A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry for this HUGE HUGE MEGADONKULOUS DELAY! I'm really insecure and feel bad about this chapter, but I hope this will do for now. Chapter three is almost finished, I just need to do some research and make sure I have things right before I post it. Thank you all for being so patient with me :)
Hope this chapter doesn't bore you all! And don't you worry; the plot and characters will come in time! :)
Love, Hotaru-Kichi
Chapter two: The archives
Sunshine was one of Maka's most favourite things. She loved it when her skin devoured vitamins from the air, she loved the warm feeling of sun rays, and she especially loved it when her skin went from bleak to at least a bit tanned if she sat outside for long enough. But then again, the thing she was going to do today, when the sun was shining brighter than it had in months, wasn't going to allow her any sort of basking in the sun. She had business to take care of, and a lot of things and information to gather. The first thing she was going to do was get out of bed.
"Morning," Maka muttered into the empty kitchen of her apartment. The floor was cold, and she regretted not putting on her pink bunny slippers before leaving bed. Then again, this she would probably be sleepier if she didn't have the cold floor to jump across. Weird. Blair wasn't sleeping in the window by the sink like she usually did on sunny mornings and days.
When Maka started living by herself after graduation, Blair had chosen to stay with her and help paying the rent. In the beginning, after Maka's partner and weapon had moved out of the apartment, Maka had trouble paying the rent because she earned too little money compared to the scholarships from DWMA and financial support from her father. When Maka's income evened out, Blair still didn't leave, claiming that Maka was like a little sister and 'too cute to leave alone'. Maka didn't mind, really, as long as Blair stayed out of her closet and her bed.
"Blair?" Maka questioned the air, not receiving any answer from the sister that was not related by blood. She voiced her name again, now peeking into the woman's bedroom, but she wasn't in her bed. Not in her cat form, not in her human form. And nowhere inside the house. She was certain that Blair was safe and sound. Just in case, she searched the refrigerator for any messages from Blair, and finally found that - inside of the refrigerator, stuck to a carton of milk - was a post-it with a note where Blair had stated her present whereabouts. No reason to worry. Maka decided to push it to the back of her head, knowing that Blair had started a serious relationship with a man who worked in a shop in Death City's central street. He was a nice fellow, too. Not someone you'd think Blair would like - an honest, hardworking man with good ideals - but a man who Maka was certain would take good care of Blair.
Shower...
Maka went into the bathroom and turned the shower on. While undressing and fetching a towel, Maka started humming a tune she remembered from long ago. It was a tune she only heard once, a twisted and dark melody, but interesting nonetheless. A tune she still loved repeating, even though the person who had played it for her never played it for her again. Because he said he hated playing the piano. Because he didn't like playing in front of others, scared of what they would think of him.
She ran her fingertips through the water beam to feel if it was the right temperature. She adjusted the heat accordingly, then stepped in under the water when she found the temperature as close to perfect as she wanted. The water was rather lukewarm. She needed it to be to wake up properly. After showering, she dried her hair with a frothy towel, got dressed and put on a little bit of waterproof mascara. The clothes she put on were more business-like and office-lady-like than her usual clothing, which were normally easy to move around in and - if she had to - fight in.
Maka wasn't the best detective in Death City. People could tell by the way that she owned a bicycle and not a car. At the age of twenty-four, Maka knew how to drive a car, but she couldn't afford having one. Not that she minded; she liked the exercise and freedom of the small vehicle and she didn't have to worry about getting stuck in traffic jams. But when it was raining or snowing, a bicycle wasn't the best mode of transportation. But on days like these, when the sun was high and a slight breeze pushed her forward up the cobblestone streets of Death City, Maka loved her bicycle. On days like these, she didn't need a car, no engine or shields to keep natural forces away.
Anyways, Maka had made her way up to the office after hurriedly eating a few slices of toast and pedalling rhythmically and steadily in the direction of the street. When arriving at her destination, she swung her leg over the seat before the bicycle stopped and walked the few steps that lead to the staircase she usually placed it underneath.
Maka wasn't going to lie - her detective office was just a small station, a tiny fraction of worth compared to other companies that took on bigger cases and earned more money. She wasn't even the boss. Her boss was the man who invested in her to keep his detective legacy going. She was the only one who wanted to work for him, and she never regretted starting her career in his office. But sometimes Maka wished for more. For a bigger chance to show her worth and skills. That's why she took this murder case. She was hoping for a breakthrough.
Upon her arrival, Maka was greeted by a silence that she had no trouble with handling. Thursdays were silent days. Tsugumi had a day off, and Maka had the office all to herself. She didn't mind Tsugumi's company or partnership - she appreciated it and quite liked working with someone who showed so much enthusiasm for what she did. Nevertheless, Thursdays were days when Maka didn't have to cooperate with anyone; she could sit quietly and do her paperwork, check out cases she thought she could do alone, eat in silence and without having to think about all the etiquette.
Today, however, she had only one important thing to do. And she was looking forward to it, because she knew it could mean that she was one step closer to stop the killings in Death City.
Coming back to Shibusen was melancholic, depressing and nice at the same time. Maka had spent some of her best years at this school, together with the best friends she'd ever had. So many happy, awesome, sad, tragic, and natural memories had been made. So much to remember and so much to cherish. Walking through the familiar halls and up the stairs felt almost natural, as if she was the same girl she was back then. She wasn't particularly old, but this place made her feel so much younger, so incredibly happy. This had always been her second home.
Heading down to the cellars, Maka started getting colder. She had never been down in the Archives before, so she wasn't prepared for the cold that hit her when she stood outside of the unlocked door, knocking politely to warn whoever was inside of her arrival. Small steps were heard, and then the door opened slowly, revealing a slightly older man, maybe in his mid-thirties, with long, brown hair reaching to just above his stomach.
"Yes?" he asked, smiling weakly at her. His voice was low and quiet, but quite friendly. He must've been working down there for a long time.
"Hi. I'm Maka Albarn. I arranged with Shinigami-sama that I could pay the archives a visit today," she said, smiling and reaching out her hand, waiting for him to introduce himself and shake it. He didn't. He just gave her hand a weird look, then smiled at her and nodded.
"Okay. Come on inside," he said, stepping aside to let her walk past. She nodded as thanks, then scuttled in between some shelves, the man following her slowly and talking about what was inside what boxes and in which parts and on what shelves she would find the various cohorts of students, different years and lastly, the student's genders. Maka listened closely, knowing just how important it was that she did things correctly and discreetly.
"Could you list a few shelves containing Weapons that have graduated or dropped out of Shibusen the past ten years? It would also help if you have a list of some sort containing graduates or dropouts with a criminal record or a record of recurring misbehaviour or disobeyance."
"Certainly. It would be fun to have something to do for a change," the archivist said, scooting off to his desk and collecting some papers and pens.
"For you, miss," he said, offering her a pen and a few sheets of lined paper. "You can't take any of the files out of here, so I suggest you jot down whatever person suits your interests."
"Thank you," she smiled, accepting both pen and paper. How stupid she felt for not bringing it to begin with herself. Then the man disappeared between the shelves a bit further in, and she was left to herself to search and read, search and read. About an hour passed, and - Thom, was it? - returned, holding a small stack of paper in his hands.
"Here are the lists. Sorry it took so long, it was quite hard to find this amount. I hope it helps."
Maka accepted the stack and quickly had a look at the list.
"Yes, thank you. I think this is enough. Are the shelves listed?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll be searching a bit more on my own," she said, smiling and nodding to thank him again. The man then walked back to his desk and returned to whatever duties he had. Maka spent the next few hours comparing students with what she knew about the killer, then comparing records of criminal acts or acts of bad behaviour that lead to serious outcomes. Then she jotted down the names and addresses of those she considered suitable or suspicious in any way. In the end she had three sheets of paper with both the front and back filled with names.
"Was that all you found?" she asked the archivist absentmindedly, and he nodded.
"Yes. I found it quite peculiar that there were so few students that fit your description."
She shook her head and started putting the list in her satchel.
"It makes things alot easier for me," she answered, closing the satchel and pulling the strap over her head and onto her shoulder.
"Thank you for your help, I really appreciate it," she said and extended her hand to shake hands with him. He grabbed it reluctantly, then shook his hand lightly up and down.
"Don't mention it."
"I'll be going, then. And again, thanks!"
She walked over to the door, opened it and stepped outside. The air was chillier than in the archives, and she shivered as the archivist closed the door and locked it firmly behind her.
Maybe I should visit Shinigami-sama? she thought as she climbed the grey stone stairs that lead her out of the cellars and up to the first floor. It was quite a climb, and she had to think twice before making up her mind about walking all the way over to the headmaster's the end, she decided to go. It would be worth it, as she would be able to meet one of the few men she had actually trusted during her teens.
The route to the headmaster's office was the same, so she had no trouble finding it.
"Excuse me," she said upon entering the room which seemed so vast with the blue skies. The room never ceased to amaze her, and since it had been such a long time since she'd last visited, the room seemed especially breathtaking now.
"Ah, Maka-kun, I didn't expect you to drop by my office. Was there a problem in the archives?"
"No, not at all! I just thought I'd visit and see if you were busy. It's been a long time, after all. My dad's not here, is he?"
The masked man chuckled, sensing the disgust in the female's voice.
"Spirit-kun and Stein-kun are out on a mission today. They won't be back in a while. Would you like a biscuit?"
Maka accepted the offered, and stayed to talk with him for a while. On her way back to her office, she pondered on which of the students on her list could be most suited for killing people. None of them looked particularly evil or "killer" like, but none of them had a record that told her that they could be innocent. Either way, she would have to starts somewhere. She imagined the list and remembered the first name on it, making a mental note to check the guy out as soon as possible.
"Monroe Antas."
