." That is if 'forgotten' meant purposely leaving the gloves behind because I couldn't stand the lack of a proper grip.
Her eyes crinkle with exasperation as she huffs heavily. "Forgotten? This is a white-glove event!" She scolds.
"Calm down Mother," Papa intervened, as he often does. "Look how you've done her all up. Look at this!" He playfully tugs at one of my ringlets. "Everyone will be so distracted by her beauty no one will notice the gloves." He smiles and winks at me, but I'm unmoved.
"Sent to a private school, top of her class," she went on, as if Papa had never spoken. "You think you're brilliant, but you're not. Irresponsible is what you are," She criticizes.
Scolding like this comes daily, so I'm not hurt by Gran's harsh words. However, I am annoyed. I bite my tongue and begin my usual string of apologies until she's satisfied and the cabin is silent again.
The moon has yet to rise, but I can already tell that it will be an awfully long evening.
We finally arrive at the town square pavilion. Papa is of course eager to mingle, and he soon blends into the crowd. Gran sits among friends and acquaintances, chattering away and fanning themselves with delicate feather-adorned fans.
Meanwhile, I idly watch as the marble hall slowly comes to life. Girls gracefully float through the doors, with bright beautiful gowns hooped out so tremendously, it made my hoops look slender and meek in comparison. Lace shawls hang carelessly from bare arms as they fan out across the hall, their masses of curls bouncing with each step. Gentlemen arrive as well, smartly dressed in dapper suits and top hats, their heads tilted back with saucy pride.
Soon the hall is brimming with light-hearted merriment and airy cries of greeting. I stand a distance from the clamoring, idly watching and examining every powdery face, searching for the ones I might recognize from class. It isn't easy, for each painted face looks identical to the last.
An echoing rap has the entire hall silenced and turning to face the platform like sheep with engrossed interest. Musicians all clad in black had assumed their stations and waited with rapt attention as the conductor stands poised with his long bow raised high. Then with a swift drop of the bow the Orchestra broke into a rendition of La Valse.
One by one, each pretty skirt was approached by a gentleman and whisked away. The dance floor is vibrant with colorful frocks; all floating, spinning, and gliding elegantly past each other. Everyone is so perfectly in-tune that it is as though they were also orchestrated.
It's impossible to catch a recognizable face now with the bustle of the dance. That is, until I spot papa with his arm around a woman I don't recognize, as he ignorantly struts right past me. He whispers something to her and smiles salaciously. She blushes shyly and giggles like a fool. I glare at them, disgusted.
"Stupid Papa," I mutter.
"Oh, Maka!" I was so distracted that I jump at the sudden, familiar voice. My head was whipping back and forth, searching for the source. "Behind you, dum dum!" the person snickers.
Spinning on my heel and nearly tangling myself in the fabrics of my dress in the process; which, could have ended in an utter disaster, I am faced with two of my closest friends.
"Kim!" I chirp with a toothy grin, "Jackie!"
The first was the very distinct Lady Kimberley Diehl. With her vivid strawberry red hair cut straight to the nap of her neck. Dressed in a plain olive green dress that lacked detailing, a corset, and even hoops had Kim sticking out like a sore thumb. And yet, she carried herself with a confident stride. I had to admit, I was envious of her boldness.
The second was the ever lovely Jacqueline Lantern Duprè. She had long brunette locks as dark as a raven's wing, that were twisted in soft ringlets. Unlike Kim, Jackie also donned a corset and hoops to create a more feminine image. Jackie was the "Belle of the Ball" type, that is, if it weren't for her sharp eyes and aloof personality that steered men clear. Only the brave dared to approach her, only to face her sharp tongue that sent them running.
I quickly skip over to them. "So, are you ready for the new term?"
Kim twisted her lips, "Really? Haven't seen you in ages, and the first thing you talk about is school,"
"Saw that one coming," Jackie finished with a cheeky smirk.
I felt my face flush. "Well, education is important!" I argued. "Fine, how was your summer?"
"There, was that so hard?" Kim teases, "But something interesting did happen while I was in London. Guess who I just happened to run into on the streets? Go on, take a guess."
Before I could try, Jackie eagerly intervenes. "Wesley Evans! She saw Wesley Evans and he invited her to the theater!"
Wesley Evans was a tutor and a prince to all the girls at our school, but more than that, he is an old friend of mine I haven't seen in years. Gossip in general doesn't appeal to me, but this time I found myself leaning more towards them in astonishment and curiosity. "Really? What did he say?"
Kim's entire demeanor changes instantly. The impish expression on her face turns soft and she smiles gently. "Well, he was in the company of his colleges, so I'm sure he did it out of courtesy." She says, her cheeks turning slightly pink, "He said he was very happy to see me again, and it would be lovely if I could see him perform in the opera."
"But alas, it never came to be!" Jackie cries theatrically, "Kimmy's boat was that very night."
"Oh, it was awful. I couldn't accept.-" Suddenly, Kim's eyes widened in horror as her face drained of color. She frantically shook Jackie's shoulder with trembling hands.
Their shared expression had my head spinning with confusion, "Wha-what? " My tongue couldn't seem to form the words.
"Sorry Maka, we have to go. See you soon!" Kim quickly waved, before both her and Jackie scooped up their skirts and disappeared into the crowd.
I'm abandoned on the middle of the floor with my bafflement. Just what scared them off?
Swallowing hard, I slowly turned myself around.
And there! Right behind me… was nothing…
I slapped a hand against my face, momentarily forgetting my manners. "You're such a child," I hissed to myself, feeling quite embarrassed. I almost laughed at myself. Fortunately, no one around was paying any mind.
All of a sudden a great big, hairless head, with black horns, and huge eyes jumped out from between the bodies of the passerby's.
I instinctively shriek and covered my face with my arms.
"Ah, what in the world," a young, and nauseatingly familiar, man's voice broke my panic.
Peaking from my arms, I quickly realize this scary, ugly hairless monster was nothing but my academic rival, Ox Ford.
I feel embarrassment slowly creeping up on my face. The crowd had paused around Ox and I, staring in shock at my outburst, and murmuring things like "Is she okay?" and "Is that not Sir Albarn's daughter?" and the most frequent "What a strange girl."
I clench my hands and kept my glowing face down. "Why would you jump out like that?" I snap.
"And why would you react like a banshee?" He retorts.
"I'm not a banshee," I muttered, but it went unheard as Ox continued.
"But if you must know, I was looking for Kimberley and I swore that I saw her in this area."
"Well, I'm afraid you will need to have your eyes checked, Ford. But seeing as how your eyes are ill, I'll explain it for you, Kim isn't around," I mock.
He pauses his search simply to glare at me from behind his thick glasses, "I assure you Albarn, I can see just fine. But thank you for your assistance."
I had assumed that was the end of it, but suddenly his hand was beneath my nose. "Albarn, would you care for a drink?" His words were pretty, but his voice was forced.
"Thank you, but I will have to decline. Perhaps later," as in never.
He sighs exasperatedly, "I insist. I must share a word with you."
I bite my lip unconsciously. I really would rather go back to the boring old salon with gran, or anywhere away from Ox, but it seemed as though he legitimately needed to talk about something quite urgent. So going against my better judgement, I agree.
He hands me a cold glass of cider and I must admit, I'm glad he's offered me a drink. It isn't proper for a lady to pour one for herself, and I was feeling quite parched. The cool liquid soothes my dry scratchy throat.
"It's about Kimberley," he answers the silent question, "I'd like to court her,"
"That's nice," I reply politely although inwardly I cringe. Kim despised Ox probably more than I do. There were many a time that he had embarrassed her by proclaiming his love rather publicly.
"However, she is a fragile creature of such refined beauty. It seems as though no matter how I approach her, I scare her away." I almost laughed. Were we thinking of the same Kim? Kim is the furthest thing from fragility and refinedness. "And so, I need your assistance."
I choked on my drink at this. I begun coughing and wheezing because my cinched waist was making the simplest things so difficult. "What!" I exclaimed once the air had reached my lungs.
"Well, ideally, I would ask Jackie, but she is rather unapproachable. And so, Albarn, you are the next candidate. I propose that we put our rivalry on hold and work together to win the heart of Kimberley Diehl," he explains, as though it were as simple as that.
I almost slap my own face, but I would really like to throw a book at his empty skull. Sucking in a breath, I politely turn to him and say, "Mister Ford, I am afraid that I have to decline for it would be a conflict of interests. However, you are the most knowledgeable of men in our school. Surely you will find a way. I wish you the best of luck." I force a smile and curtsy. I feel rather proud of myself for acting so mature, it's a shame Gran didn't see that.
"Albarn if you do not assist me than I will have no choice but to explain to your friends and your father that you are I are in courtship."
Those words, dripping with threat, froze my core. He wouldn't actually dare, would he? I turn to see the seriousness of his decree is indeed etched deep into his face.
Gone were niceties, gone was maturity, I gather my skirts and furiously close in on him. "That is Blackmail Ford and for who does such an action is considered lower than low. If you continue, I will be forced to take you out. Are you aware of the repercussions?"
"Yes-"
I cut him off.
"Because I don't believe that you are. This is a dangerous game and you are choosing a rather high-class opponent. Mark me and I will ensure that you will never be able to even have a glimpse of Kim, not even a hair on her head, for the rest of your lifetime-"
Surely I'm making a scene again. My voice is rising and people began watching, but I don't care. I'm just so furious.
"Alright, my apologies," He frowns, "I made a mistake."
"Are we clear?" I ask, letting out the steam of my wrath.
"Crystal milady." he answers rather sourly.
"Good. Enjoy your evening." I said with a turn. Polluted from his touch, I wipe my hands on my skirt. "Oh, and Ford," I call over my shoulder, "I'll think about it."
After all, I was a bit too hard on him. That, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stand his sulking.
The ball had reached it's peak and all were gathering themselves on the dance floor with a partner for the Irish Polka. Squeals of glee came from girls who were eager to move themselves and twirl about, showing off their youth and suppleness. Men were also thrilled for the chance to come into contact with the damsel they so admired.
Unlike most, I do not find dancing very fun. It's too tedious and exacting to be enjoyable. So I cling back and observe the excitement from afar. The women skip and shuffle as the men wrap their arms around their waists, and guide them in a circulating movement across the floor.
The atmosphere of the ball evolves from prim and proper to loud and upbeat. Besides noticing papa with another unknown woman, I catch glimpses of classmates and acquaintances who seem to be enjoying themselves. I even see Kim and Jackie, who were audacious enough to be twirling around with each other. As various other couples happily prance around to the rhythm of the folk dance, my eyes fall onto a fair-haired stranger across the hall, leaning against the wall in a similar manner as I.
At first I think nothing of it, but as his eyes suddenly dart back at mine, he begins to look oddly familiar. Strangely, it isn't until I begin to approach him that he scurries out of the hall and into the night.
Even though he exited the building in such a frantic manner, I find him simply sitting atop the front stoop of the pavilion, taking a puff of a cigarette.
He feels my presence but doesn't bother to turn his head. "Sorry miss, I do not like dancing very much." He says flatly.
Even in the dim glow of the street lamps, I can see the color of his hair is pure-white.
I ignore his previous statement. "Pardon me," I ask, "but are you an Evans?"
He exhales a long, black cloud of smoke and turns his head slightly. "Yes. Solomon Evans."
Truthfully, he looks like he wants to be left alone, but curiosity eats away at me. "I'm Maka Albarn."
He stands up suddenly. Was it my name that has gotten his attention? As he faces me, I outline the features of his face. His irises are a deep crimson hue, as if all the color were sucked out of his hair and injected into his eyes. As unique as these qualities are, there is one other person I know who looks exactly like this.
"Albarn, is it? I've heard much about your old man." He grins devilishly, as if he were the only one in all of Death City who knew of my father's antics.
"Yes, I'm sure." I reply coolly. "If you don't mind my asking, are you Wesley's brother?" He has to be. He looks so much like him, I'd think he were his clone if he weren't his sibling.
Without consideration, he takes another puff, then answers simply, "Yes, that's correct."
In appearance, he could pass for his brother's twin. In demeanor, the two couldn't be more different. Wesley is kind, friendly, and as mannerly as any well-bred gentleman can be. Solomon seems aloof and uncaring. In fact, he doesn't seem to mind that his smoking is obviously irritating me. So much so, that I have to cover my mouth and cough.
I quickly regain composure. "I see. Well, if you hear from him, please tell him I said hello." I gather my skirts and prepare to head back inside.
"What is your relationship to my brother, if I may ask?" He asks rashly, sounding curious, more than anything.
I pause. "He used to tutor me when I was young. I haven't seen him in ages."
"Ah. Well, he's in London right now."
"I've heard."
"I think he'll be visiting for Christmas."
That I haven't heard. I find it difficult to contain my elation. "Really? That's wonderful to hear."
The nonchalant expression on his face is suddenly wiped away. His dark eyes glint with amusement.
"You are very fond of him, aren't you?"
My cheeks burn up again for the umpteenth time this evening. "Of course- He taught me well. He was a good tutor."
He chuckles. "Yes, it seems that way. Are you one of his academy girls?"
I fight the urge to raise my voice and say many nasty things a lady should never say. He is, after all, an Evans. But still, what a vile inconsiderate varmint of a man!
Before I can think of a more proper way to retort, he reaches into his jacket for a simple pocket watch on a silver chain. "The band will be taking a recess shortly. Perfect time to make an appearance and avoid dancing."
With that, he now turns and heads for the door. For the second time this evening, I have the urge to sling an encyclopedia at someone's crown. If there was one in sight, I'm sure I would have done it.
"I suppose that means you are no good at dancing." I suddenly snap. "Well good luck with that."
He grins toothily, and crushes his cigarette under his boot, swinging the heavy door open to the entrance. "Lovely to meet you, Miss Albarn." Then he disappears into the hall.
I'm absolutely appalled. How can someone like him be an Evans? Or so closely related to Wesley for that matter?
With my corset biting my ribs and my heels gnawing at my achilles tendon, I'm too distressed to hurry back. I settle myself on the top of the stoop and fold my hoops down. Why does it seem like I'm faced with trouble every where I turn? Maybe it's embedded in my nature. After all, I am my father's daughter.
For the remainder of the evening, I do my best to act calm and reserved, until I can go home and kick off these dratted shoes and hurl this corset far into the depths of my closet.
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