Title: Isolation
Rating: T for language
Pairing: None, unless you squint funny and tilt your head a little to make it happen
Parts 1 of 4
A/N: I don't own SoulEater, or much of anything at this point.
It was cute, the way his reaper cloak tattered and waved as he shook with anger. The bone mask covering dark hair with three half rings of white and hiding golden eyes behind dark pits was a fearsome representation of the classical death god: black cloak, bone face, no mercy.
Standing on the dock, a perfectly symmetrical figure, Death the Kid was almost frightening.
He had no weapon in hand, but it would have taken sheer insanity itself to provoke someone into approaching him. His eyes were on the distant lands masses, searching for individuals beyond his godly sight. Individuals he couldn't throttle, because they were too far to reach.
Not only did his cloak tremble with his rage, but also, his black gloved hands balled into tight fists, and his eyes narrowed. He'd never really taken after his father, being much too fair and delicate, but in that moment the resemblance was undeniable.
"Damn it!" he yelled, the words echoing over the empty expanses of water. More quietly, he added, to himself, "I can't believe they'd just leave me."
He faced away from his two weapons: a taller dishwater blond and her shorter, blonder sister. The Thompson sisters, a pair of perfectly symmetrical guns, suited to the quirky child of Death. With his back turned, he missed their perfectly identical expression of concern.
And then he turned, himself, stalking back towards his two weapons, his anger sweeping around him in a fierce breeze.
"Liz, Patty," he snapped, to the Thompson sisters, "weapon form." The two girls mutated into guns, and after he conjured transportation in the form of a much-loved skateboard, they were off, speeding over land in pursuit of four individuals that would likely fail to appreciate the rescue. "There is no time to alert father, and I don't wish to alarm you," he told the girls, "but we're going after them."
"Right!" The girls agreed, as enthusiastic as he was to keep what friends they'd managed to make.
For a moment, twin guns in hand, flying through the air, his black cloak rippling behind him, Death the Kid forgot that he was a Reaper. That he had important business to take care of. Things only a god like him could do.
Just then, it didn't matter to him any more than the fact that he only had one heart, and was therefore internally asymmetrical.
The weapon Mesiter, Maka, and her scythe partner, Soul, the insanely enthusiastic assassin Black*Star and his patient yet versatile weapon Tsubaki, they were his friends.
They'd gone away, far beyond his reach, and left him behind, and even if he was a god, he couldn't lose them. Even as a death god, as the future ruler of Death City should his father ever abandon post or lose it, he didn't have enough friends that he could let them go on a suicide mission alone. Not without bringing him along, at least.
And if he was completely honest with himself – more honest than he ever wanted to be, even at his most pathetic moments of depressive moping – besides the Thompson sisters, they were his only friends. The only friends he was likely to ever have.
Though they'd never talked about it, though they'd never really even hinted at it, Death the Kid was pretty sure there was something fundamentally flawed about his companions, that he would accept someone as weak, as unworthy, and as asymmetrical as he was.
So suicide mission or not, he could hardly let them go alone.