So recently I began reading a webcomic called "Lackadaisy". It's basically bootlegger kitty cats during Prohibition. If you don't know what those things are… pay attention in history class! Needless to say, it gave me a great idea for a story.

Ah, the Roarin' Twenties. Truly a strange time to be alive.

On one end, the States are finally out of the war in Europe. Women have the right to vote in national elections. There's more money than ever, and people are freer. Happier. Bigger spenders. Ladies are wearing their hair bobbed and shorter dresses. People smoke in public. There's new ideas about politics and education and sex. It's great!

But on the other end… oh, boy.

See, there's this thing called the Stock Market, and that's where almost all the money is coming from. People buy things on credit with the money they'll earn from stocks. That's not good, because it's an IOU. The money's not actually being paid, and the money owed is stacking up higher and higher. The higher it gets, the harder it crashes, and that crash will hit in an instant, causing a depression. But not just any depression—the Great Depression.

But enough about a worldwide catastrophe that won't happen to the U. S. for another six years! Let's talk alcohol, because the twenties were also the era of Prohibition: the total ban of the buying, brewing, and selling of alcohol. Thanks, Congress. Anyway, because this is America, nobody's gonna give it up, so what do we do as Americans? We sell it underground. This is where we get bootleggers and speakeasies and mobsters and anything else you probably read in The Great Gatsby.

That's what this story's actually about, not a history lesson for you kids failing. Let's get started before I start rambling.

Our story begins in a town called Death City, in the year 1923.

Despite its name, it's a great little town. Full of things to see and people to do. Or did I get that wrong? Oh, well.

Like most cities, Death City is dry, meaning there's no alcohol legally obtainable. But like most cities, it's got an underground network to distribute, speakeasies to sell it in, and desperate people to buy it.

The biggest speakeasy in the city is run under a little place called Crescent Moon Café. And who runs the speakeasy, you may ask?

Spirit 'Death-Scythe' Albarn, the biggest mob boss in the city.

Spirit is an… interesting guy. He's been married and divorced, has a daughter who hates his guts, womanizes the hell out of almost every single gal in the city, and runs his gang with an iron fist. What he says goes, and if you try to say different, you'll go… right into the river wearing cement shoes. He doesn't fuck around, and neither do his cronies. Especially if you try something with his baby girl. Then you end up wearing cement shoes in the river with a bullet in your brain and broken bones.

Anyway, our story is actually about one of his cronies: a runner by the name of Soul 'Eater' Evans. Cool guy who plays jazz for the speakeasy when he's not tracking down whiskey. He's not as into the ladies as his boss is, making him that much more desirable. He only got his job through a friend, though. His friend's name is Black*Star.

Shall we find out what happened that year? How Soul found true love for the first and last time and almost lost her? How Spirit learned to earn his daughter's love? And just how terrifying can the police be?

Let's go, guys and dolls…

"And then Spirit says he'll put a bullet between his eyes and yank off his dick if he so much as looks at his daughter again!" Black*Star finished, cackling. "I'm tellin' ya, Soul, this is a great job!"

"I know," Soul replied, leaning on the window. "It's just… I hate the boss sometimes."

"He was a lot more mellow before the divorce, even if he was between a whore's legs every night behind his wife's back."

"See, I'm not like that."

"And maybe you need to be like that."

"I want one girl. All I need is one. And she won't screw around behind my back."

"Good luck finding on—oof!"

The car came to a sudden stop as Black*Star slammed on the brakes in front of a house.

"Here we are, my friend!"

"What's here?"

"The alcohol we're getting!"

"Great."

"Here. Take this!" He handed Soul a gun. "We're not exactly paying for this stuff… so if you see trouble, just cover my ass!"

"We're going to get killed."

They made their way through to the cellar where their 'purchase' was stored. Black*Star got to work cracking the lock while Soul kept an eye out for 'trouble'—namely, the owners of the property. The lock broke and Black*Star started loading the liquor in the car. Unfortunately, the car exploded into flames as a Molotov cocktail landed in the backseat. Soul stumbled backward as a pair of guys came up carrying shotguns.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" the bigger of the pair snarled.

"Uh-oh…" Black*Star murmured, dropping the booze. "RUN!"

He and Soul hightailed it out of there as fast as they could, but the owners of what they'd just tried to steal got into their car and started chasing the two. Logically, Soul and Black*Star made a lot of noise in their getaway and woke up a person sleeping in a nearby house—a girl by the name of Maka who also happened to be the precious baby girl of their boss. Of course, she was annoyed by all the noise and sat up in bed.

"Motherfuckers…" she grumbled, looking out the window. She recognized Black*Star's voice, naturally, and knew that her childhood buddy had once again gotten himself into huge trouble and she needed to once again bail him out. She left the house and got into her car, which just so happened to be a former police cruiser that she'd bought recently with her father's money.

Of course, nobody else involved in the chase knew this, so they were still running. Black*Star tripped in the cornfield and ended up with a spike through his forehead. Soul barely managed to drag his unconscious form to the edge. A shotgun was pointed in his face.

"End of the line, shark boy," the owner of the gun growled.

Suddenly, they could hear the wail of a siren. A police cruiser was making its way towards them. The two terrified shotgun-toting guys got back in their car and peeled out of there, leaving Soul to deal with the cops and a severely-injured Black*Star.

"How bad is he?" a girl's voice asked. Soul looked up to see an incredibly beautiful girl in her nightgown standing over him.

"Pretty bad," he replied.

"Get him in the car." She jabbed her thumb towards the cruiser and Soul suddenly realized she'd just saved their asses.

"Who—"

"Get. Him. In. The. Car."

Soul managed to get Black*Star into the backseat, where the mystery girl grabbed some rags and pressed them to the wound.

"Drive to the green house," she instructed. "I can stitch him up there."

Soul followed her instructions and helped her get Black*Star in the house, where she got a needle and thread and began sewing up the wound. He quietly sat next to her until she was finished; at that point, Black*Star woke up and looked at his 'nurse'.

"Hey, Tiny Tits," he coughed.

"Lay down," she snapped. "You took a bad fall out there."

"The booze?"

"Gone, along with our way of getting back to Crescent Moon," Soul told him mournfully. "And our pay."

"You work at Crescent Moon?" the girl inquired.

"'Course he does!" Black*Star chuckled.

"Well, that explains what you were doing out here. You were stealing booze."

"Wait, how do you know about the… you know?" Soul asked, confused. Instead of answering, Black*Star passed out again.

"I'm Maka," the girl sighed. "I've known Black*Star since we were toddlers, and he's always been making stupid decisions like stealing from a couple of trigger-happy farmer boys."

"I'm Soul." He stuck out his hand and she shook it, both of them marveling at the contact. It felt… natural. Like they'd always been meant to touch each other.

Maka pulled away first, going over to the phone and dialing the number for Crescent Moon Café. Soul kept an eye on Black*Star while she did so.

"…hey, Stein?" she said. "Yeah, it's Maka. I'm bringing back Soul and Black*Star. See you."

She hung up and turned to Soul.

"Help me get him in the car after I get dressed."

Once she came back out in a knee-length, emerald-colored dress, she and Soul began working together, somehow managing to get Black*Star into the backseat. Maka started up the car and headed in the right direction with Soul in the passenger seat.

"So, uh, Maka," Soul began, clearing his throat as she drove. "How do you know about the speakeasy?"

"Simple. My dad's your boss."

"Wait, you're Spirit's 'precious baby angel'?!"

"Ugh. Those stupid pet names… I hate it when he says shit like that. It's demeaning and he's just trying to worm his way back into my good graces."

"How long has he been out of them?"

"Eight years. Ever since he and my mother split."

"Damn. You'd think the geezer would take a hint!"

"He won't because I'm all he has in terms of family. Like it or not, he's my dad. I don't get a choice, so I tolerate him the best I can."

"Where's your ma?"

"She took off after the divorce. I haven't heard from her since, unless it's a crappy-ass postcard from some exotic locale that I'll never see in a million years."

"Jesus, that sucks."

"I know."

Within half-an-hour, Maka parked in front of the service entrance to Crescent Moon. Stein was waiting outside, along with the Thompson sisters and Black*Star's girl, Tsubaki.

"Thanks, Maka," Stein told the petite girl.

"You're welcome, Uncle Stein," she replied. "He decided to rob the Johnson brothers of their stash of 'medicine' and ended up with a spike through his head."

"Tsubaki, take your idiot boyfriend downstairs." The tall girl nodded and she and the Thompsons lugged the unconscious lunkhead down to the speakeasy. "Now, Maka, what are you going to do?"

"Stay here and make sure my oldest friend is okay. What else would I do?"

"But your father—"

"Screw him."

"Noted. Soul, what about you?"

"Eh. I've got my music, so let me get to the legal part of my job."

"Go ahead."

Down in the bar, Soul changed into his pinstripe suit and set up at the piano once patrons trickled in. Maka sat at the bar, waiting for news about Black*Star while listening to Soul play. It made her heart beat faster and she forgot why she was there in the first place. His music was dark jazz, perfect for the day and age in which they lived, and it spoke to her soul. Probably because he was playing from his soul. It was beautiful and made her drift away to a place where she wasn't holed up in her father's bar waiting to hear whether or not her impromptu surgery on her childhood best friend actually helped save his life.

That was shattered by her father's arrival.

Spirit waltzed in with his lady toy, Blair, who was clinging to him with a false laugh. Her eyes landed on Maka at the same moment Spirit's did, and the red-headed man responded accordingly to his 'angel' being in a bar.

"Maka, what on Earth are you doing here?" he asked, grinding his teeth so he wouldn't scare off his customers.

"Two of your runners had a… incident near the house. I did the responsible thing and brought them back."

"Which two?"

"Black*Star and Soul."

"Did either of them—"

"Papa…" she said, her voice having a warning tone to it.

"Oh, fine. Have you met Blair?"

"Yes, Papa. I met her last week when you brought her to the house."

"Right… well, be careful going home! Do you want me to drive—"

"I drive a police cruiser, Papa. I think I'll be fine."

Spirit and Blair headed behind the bar, where they disappeared into one of the back rooms. Maka sighed and lost herself in Soul's music once again.

"Hey, Maka?"

She looked up to see Soul standing nearby.

"So, um, since my car is toast, would you mind driving me home?" he asked.

"Normally, that's the man's job," she teased.

"This hasn't exactly been a normal night. I've been almost blown up, shot, and run over with a police car."

"I wasn't going to run you over!"

"Still, can you drive me home or not?"

"Sure."

Once they were both situated, Soul gave Maka his address and she headed off in the right direction.

"I liked the songs you played," Maka commented as they sped along. "Who wrote them?"

"Um… I did," Soul replied.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It seems like I can never get anybody outside the bar to like my music. That's why I play in a bar, I guess."

"You really hate Crescent Moon, don't you?"

"Nah. It's a good job. There's friends, great pay, and booze. Plus, I get to meet sexy ladies like you."

"Ah, yes, flattery will get you so far with me."

"I'm being honest. How many girls would go after two shotgun-wielding farm boys unarmed in an old police cruiser to save two bootleggers?"

"True… plus, I guess you are slightly attractive… and talented with your fingers."

"Innuendo, too? You are definitely not a product of the old days."

"Never was." She brought the car to a stop outside Soul's apartment. "We're here."

"Thanks, Maka. Say, what would you say to having lunch with me at Deathbucks tomorrow?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Whether or not you'll kiss me goodbye."

"Oh, hell yes." He leaned in and gave her a gentle, chaste kiss on the lips. She returned the action with a smile. When they finally broke apart, Soul smirked and got out of the car.

"When do you want to meet up?" she asked.

"Say, noon?"

"Sounds good. I've gotta get home before Papa does, so I'll see you then, Soul."

Soul was grinning like an idiot as he went up the stairs to his and Black*Star's place. Tsubaki was on the couch, keeping watch over her lover's unconscious form.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I… kissed Maka…" Soul answered sheepishly.

"Oh, how adorable! You know, Maka's never really been in a relationship before…"

"I can't imagine why. Night, Tsubaki."

"Night, Soul!"

And the sun rose just as Soul drifted off to sleep.

How's that for a first chapter?!

I know Soul and Maka's relationship moves kinda fast, but I don't really care. It's the twenties; everything moved fast.

I actually wrote this due to the lack of stories like it for Soul Eater. Next time, we'll go to Deathbucks and meet Kid. And the Soul Eater NOT! gang. Don't judge me for actually liking the spinoff!

So long and thanks for all the fish!