The day Maka's mother left, the air was humid and sticky. The sun hung behind the haze, panting and grumbling at the streets below. All of Death City waited for the sky to split. It wouldn't.
Maka, unaware that her mother stayed tethered to their apartment by a thread, was determined, stomping her eleven-year-old body down the streets of the city. When she'd left, Mama had been quiet, staring through the wavering air outside the window like it could tell her the answers to everything. Papa - Death Scythe - had forgotten another counseling session, and Maka knew exactly where to find him. Fury sparked along every nerve in her body, practically making her ashy blonde hair stand on end. She grit her jaw and relished the heavy sound her boots made against the street.
Chupa Cabra's lights chased each other cheerily above her head, turning the slick stones in front of the building pink and purple. Maka had never wished to have the power to shatter glass with nothing but a look so strongly before. Her gloved hands clenched into fists.
The crash as the front door slammed into the hosts' stand was cathartic. She cracked her neck as she stalked past the stammering host further into the smoky club.
"W-what the..." the host managed as he got his bearings. "Spirit, man, I've told you a thousand times that your damn kid can't be in here!"
A hand wrapped around Maka's arm, halting her progress. Without hesitation, she brought her foot down hard on the host's insole and he yelped, releasing her. She hissed at him for good measure.
It didn't take long to find the mop of red hair she knew so well among the club's other patrons. He was swaying and smiling, unaware that doom donned in pigtails approached as he sipped his drink. A blonde sat on one side, and his arm was draped over a giggling, purple-haired beauty on the other. Their smiles didn't start to fade until Maka stood before the lot of them, shaking.
Death Scythe was last to notice her standing there. He hiccupped and struggled to focus, then his eyes went wide. As wide as piss-drunk eyes could go, anyhow. The glass dropped from his hand and the arm that had been dangling dangerously close to the purple-haired lady's boob disappeared from view.
"Lil' Angel," he slurred. "You... you should be in school."
"School's been over for hours." Maka forced the words through her tightened throat. He probably thought it was the alcohol making her appear to vibrate before him, but it wasn't. Though she tried to keep her angry shivers in check, they got away from her.
"Hours? But that's not... what time is..." With a lurch, he grabbed at the wrist of another nearby hostess, who yelped as he dragged her closer and took far too long to register the time. Once he did, he shot unsteadily to his feet, his coat hanging off one shoulder.
"Maka, we 'ave to go home, sweetie," he said, grappling with his clothes. "Mama will be worried."
Maka brought her fists down on the table, hard. The wood cracked beneath them.
"She knows where you are," she yelled. "Just like I knew exactly where to find you. She knows."
Death Scythe startled and tipped back onto the plush sofa, where his two companions stared at Maka, scandalized.
A terrible pain started in her chest, pushing her lungs out of its way as it clawed up her ribs. It made it very hard to breathe.
"Papa was jus' havin' drinks with some friends, precious, tha's-"
"Shut up," Maka said, far too aware of how hot this place was, how much the cigarette smoke bothered her nose, how it had gone very quiet. "You promised. After I saw you at that party, you promised. And you promised Mama, too."
Death Scythe's mouth worked, but nothing came out.
He had to say something. There had to be a reason, an excuse, something that would render all this a silly mistake. Something that would stop the cracking shards splintering inside her. One last chance. One more story.
The lights inside went green, and for just a second, she felt a cool breeze on her face and remembered the sound of singing leaves somewhere far above her head.
Spirit licked his lips.
"You gotta understan', baby," he said at last. "We were young, Mama an' me, so young, and Papa needs his friends to... to..."
It didn't matter what he said. Much as she wanted to believe everything could fit back together like a perfect puzzle, it was too late. Acid laced its way through her veins, coating her tongue and leaking, hot and burning, from her eyes.
"Don't come home," she said. "We don't want you there."
Before she could split apart right there on the floor sticky with spilled sake cocktails, she spun on her heel and bolted, crashing into the host and sending him reeling before making her way out the door and into the thick air of Death City.
Sobs forced themselves past her clenched teeth as she ran, her long-tailed coat whipping behind her. She'd felt like a real meister for the first time when Death Scythe had helped her pick it out. It swished when she spun and slashed the air with practice weapons, finding her balance.
The balance she relied on went out from under her as she turned into a side alley shortcut. Her boot caught on a jutting piece of pavement and she went sprawling to the ground, barely feeling her knees being scraped raw.
A howl she hadn't known she'd been holding tore out of her as she beat her palms against the ground. She hoped so hard, had wanted everything to be okay so badly. Death Scythe would come home on time, he'd smile and hold out his arm for Mama like he used to. They'd go to their appointment and everything would be fine.
But nothing was fine. It never would be again.
The sky growled along with her. She could feel it in her soul.
Her soul, which was cracking to pieces and falling to smash against the alley pavement. He hadn't protected it. One more promise, broken.
By the time Maka pushed open the apartment door, her hair was slicked to her skin with sweat and humidity. The black coat she loved stuck to her as she yanked in off and threw it to the ground. She'd be scolded and told to pick it up later, but for now, she didn't care at all.
"Mama, I'm home," she croaked. "I'm sorry if you were worried."
There was no answer.
"Mama?" Maka called again, following the light in the hall toward her parents' - her mother's - bedroom. As she got closer, she heard something heavy fall to the floor, followed by a muffled sob not unlike those she'd left in the alley not so long ago.
Her mother stooped on the ground in front of her closet, her back to Maka. A black suitcase, the one she used to travel for missions, lay on the floor in front of her. It had clearly fallen from high up in the closet.
Mama shoveled clothing and shoes into it like she was preparing to run for her life.
Maka might hope for stories to have happy ending, but she wasn't foolish. She'd knew enough about how plots tied together to understand what was happening.
In an instant, she was by her mother's side.
"No, Mama, no, you don't have to go. I already told him not to come home." She started grabbing at blouses and boots, throwing them back into the closet. "We can look for a new place together tomorrow if you don't want to stay here, it's okay."
Tears still streaked down her mother's face like she didn't even see Maka. Automatically she reached out for more things to stuff into the case.
The hole in Maka's chest throbbed and she gasped, rubbing the spot to ease the pain. She reached out to stay her mother's hands.
"We'll be okay, it'll be fine-"
"Stop it!" her mother yelled, startling Maka into stillness. More softly, she said, "Stop. I can't stay here. I need to go."
A flashing red light started at the edge of Maka's vision and she pushed it away. "Okay. Should we go stay in the visiting meister housing for now?"
"Maka." Mama yanked her fingers through her hair and pulled. "I'm going to go on a trip. I need to be away from Death City, you understand?"
The red light grew brighter.
"I'll go pack my bag, then," she said, standing stiffly to run to her room and begin packing her purple duffle bag with the same ferocity she'd just witnessed.
It wasn't until she heard footsteps rush past her room that the red filled her vision completely and she understood the whispers she'd been trying to keep quiet.
Mama almost had her hand on the front door when Maka caught her by the wrist. She didn't have the energy left to keep up the pretense as she had with Death Scythe. The tears came again, hard and fast.
"Don't," she sobbed. "I'll make it better, I promise. Take me with you." She buried her face in her mother's shirt, twisting her fingers into the cloth and letting her body wrack itself raw.
Slowly, Mama pried her fingers loose and put space between them, going to her knees. Her hazel eyes were reddened, but calm.
"I need you to be a big girl," Mama said. "You're a meister now, and you'll be okay. Your Papa will be home soon."
"He's not my Papa!" Maka tried to wrench her hands away, but Mama held firm.
"I'll write to you all the time," Mama said.
"No!"
"Be brave. I love you." Mama pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood.
Her mother picked up the black suitcase, ran a hand over one of Maka's pigtails, then opened the door and slipped through.
Maka thought she heard her say, "You'll understand someday," but she couldn't be sure. Buzzing filled her ears as she sank to her knees in the middle of the floor next to her coat.
Hours later, Death Scythe did come home. Maka still lay where she'd fallen, curled into herself and staring at the wall in front of her through swollen, half-lidded eyes.
She woke in her bed in the early morning hours and couldn't remember if she'd gone to bed or if her sham of a father had carried her there. It didn't matter. She slipped into new clothes and grabbed the bag she'd packed earlier. Just before she crept through the front door, she picked the long-tailed black coat up off the ground and pulled it on.
The dawn air still stuck to her, but as she walked toward DWMA, she felt a drop on her cheek. Seemed she'd need to find a place to stay sooner rather than later.
Lord Death had plenty of accommodations for new students. That would suit her just fine.
Sharing quarters with Sid and Black Star could wear holes in anyone's nerves. She needed a weapon partner, and she needed one now. A partner meant your own apartment. Maka would kill ninety-nine pre-kishin with her bare hands if it meant getting an apartment.
The chatter of the halls between classes was static, familiar background noise as she scanned the halls for potential matches. Harvar? He was okay, if a little too serious for her taste. Maybe one of the older partnerless EAT students would work with her long enough for her to hook them in with her skill. It couldn't be that hard to find a -
"Ow."
Maka's shoulder stung with the sensation of another, even bonier shoulder colliding with it.
"I'm sorry," she said automatically.
"Good," said the other kid, rubbing his arm. "That hurt."
"You could apologize too, you know," she snapped, patience gone. "It's polite."
The kid snorted, curling a lip to reveal the sharp points of his teeth. She paused to take stock of him, noting his rather abhorrent fashion choices - blue and orange paisley, really? - as well as his overall appearance, which she had to admit was... striking.
Brand new weapon striking, more accurately.
"Maybe you oughtta watch where you're going," he said. "Then you wouldn't need to-"
"Are you new here?" she interrupted.
The weapon took a step back, and Maka could practically feel guards going up around his soul. He sniffed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Maybe. What's it to you?"
She shrugged. "Nothing, I just... you're a weapon?"
He eyed her warily. "Yeah."
"What kind?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," he sneered.
"Yes," she responded, nonplussed. "I would."
For a second, she caught a spark of shrewdness in him, like a cat sizing up a potential threat before unsheathing its claws, and she wondered if she misread him. Then it was gone, replaced with boredom and snark.
He rolled his shoulders. "Demon scythe."
The still-aching hole in her chest tightened. A scythe. Anger and curiosity twined in the hollow space where her soul was still piecing itself together. She almost turned away, but the ghost of an idea was starting to burn its way into her brain.
"Have you ever thought about becoming a Death Scythe?" she said, the name still sour on her tongue.
The boy leaned against the wall and watched passerby. "No. But it sounds pretty cool."
She joined him on the wall. "It is. It's the coolest thing you can be. Look, I'll be straight with you. I'm at the top of my class, and I want to make a name for myself. I'd like to do that by creating the most powerful Death Scythe in the history of the school, but in order to do that, I need a good partner."
The boy's red eyes slid over to look at her.
"A cool partner," she added. "Someone who isn't afraid to make a name for himself."
"I'm immune to flattery, you know," he said, but a slow smirk started in the corner of his mouth.
She held out a gloved hand. "I'm Maka Albarn."
He accepted her handshake. "Soul Eater. But look, Pigtails, I don't even know if I want a partner. I hear some weapons can wield themselves, and that sounds all right to me."
Maka sniffed and rolled back and forth on the balls and heels of her feet. There it was again - that guardedness around his soul. She'd have to play her cards carefully.
She scratched her nose and tried to look concerned. "Well, you could go that way, I suppose. But as a scythe, it'll be practically impossible to wield yourself. You're made for a partner. Not like Justin Law."
"Justin who?" Soul said, arms crossed.
"Youngest Death Scythe ever created," she responded. "Did it all on his own, but he's a guillotine. Not exactly conducive to partnership, you know?"
Lazy eyes blinked slowly as they watched her. "Anyone ever tell you that you talk like a textbook?"
She waved a gloved hand, dismissing his comment. "Anyway, there are schools of thought that say even if you could wield yourself, which is rare, it can leave you vulnerable. You don't have anyone watching your back or balancing you out. It can be lonely."
His jaw tightened and Maka knew she was on dangerous ground.
"Haven't you ever..." She licked her lip. "Had someone looking out for you before?"
Soul pushed off the wall and started walking away, shoulders slouched. Gods damn it, she'd pushed too far. Should she let him go, or go after him?
Before she could decide, he stopped and turned his head to speak over his shoulder without looking at her. "If you really think you want to be my partner, meet me at that coffee place on the corner of Skull and Crossbones tomorrow morning before classes. I have something I need to show you first."
As he sauntered off without another word, Maka fell back against the wall with a huff. Even as she wondered if this kid - this boy - was worth the hassle, she already knew she'd meet him as he'd asked, if only to satisfy her curiosity.
It was more than that, though. More than just about showing up Spirit, too. At first glance, Soul seemed like the rude, jaded slacker type, but there was something more to his soul than he let on. Maka did love a challenge. She just hoped this challenge wouldn't leave her more broken than before.
