Eighteen years later, Maka struggles to tie her masses of black hair in a semblance of a bun so she can get around her room more easily. She's spent her lifetime in this tower, and while she has learned to work around the hair problem, it's still a daily nuisance.
She's already read all of the books in the place at least twice - a few more times for some of the racier ones - but Medusa will be returning that afternoon, hopefully with a new stack of books. Maka has grown suspicious of the witch in the past two years, partly because of how she never seems to age, partly from the shifty snakes that always seem to be curled a little too lovingly around her arms, but somehow she is still dependent on the old bat.
Medusa told her that she was abandoned by her destitute parents, and that really she should be thanking her for taking her in, but Maka is a little skeptical about the whole situation and the mystery behind her dratted hair.
Maka decides to work on moves from the karate book instead. She doesn't think Medusa intended to bring her something that would teach her self defense, determined as she is to keep her helpless, but Maka figures she doesn't really pay attention to the things she brings - she certainly doesn't have the mothering instinct to sort out the sleazy romance novels from the puritanical ones. (It's been a confusing self-education for sure.)
"How's my darling daughter doing?" Medusa appears in the tower window, causing Maka to drop her book. The witch has a knack for sneaking up the vines and taking her by surprise, something she is not particularly fond of. It makes her spine tickle.
"I'm fine, Medusa."
"Oh, you know I like you to call me Mother, dear," the woman purrs and Maka shudders.
"I'm fine, Mother." The word always sounds thick in her mouth; she imagines she would have called her real parents mama and papa, but mama seems a little warm for the slippery witch.
"Look at you with your glowing cheeks." Medusa pinches her cheeks and runs her oily fingers into Maka's hair. "Now you know I hate when your hair is up." Medusa unties her hard earned bun and lets the piles of hair fall to the floor.
"It's a nuisance," Maka complains, but doesn't move as Medusa runs her fingers through the length of her tresses, gleaning whatever magic she can. It makes Maka sick, knowing what she's doing; she can hear the muttered incantations. At times she was tempted to cut it off when Medusa wasn't around watching her, but then she knows it's potent magic. Maybe some day it'll be useful for her too.
"Now then, I was thinking of going on a trip for a few days," Medusa changes the subject completely - Maka thinks she needs to work on her listening skills.
"Can I go?"
"Of course not, it's too dangerous out there for your weak constitution."
"I don't feel sick."
"Because you don't know any better."
Maka scowls - she knows plenty. She's read enough medical texts to know that her physical condition is perfectly normal, even above average based on her rigorous and meticulous exercise routine. But poor health is only the latest of a long string of excuses that Medusa makes for keeping her locked up, each becoming less and less convincing. Maka thinks constantly of climbing out the window on a rope of bed sheets and making a break for it, but a minimal amount of logic tells her that they're in the middle of a forest and getting lost would be the most likely outcome. Besides that, there would always be the ever present snakes to contend with.
She needs eyes and ears on the outside, but it isn't like Blair can tell her anything about anything she sees on her mouse hunting expeditions. Dumb cat.
"Anyway," Medusa drawls, "I won't be back for three days, so I thought I'd make sure you have everything you need before I leave."
"I'm fine," Maka says, words clipped as her patience.
"Alright dear, I'll see you soon then, stay safe."
Maka watches Medusa scale back down the tower, trying to judge the exact distance and how far she could get in three days. It's the perfect opportunity for a jailbreak, if fate would only drop a guide in her lap.
"Eater, this is not what we agreed to," a woman seethes from behind one Soul Eater, thief extraordinaire.
"I didn't sign any papers, Liz," he jokes, and continues a fast jog through the underbrush. He's counting his stars that the other Thompson sister has been held up by the palace guard; he won't be able to outrun Patty, and certainly can't out fight her if she catches up to him. Liz is a little less athletic than her slasher-smile sister though, and he's confident in his ability to get away and make the full bounty.
It's a little mean, he knows, but he needs to get them off his tail, just so he can sell the ring. Betrayal isn't really in his nature - they should know that - but if they knew who he's planning on selling to, they'd demand to come along, and the buyer is not someone he wants either of them to get involved with for their own sakes.
Liz isn't the only one he has to out run though; he can hear the horses behind him, as well as the shouts of the guard hot on their heels, after all. Who knew they would get so pissy about one little ring?
Soul has never taken the leader of the guard's son, The Kid, very seriously, but with dogs and horses on his side, he could be something to grapple with. Of course Soul will have to double back at some point to sell the ring in the city, but for now, he plans on putting as much distance as possible between him and Liz, The Kid, and the vicious and infamously stubborn horse known as Black Star. Soul has been on the receiving end of a swift kick from the horse enough times to prioritize avoiding him at all costs - except maybe jumping into fast moving water, which is where haphazard running has taken him.
"I'm gonna skin you, Soul Eater, you bastard!" Liz howls from an uncomfortably close distance. "We had a deal."
"We're criminals Liz, you expect me to have a moral compass?" He quickly weighs the options of jumping into the river and facing the wrath of Liz Thompson and opts for rapids. He takes his chances with a floating log and makes a break for it, bobbing down the river while watching the satisfyingly stupefied look on his ex-partner in crime's face. There would be no skinning today!
The channel is fast and smooth so he only gets smacked into a rock once and dragged over gravel twice during the course of his journey. After a few hours of riding, he slides clumsily off the log in a backwater eddy before wading to shore. It's not his proudest moment- certainly one he's glad no one is there to witness, save a very startled looking deer.
Well, a doe isn't about to go spreading rumors about him, so he feels safe stripping off his outer layers of soaked clothes and exploring his surroundings. He needs to double back west to sneak back into Shibusen, but he also shouldn't just follow the river back for one obvious, blonde, and very angry reason.
No, he would have to find somewhere to wring himself out for the night, make the trek back starting tomorrow. He's apparently in the middle of nowhere, and it's likely he will be sleeping in or under a tree, but that doesn't stop him from wandering aimlessly until nightfall hoping for something a little bit better.
Circumstance leads him to a shoddily constructed, entirely rundown tower with no doors, but a single window and enough vines to strangle a respectably sized tree. It's not ideal, but it has a roof and appears entirely uninhabited, so he makes the climb up the outside wall and hauls himself through the window.
He has about two seconds to see that the inside is rather lavishly decorated with maps and books before something hard hits him in the face and he's out like a light.
Maka heaves a heavy breath; this is not how she expected her day to go. She had been planning on redoing her hair, strategizing an escape route, and studying some maps before making a break for up a white haired man, possibly a pervert, who had snuck into her room was not on the agenda. This is not an acceptable turn of events. The man stirs slightly and a line of drool forms down his chin. There's not only a pervert in her room, but a drooling pervert - she could scream.
"Huh." He blinks up at her, confused, taking a moment to gawk at her. "What happened? Who are you?"
Too many questions. She smacks him with the frying pan again for good measure and steels herself for the next time he wakes up.
This time he looks at her silently with a confused look that settles into something more like calculating, making Maka feel vulnerable and her frying pan hand itchy.
"I'm asking the questions here, buddy," she says after he breaks the awkward silence with an expectant cough. "What are you doing here? Did you come to kidnap me? Rob me? Molest me?"
"Excuse me? I'm offended."
"You just snuck into my room, naked - I should be the one who's offended."
"I'm not naked!" he corrects, indignant.
"Close enough."
"This is all a misunderstanding, can you just… put the frying pan down first."
"No way, I have half a mind to hit you with it again."
"Look here, girly, I'm a thief, not a rapist, don't get your dress in a bunch."
"How is that supposed to make me feel any better?" She brandishes her weapon of choice in a way she hopes is suitably menacing. It's hard to be menacing when you're small - she has to make up for it with sheer rage.
"Calm down, I didn't come in here to rob you; I was just looking for a dry place to sleep before I go back to Shibusen."
"Shibusen." Maka's ears perk up and her weapon lowers. "That's really far from here, right?"
"Yes, yes, so I'll be out of your hair, a safe distance from here." She doesn't know who's safety he's concerned for, but considering she's the one holding cast iron death, she's pretty sure he means his own.
"I will untie you if you take me there."
"Uh, you really want to trust a notorious thief to keep you safe on a three day hike? I'm starting to think you have a death wish."
"I'm assuming you're just a thief, not a murderer." She shrugs, wheels turning in her head. "Besides, I am proficient at protecting myself, I just need a guide."
"And what makes you think I won't just rob you blind and leave you stranded in the forest?"
"You came in with a bag - I might have done some thieving of my own." She hasn't.
"You didn't take anything." Maka doesn't know how this stranger knows she's lying, but it definitely merits one more whack with the frying pan.
She takes a moment to rifle through his bag and stash a very expensive looking silver ring. Perfect.
"Okay, this is really getting old." Soul rolls his neck before rocking back and forth in his chair, trying to accomplish who knows what.
"You're gonna fall on your face if you keep doing that," she warns.
He does start to tip, a look of horror plastered across his face. She might not have much sympathy for him, but Maka's reflexes are too good to let him fall; she flings her arms out and stops his downward journey, righting him to an upward position.
"Now I have blackmail material, so, partners?" She reaches a hand out awkwardly but retracts it when he stares at her reproachfully. His arms are still bound at his sides, leaving hand shaking out of his immediate future.
"You still don't know that I'm not a horrible guy, out to get you."
"Just a few minutes ago you were telling me what a stand up guy you are, don't sell yourself short."
"You don't even know my name." His warnings are useless; she's determined to get as far away as possible, and this dope is her ticket out.
"What is your name then?" she asks sweetly, trying him for any more snark.
He grins, baring a set of rather pointy chompers. "They call me the Soul Eater."
"Sure, sure, I'm Maka, now let's go." She starts to grab her things and make her way to the window, leaving him still trussed up.
"Are you just going to tip me out the window tied to the chair?"
"Oh, yeah." She hastily unties the rope and hands back his satchel sans silver ring. He immediately rifles through it with a snort.
"Good pick, got the priciest bit in there." He yanks damp clothes back on indignantly.
"And the easiest to hide," she adds.
Soul just sighs in response. "I'm surprised you didn't just try to tie me up with that ridiculous hair."
"It's not that ridiculous." Maka starts the arduous task of looping her hair up several times to get the bulk of it off the ground.
Soul snorts. "You could probably lower me to the ground from this window," he says, gesturing to the ground before starting the actual climb down the thick, twisted vines.
"Well we're certainly not going to try it; I don't need that kind of scalp damage."
Hair in place, she busies herself with the fastest packing job ever, then stands at the window preparing herself for the climb. She can see him standing below while she makes the climb down, a little clumsier than she hoped. She starts to wish she had spent less time practicing martial arts and more time practicing scaling the damn thing while Medusa was away. Well, she'll never have to climb back up at least. She glances down; Blair has made an appearance and is cozying up to Soul. What a traitorous feline.
"Come on Maka, don't you know how to climb?" She hates the tone of his voice, teasing and altogether too cocky for someone with shark teeth. She wonders if they would grow back at the same rate if she knocked one out.
"I'm just fine, thanks for all your help," Maka grunts back at him. The loose parts of her hair whip around and smack her in the face, obscuring her vision and demanding attention. She would need both hands to contain the offending strands, but letting go of the vines with both hand holds is not about to happen. She ends up holding her hair back to scope out her next move and trying to make it in the moment between when she lets go and the time when her hair hits her in the face again. The vines are secure, she discovers, but the leaves are not. A misplaced hand has her falling the last five feet to the ground, landing securely on her rear. Soul snorts - she could pull that teeth punching right about now.
"You okay?" He offers a hand to lift her up, dusting her back jokingly? concernedly? She's still working on figuring out his quirks and gestures.
"Totally. Let's get a move out, cover some distance before night. Where's your horse?"
"Horse?" Soul scoffs, "what makes you think I have a horse? We're walking."