Down on your Spirits; A Damaged Soul?
Chapter 1
It was supposed to be a cool morning at the Albarn/Eater residence. The smell of French toast slithered throughout the apartment. The alarm clock's screech filled Soul's room causing him to roll over and smash the noisy device.
"Shit… Guess I need to buy another one." Soul complained, irritated.
Just like every morning, a small knock sounds almost immediately after the rude alarm.
"Soul, get up. Breakfast is ready." Maka chimed.
Soul groaned, his body ached from the mission they completed the day before. He was quite pleased and slightly surprised that Blair was not shoving her breasts in his face.
'So far, so good. Maybe today will be a cool day.' Soul's thoughts danced.
Soul dressed himself and finished off his outfit with his new favorited black headband. He then joined his meister at the table. His plate was all set up for him. Golden, cinnamon swirls of goodness glistened in his sight. He noticed he was drooling; it has been years since he drooled over something other than souls.
"Thank you for this delicious meal." Soul bowed and began to take a bite.
Before the sticky goodness had reached his tongue the phone rang. Maka got up from the table and answered.
"Albarn/Eater residence, Maka speaking." Maka spoke in a professional tone as always.
"Yes, Soul Evans please, I believe you have mispronounced his last name." A deep stern voice answered.
"uh… yeah. One moment." Maka called for Soul to answer the mysterious caller. Soul relieved Maka and she ventured back to the table.
"Soul here." Soul answered in his usual bored tone.
"Soul? This is your father." The voice stated
Soul's face had a look of complete shock. 'God dammit. How the hell did he get this number?' Soul lowered his voice making sure Maka could not hear his conversation.
"What the hell are YOU calling me for?" Soul mumbled angrily into the phone.
"I'm calling because Wes is not here to do it. Apparently both of my Sons are incompetent when it comes to responsibility. Wes left the country." Soul's father stated in a powerful tone.
"I'm going to ignore your insults; What the fuck do you mean he left the country? And what does that have anything to do with me?" Soul grumbled irritated.
"Watch your tongue, Soul. He left without a word. I went through his room and the only thing I found that was any use to me was a folded piece of paper with your name, number, and address. Soul, you are to come home and take over Wes's duties until I can find him." Soul's father commanded.
Soul stood there in silence. He couldn't believe what his asshole of a father had just said to him. Soul was ready to chew him out but his father had cut him off.
"I'm sending the family limo to pick you up next Monday. Be ready." And with that the demanding tyrant hung up on him.
Soul slammed down the phone and made his way back to the kitchen where Maka was washing the last of the breakfast dishes. He sat down and stared at his now soggy breakfast; He had lost his appetite but he did not want Maka to think something was wrong. He shoved the French toast down his throat and washed his dishes.
"Who was that on the phone?" Maka asked as she walked to the bathroom to put up her hair in her famous pig tails.
"Just some guy from my past trying to get me to play music for people again." Soul answered. He technically wasn't lying.
Maka had no response. She knew her weapon would not want to talk about something from his past and she couldn't imagine him playing the piano in front of an audience again. Soul grabbed his leather jacket and his keys.
"I'm going to head out early. I'll meet you at school." Soul informed.
"Oh, alright! Are you sure you are alright?" Maka answered from the bathroom.
"Yeah, I'm cool. See ya." Soul answered as he slipped out of the door. If Maka wasn't so involved with staring at herself I the mirror she would have dogged him for more information, thankfully she didn't see his upset expression. Maka finished gussying up and was out the door and on her way to Shibusen.
Soul rode his motorcycle on the outskirts of Death City. He was so pissed, he hated his father. Ever since his mother passed, his father had become and angry tyrant and Wes was the only one there to help him out with keeping the Evans reputation well known with his music. Soul drove to the soothing grounds where Maka and him trained. He parked his bike and laid in the luscious grass; his mind began to wander.
"Who does he think he is?! It's been years since I've last spoke and that's what he has to say? Wes ditching the family is not my problem." Soul nearly shouted. He was so fucking pissed.
'I didn't even mention it to Maka…' Soul thought.
As he juggled the stressful thoughts he became absolutely furious. Soul shot up and stomped over to one of the many surrounding trees. Soul transformed his arm into his famous scythe blade and slashed at the tree; with one clean cut the tree fell to its soft green grave.
"GOD DAMMIT!" Soul shouted angrily, stomping toward his motorcycle.
"Great. I'm late. I'm never going to hear the end of it." Soul grumbled as he sped off through Death City.