TRG: ALRIGHTY! Ladies, gentlemen and others, I welcome you to the irate chapter of I Think She's Sane! My name is The Real Ginger, and this is my buddy MintyMintMints! Boy, have we got a story for you!

MintyMintMints: It's gonna be filled with action! Suspense! Love! And madness!

Ginger: Especially madness.

Mint: Yeah...

Ginger: Any comments before we get started?

Mint: Uh... nah. Let's just go. ONWARD WITH LE STORY

Ginger: That's boring... but yes! ONWARD!

Disclaimer: NEITHER GINGER OR MINT OWNS ANYTHING ABOUT AOUL EATER NO MATTER HOW MUCH THEY WISH THEY DID.

Chapter 1: Hmm.

Hmm.

I wonder.

Hmmmmm.

If you're aware of the fact you're insane.

Hmmmmmmmm.

Are you still insane.

Hmm.

Of course I'm not insane.

Hmmmmm.

Are you insane.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

Gee, that'd be scary.

Hmmmmmmm.

I can't imagine being insane.

Hmm.

If a caterpillar doesn't want to become a butterfly, does it really have to? Hmm.

Or if perhaps a child does not want to get up and walk on two legs, are they able to crawl for the rest do their lives?

Hmm.

That would make my knees hurt.

Hmmmmmmm.

"What the hell are you doing?" My partner, Abercrombie, asks.

"Oh. Darn." I reply, looking up at her silhouette in my doorway.

Like Godzilla arriving in Tokyo.

"I asked you a question, idiot." She presses. I sigh and roll off my hands and knees and onto my back.

"Crawling to see if it hurt my knees." I respond. She rolls her eyes.

"You're insane."

"Am not."

She rolls her eyes once more and exits, leaving me in my darkened bedroom. Alone.

Hmm. I wonder what's wrong with her. She always questions my antics, and never tells me anything. Maybe she's... Sane?

...

Pfft, no. Nobody here is sane. That's ridiculous. If somebody was, Lady Arachne would have their ass for sure.

How stupid of me, I called him insane. Way to almost blow your cover, Abercrombie.

I look myself up and down in the mirror. Light blue tank top, baggy camouflage cargo pants over top of gray spandex, which are slightly visible beneath my belt, and sneakers.

Too normal.

I slip a single fingerless black biker glove onto my right hand.

Still not good enough.

I switch my converse out for a pair of combat boots, and fold the top of the left shoe over the laces.

Pigtails. Pigtails are good. Wait, but Maka wears pigtails. Crap. Umm... Side ponytail? Or maybe I should just leave it down without brushing it. Yeah. That's good.

As I tease my long, straight brown hair, Emory, my meister, enters the room. He's a tall, thin 14-year-old with thick blue hair and big green eyes. Today he's wearing a pair of ripped jeans (which did NOT come ripped by the way) and a leather jacket, without a shirt underneath. He's slightly muscular, but still not strong enough to beat me in a fistfight. And, like usual, he's here to ask me a ridiculously out-of-context question.

"Did you mention something about Godzilla earlier?" He asks. I blink and shake my head.

"No. Why?"

"No reason. Don't break any buildings on your way out." He says. I ignore him and shake my hair out.

"There we go." I say with a smile. "Yo! Em! How do I look?" I ask, standing up and placing my hands on my hips. He tilts his head and places a finger on his chin.

"Terrible."

"Perfect."

"Today's Halloween." I say, sliding my hands into my pockets. Emory kicks a rock beside me as he walks.

"Oh. Fun."

"Do you think I'm too old for trick-or-treating?"

"No. Wait, how old are you again?"

"Fifteen."

"Then yes."

"I'm still going. And you're coming with me."

"Okay."

I narrow my eyes at him. I can never get this kid. "What do you want to go as?" I ask, struggling to keep the conversation going. Every morning, the walk to school is dead silent. Today I'm changing that. Even though he's off his rockers, nothing says I can't be friends with my meister.

"I dunno. How about Emory Striker?" He suggests.

"You can't go as yourself, idiot." I say. He shrugs. "But you can."

"I can what?"

"Go as me." I ponder the idea for a bit. "Hmm."

"Hmm." He mocks. Then he giggles and wraps his arms around me. "I can't wait to go trick-or-treating with you, Abbey!" He giggles. I sigh and pat him on the back.

"Neither can I, Em."

In the darkest parts of a heart,

Madness is born like a dart.

It winds and twines,

And heaves and grinds,

Until it covers the soul with a start.

My name is Onyx Emeri.

I don't like sane people.

I am what is called a "Meister."

People like me since I'm pretty.

But they're jealous of me, too.

Jealousy is an emotion that I don't delve into.

It's odd.

I'm sanely insane.

I feel.

I know.

I don't hallucinate.

I'm just...

Insane.

I killed a Meister and their Weapon when I was six, before the PKWMA was what it was. It was in self-defense, but I was hunted after that.

When I was 14, I heard about Asura and Team Maka's battle. I didn't get why they killed him. He seemed fine. Madness felt good. I was infected with a very strong... case. I learned to control it. I can feel without feeling, become completely engulfed in it with my control. I don't mind school. I'm highly regarded as the top student, besides...

I won't go into that.

But I am the most insane student here, don't come to hasty conclusions just because I can see clearly.

I will rip apart anyone from limb to limb, without hesitation.

I already have.

And I will readily do it again.

Walking to school, I see no one. It isn't unusual. After all, this is when madness reins over many minds, rapidly spinning and twirlin. Sleep is being rubbed out of the eyes of insane peers, imagination is at its highest point, heightening killer instincts.

I hum a tune and walk slowly, walking only on the flat surfaces of the oddly-cobbled road. A little swirl of mist hangs around my feet. A perfect day.

Everything is red, and that makes me almost feel the emotion of elation.

Almost.

In the hallway, students communicate and holler, cackling and giggling. A couple to my left looks as if they are attacking each other's faces, trying to suck them off.

I guess the emotion of love is at its peak inside of their minds.

Disgusting.

I walk to my locker, my face that of stony indifference and open it, grabbing my books and plopping them into my bag. I close the locker and walk to Class Crescent Moon and take my seat.

I notice, out of all of the clamor, two students that I haven't bothered ever looking at before. Their names are Abercrombie Elm and Emory Striker. Emory is the stereotypical insane Meister, but Abercrombie... I sense something odd about her.

Why hadn't I noticed it before? She's sa-!

Wait.

No.

She isn't.

Or is she?

Self doubt is not good.

This is not good.

It was a trick of the light.

She's insane.

I watch out for Abercombie to show signs of sanity throughout the lesson, but she doesn't. Abercrombie is insane, but something is off. I don't like it. But I should leave it... it won't do me any good to waste my mind on her. I focus on the lesson, taking notes and scribbling down my own understanding, not delving into the odd sense I got from Abercrombie anymore.

Mint: Hi again! Hoped you liked it! ლ(́◉◞౪◟◉‵ლ)

Ginger: We worked hard! FOR TWO WHOLE DAYS! Even though some of you may have just brushed it off, I'm going to explain the Godzilla reference. So I'm in this Alice in Wonderland Jr. Play thing at my school, right? And when the Queen if Hearts first comes on stage, the stage direction is "like Godzilla arriving in Tokyo" and I just thought it'd be cute to put that in there.

Mint: Aw, kawaii... no? Okay. By the way, you all can call me Mint, and please comment/critique on my writing! I write Onyx and I wrote the limerick you see here...

Ginger: Oh yeah and I wrote as Abercrombie and Emory. Mint will also write for everyone's favorite perfectionist later on, and... ehem, permission to write for Soul?

Mint: Permission is granted. Welcome aboard this flying ship of madness!

Ginger: WEEEEEEE!