Maka wants to curse Kim to the ninth circle of hell where she so clearly belongs.
How dare she-how dare she help Prince Ox-Prince Ox of all people. How dare she break their bargain so blatantly, how dare-
She's seething as she stares into the bathroom mirror at the witch who ruined her life.
Just when things were falling into place, just when this world was starting to make sense, just when she'd found a friend, a real friend, this happens, Ox happens. Maka has never felt so lost, so alone, so damn angry, not even before, not even when her papa refused to listen and forced her hand, forced her here.
"In no part of our contract does it state I can't contract with another to find you. Your request was for the means to escape your impending marriage and find freedom and happiness. I can assure you, I have fulfilled those terms."
"Not if Prince Ox is here, not if he keeps stalking me and eventually succeeds in dragging me back to Albarn! He won't give up, you must know that!"
Kim has the decency to look mildly embarrassed, but still she persists. "As the case may be, our bargain was fulfilled on my end. And the charm the prince purchased only allows him to find you once in a day, and even then, it will only inform him of where you are very generally, so you can certainly elude him easily enough. Now. Are we done here?"
Sighing, Maka shakes her head. "We're done. I hope you're happy."
The witch's smile is strained as she nods. "I am, and so will you be," she says, adding, "oh, and I've sent a surprise. No need to thank me." And then her image fades and Maka is staring at a blinking, haggard image of herself. A surprise? If it's anything like the surprise she'd gotten earlier tonight, she wants nothing to do with it. Turning away in disgust, she blinks as she notices Soul is hovering in the doorway.
Well, there's another mess she has to clean up.
"You were talking to a mirror," he says flatly. "There was a woman-in a mirror."
"There was," she sighs again. "That's Kim, Good Witch of the North. She's the one who sent me here."
"A witch. And she has magic." There's a resignation to his words she doesn't understand.
"And she has magic," Maka confirms. "She sent Ox, too. But since he can track us and I'm not sure if he can find us again, I need to leave. If I don't keep on the move, he will catch up and-"
"He wants to take you back," Soul interrupts. "But you want to stay here."
"Yes." She nods affirmation because he's still clearly in some sort of daze, mind working slowly. Maka knows magic is strange in this world, but he's seen it before, this shouldn't surprise him, and she doesn't understand why he's so-so stunned. "With me gone, he shouldn't bother you again. I know I owe you an explanation, and I promise you'll get one some day when I can-when I figure out how to get rid of Ox-but for now, I really have to leave. So thank you-thank you for everything, but I need to-"
"I'll go with you," he blurts suddenly, forcefully, and it's her turn to be stunned, jaw dropping, mouth working uselessly.
"What?" she finally manages.
"I'll go with you," Soul repeats. "You need someone to watch your back with that maniac after you. I can't-I can't let you go alone, can't let that asshole-I just can't. So I'll go with you. I mean, if that's okay?"
The way he actually offers, asks-the plea in his eyes because he's worried-her heart melts, her pulse quickening. How can she refuse? How can she leave her only friend in this world behind when he so desperately wants to remain with her? Surey she can keep them both safe and away from the prince.
"Okay," Maka says, then nods. "Okay," she repeats, voice firm. "You can-we can go together. If that's what you want. I just-I've already disrupted your life so much, are you sure?"
His shrug, so casual, belies the magnitude of the gesture. "Yeah, no big deal, I don't mind."
And that's it, he's going, and suddenly Maka feels far less alone.
Not half an hour later, they've both packed some clothes, and Soul is leading them into a small storage room at the bottom of the building that has a large door that opens out to the alley on the side. It's a space Maka's not been to, one surrounded by other residences for, as she'd learned many days ago, most of the building Soul owns is also inhabited by other occupants. It sounds a bit like a castle to her, though he insists he is no kind of royalty.
There isn't much to the room. Some shelves with various tools, some boxes stacked, and a large covered something in the center.
Striding ahead of her, the pack on his back bouncing, Soul pulls the cover with flourish and grins at her as if she's supposed to be impressed. She blinks back because what is this, exactly?
It's not a car, it's too small, and it has two wheels like the bicycle things she's seen pretty often on the television. Actually, she's seen these too, though not quite as often-even seen them around, loud and fast. A bit like a motorized horse, maybe. A big, shiny, orange horse with wheels. Maka's always enjoyed riding horseback, so it's not that it's a bad prospect-but when trying to hide from the prince and wearing such a short skirt, she can't help a bit of skepticism.
"What?" she manages finally. "Is-it?"
"Not an it, a she." He's still grinning. "Her name is Etta, and she's gonna get us where we need to go."
Her confusion is natural, she thinks. Soul has never mentioned this "Etta" before. They've gone out into the city many times together, but always before they walked or called a car. Maka hadn't even realized Etta exists before just this moment.
Well, beggars can't exactly be choosers. If he's going and willing to provide transportation, that's good enough for her.
"Okay," she says, the word careful, and his grin widens. Is he excited? She finds it strange, but really, he is strange, the way he lives his life with so little care, so little responsibility. And yet, he often seems-alone.
Is it because she has invaded his life, stolen his time, or is this his reality? Maka doesn't know, but she finds herself thinking about him often, his humor, his intelligence, his willingness to care for and take in a stranger. Soul deserves more than a sterile home, she thinks, however spacious, more than a sterile life.
After stowing his bag in the large saddlebags attached to the contraption, Soul fishes out what appears to be some sort of shiny helm and hands it to her.
"Wha-"
"Helmet," he explains. "To keep that big brain of yours from becoming road splat."
Pursing her lips as she eyes it, black and shiny in her hand, she notes that he has not pulled out another for himself. "And what of your brain, Soul? Shouldn't it also be protected?"
A shrug. "There's only one, and you're my guest, so."
Maka could argue; she wants to argue. She also wants to get out of here before it's a problem, before Ox can find them and know where Soul lives, so she puts it on, feeling odd and muffled. Soul swings a leg over to straddle the bike and looks to her expectantly. Realizing she has to sit behind him with little room and-and-that she'll also have to swing her leg up to do it, she colors violently.
"I-you-might you turn away, please?" she squeaks out, because as much as she trusts him and as much as this world is very much different from her own, books and television have long since shown her that it is still not appropriate to flash one's undergarments at a person who is not a romantic partner, and they are only friends.
The color that spreads on his cheeks is oddly gratifying as he turns his head with a muttered, "Oh, yeah, sorry." Maka swings her long leg over with ease, though adjusting her high skirt to cover her properly is a challenge. It's a good thing his-his body will shield her modesty that way, though as she sits behind him, straddling the bike, her front unavoidably against his back, it makes her feel unaccountably warm. It's embarrassing, sure, but it's also-something else. Something new and confusing, though not precisely unpleasant. Not at all unpleasant, actually, which makes her cheeks heat further.
As does the reality that the only place her hands might go is on him.
"My-how do I hold on?"
It's not like Maka doesn't know, not like she hasn't seen people ride horseback double before, but she hopes she might save a shred of modesty by placing her hands-
"Eh, sorry. Probably best to hold onto me, though I'm pretty sure there's a handle under the seat if you prefer."
Fishing around beneath the seat, she's startled as the bike roars to life beneath them, loud and powerful, her hands flying to grip his waist. The large door opens of its own accord when Soul pushes some sort of button on a little box-another remote control, surely, like the ones that control the television and the stereo and the lights-and Soul drives them out to the alley before pressing the button again for the door to roll shut behind him.
Having long since learned that such things-automatic lights and televisions and all-aren't magic but a strange technology made possible by something called electricity, which is, as Google has informed her, really the same stuff as lightning-well, it may not be magic, but it's just as powerful, just as amazing. No wonder Kim is so obsessed with this world.
Ah, Kim. Kim. This is all her fault, really. Hire a greedy witch and the witch may also help the one you are paying to avoid. Really, it figures, and really, Maka might have expected it, but still. Kim had been the one to contact her on the second day, after all, appearing in her bathroom mirror like some sort of apparition, a ghost of her past.
When she'd told her she was just checking in, Maka had almost felt like they were friends and confided her frustration that to carry her blade in this world would mark her as touched in the head. Kim had seemed so sympathetic, too, when she offered an exchange-a charm to summon her blade from a magical netherspace on her whim if only she would wear this second charm attached to the first that would allow Kim to keep tabs on her-purely to be certain she was well and needed no aid, the witch assured her even as Jackie said over her shoulder, "She just wants a way to see more of the other world easily, plus she thinks you might be interesting to watch."
If that really had been Kim's motive, it's not that Maka minds-more that she feels like she's been sold out since the witch is also helping Ox.
There's no sense dwelling on what cannot be changed, really. Even if Maka would love to lay the witch out just about now as she already did the prince. And what of the surprise she mentioned? After the shock she'd gotten by Prince Ox's crashing the party, the idea of just what the witch is sending her way has her stomach in a knot. She clutches Soul more tightly as he weaves through the traffic of the city, finding an odd, almost forbidden comfort in his warmth, his very nearness, as she wonders what to do next.
At least she's not alone. That's something.
It isn't even another thirty minutes before they're in an impossibly tall, elegant building on the other side of town. It's made of glass, seemingly, and as Soul informs her when she asks, steel, and there are too many floors to count from the outside. Soul speaks to someone behind a desk, and before long, they're led into an elevator that takes them to the top floor. The view from the massive suite they are left in is dizzying. Maka didn't think it was possible to go so high without flying.
"What is-this place?" she feels compelled to ask as she presses her hands to the wall of glass that overlooks the city. The building is so tall, very few rival it, and the view of the lights spread out below like reverse stars is breathtaking. Maka finds her nose pressed to the glass and doesn't mind the chill as she looks in awe over the city, feeling like she might see the whole world from such a height.
"A hotel," Soul says as he walks up beside her. "A really nice hotel, though there are also some offices and apartments mixed in. This one is the tallest building in the city. My parents bought it when I moved here because-well, because they're them, I guess. Doesn't fucking matter."
Maka looks at him and notices he's shoved his hands in his pockets, something he tends to do when he's uncomfortable in some way. "Gave us a secure place so whatever. There's a lot of security, and no one gets in the penthouse elevator without a key and a fight."
The way he speaks of his parents puzzles her. Having witnessed the playfulness between Soul and his brother, Maka had thought he must have had a good family life, even if she also sensed some strain, some resentment-but talk of his parents shuts him down, and she doesn't understand. Yes, her parents-her parents can be a sore subject with her, too, but there are reasons, and she can talk of them, talk around those reasons-but Soul can't talk about his family. Can't-or won't-something. Even though they have indulged him and given him the world, seemingly. The building he lives in and everything else have come from them, and though he vaguely speaks of being a musician, though his brother had called him a renowned concert pianist, she has yet to see him do more than practice.
There's something else there and it concerns her, pains her precisely because it pains him. Soul's helped her so much, and he's genuinely her friend, someone she cares for, has been nearly since she met him just over a week ago. Has it been so little time? It seems impossible, she's growing so accustomed to this world, he's become such a fixture in her life. She cares. Too much, maybe.
"That's very generous of them," Maka says mildly. "To allow you such free use."
His scoff speaks volumes.
"An Evans could stay nowhere less," he says quietly, voice steeped in bitterness. "Already drives them nuts I live in a brownstone and Wes actually stays there."
"So they-don't approve?" Maka knows she's prying, but she can't help it when he sounds so-so-angry. So lost.
His shrug signals his unwillingness to say more. Perhaps-perhaps if she were to tell him her story? She knows she owes it to him. Not all of it, maybe, not the hurt, but if she shares it, it could show him he's not alone. Soul has certainly made her feel far less so.
Maka never speaks of this, not really, not to anyone but the faithful pet she hadn't had the heart to drag into hiding, but with him-with him it seems natural to say more, so she does.
"My parents-well, it's because of my father I came here. Really, it's because of my father that-that any of this happened."
"Your father-made you come here?" His brow furrows in confusion.
"It isn't that simple," she turns her head to face him, to meet his eyes. "And it's a long tale, one that even I didn't hear until very recently though it is of my life. Would you hear it yourself?"
"I," he sighs and shrugs, turning to her. His brow is still creased, his face conflicted. "I mean, I'd like to hear, but not if-it's your story."
"Then I'd like to tell you," Maka says, forcing a smile. She slides down to sit and looks up at him expectantly, and he follows suit, sitting next to her, both looking out over the city through the floor to ceiling glass. It's soothing, somehow, all the lights, beautiful, to know they are among so much life-but also a little lonely being above it all, disconnected. It's a lot like her life has always been.
"When I was growing up, things-they were good, seemed good when I was very little. My Mama and Papa loved me, they cared for me, they protected me. Overprotected me, really, treating me as though I were made of spun glass, but so young I could not see it, felt only the warmth of their love. I couldn't see my father's worry or the line in my mother's brow above her bright smile, couldn't see how false and forced those smiles really were."
Soul did not speak to this, nor did she expect him to, keeping his gaze fixed on the city below.
"When I was perhaps five I began to notice. How Mama's smile didn't reach her eyes. How Papa always had other women tittering on his arm. I began to hear the whispers, too, to see how Mama frowned his way. And I began to notice how they sheltered me."
Maka hasn't spoken much to him of her past. Sure, little things, marveling at how different it is, the lack of magic, the wonder of technology, but little beyond. She catches his eyes trained towards her in their slight reflection in the glass. The red is as warm and startling as ever, and she offers him a small smile.
"My Mama was a knight, you know. She rescued my Papa from a witch whose clutches he had fallen into-whose-enticements he had fallen for, I suppose. And when she rescued him, he fell in love with her, the witch forgotten. My Mama was a hero. But eventually-eventually she could no longer stand his wandering eyes, his straying hands. Eventually, even her love for me wasn't enough to keep her by his side, so she left. Sometimes, I hear word of her, still adventuring, still saving the world, but I haven't seen her since I was eight." She wishes she could keep the pain from her voice, but she can't-she can't-she's never been good at hiding her emotions. And anyway, showing him he's not alone-isn't that the point?
The small noise Soul makes in his throat she cannot parse, and his eyes-his eyes tell her little, thoughtful but steady-so Maka barrels on as she ever does, heedless.
"I always found it strange, you know, how my Mama was a knight, so strong, but I was treated as a helpless princess, an object to be seen and treasured and protected."
"But you can fight!" he finally speaks, incredulous. "I saw it, Maka. You're amazing." Her cheeks go scarlet at such praise, even if she knows it's the truth, she can fight.
"A few months before she left," she says, letting out a breath. "My Mama started to teach me. She showed me some things, and she arranged-she arranged for my politics tutor who had once been a great warrior himself to show me in secret when she was gone, to show me other things, too, and so he did and kept that promise. So yes, even though Papa wished to keep me from such knowledge, to keep me on a shelf, I can fight, and ride, and I have knowledge of philosophy and advanced politics and negotiations instead of just trivialities and etiquette. I know more than simply how to sing and summon wildlife and look the part I must."
"She must have cared, to see to your future that way," Soul says quietly, eyes showing something like concern, trained as they are on hers against the glass.
"I believe she did, yes." Maka can't help how sad her smile is, small and soft and bitter. "Just not enough to stay." The sigh she also cannot help, but she straightens her shoulders that have begun to slump imperceptibly and continues.
"So yes, I can fight. She left me her sword, her ancient family blade with a note saying it was mine when I needed it, though my papa hid it deep within the armory when he discovered it, insisting a proper princess would have no use for such things. But even she told me nothing of my fate, nothing of my curse." Maka takes a breath, deep and cleansing. "After she left, for years I trained in secret, lived as I was expected in public, and confided in none but Blair."
"Blair?" The reflection of his stark eyebrows raise.
"My cat!" she says happily, because really, Blair has been the one steady, solid, truly good thing in her life. Maka misses her terribly.
"Figures you'd talk to your cat," he says, but his smile is fond as she catches his reflection. She smiles back and nods.
"She gives really good advice, I swear!" Maka insists, then continues. "Though she didn't tell me either. I wonder if she knew?" Another sigh, her smile gone. "Anyway, I continued in blissful ignorance, and then, on my twenty-first birthday-I was bitten by a snake, even though Papa was diligent in keeping snakes far away from the kingdom, and I fell into a deep sleep, fulfilling the curse I knew nothing about."
"You're serious." Soul can't entirely mask the incredulity.
"Completely. I wish I weren't." She bites her lip unhappily. Since Ox had told her the truth, she'd done her own research in the first days of her return home, and what she'd discovered had rekindled the anger at her father she'd believed long buried. Driving Mama away with his infidelity had been far from his only sin. Very, very far. "You recall I spoke of how Mama rescued him from a witch? Well, it is true-but not the whole truth. The witch was the powerful and beautiful ruler of a neighboring land, had usurped the throne to rule with an iron fist, and hearing of her great beauty, my father-my fool of a father-went off to woo her."
"He wanted to-to-with the evil witch?"
Maka puts her face in her palm for a moment, ashamed and embarrassed at her own sire, shaking her head. "He did. And he did. He wooed her and won her-well, I do not think she has a heart to win, but certainly he gained her attentions for a time. Only, people believed he had been kidnapped, had a spell put upon him. When my mama heard this, she was a knight errant, traveling the lands, and she went to his aid and drove off the witch. And my papa, well, he-you can tell he has a thing for powerful women. So he wooed Mama instead, and won her heart and-they married and had me. Mama was so young, too, and strong, but Papa was handsome, and somehow, she couldn't see past his charm and wit to what was beneath. They wed mere weeks after his rescue, the people of Albarn rejoicing at the return of their King, at the coming of such a powerful Queen, and I was born not a year later.
"Then something good came of it. Sometimes the good is greater than the cost."
Is she greater than the cost? Maka's not so sure-certainly not in her mama's eyes-but she's glad to hear he thinks so. Her cheeks warm and she bites her lip, muttering, "Maybe," and not letting him say more, far too embarrassed to hear it.
"It-doesn't matter. It cost me, too. The witch, Medusa, she was angry to hear of what happened, angry at her defeat, and she was powerful. So she gathered her two sisters to have her revenge, and upon the celebration of my birth, she and her sisters bestowed their curse upon me-to never be happy in that realm, to always be haunted by my past, and to be bitten by a snake and never awaken on the night of my twenty-first birthday."
His brow creases again. "And you said you were bitten and fell into the sleep. So how-"
"-am I here?" Maka smiles, and to her own surprise, it isn't bitter. It's strange, but had she not been bitten and then awoken, she could never have met Soul and-and she's glad to have met him. Never would she have believed someone could be so selfless and kind beneath such gruffness. Never would she have believed such a person, such a man might exist. "Yes. You see, after the curse was bestowed, another witch arrived and used her magic to change it-to decree that I could be awoken should a prince prove himself worthy and rescue me by bestowing my first kiss."
"Let me guess-Prince Ox?"
"Prince Ox," she sighs. "I slept for four years until he rescued me, and when I returned to Albarn with him, my father was so overjoyed he insisted we were to be wed."
"And you weren't so cool with that." The wry smile Soul gives through their reflections is endearing.
"Not even a little. I told Papa I didn't love Ox, that I didn't want to marry him, but he wouldn't listen. He insisted since I was woken by love's first kiss, Ox must be my true love and so, we would surely live happily ever after. But I don't want that, not with him, not with anyone. I don't believe in happily ever after. So I-when Papa wouldn't listen, I ran because what else could I do? Two nights before the wedding, I took some things, I sought Kim, and she helped me come-here."
There's a long, heavy pause between them, then he leans a hand in his chin and ponders her reflection. "So basically, your dad is a gross cheater, and him being a gross cheater drove your mom off and ended with you cursed."
"Basically," Maka agrees with a sigh. "But I guess the point is, we can't chose our family, but we can choose our own path."
His reflection looks troubled, but Soul avoids her gaze as he stands. "I'm glad you could, anyway. You hungry? I'm hungry. Gonna order room service. Up for some sundaes?"
About to protest that they had already eaten, Maka realizes it's been a long, trying few hours, and she is actually hungry, so she stands and nods. "Yes, I would like that."
Apparently, her tale had done him no good. At least, she thinks, Soul knows the truth now, and that part had been cathartic, at least for her. She's never told her story to anyone save Blair, never shared everything about her parents though, of course, it has always been an open secret in the Kingdom, spoken of in hushed whispers she could only just hear. Never had she wished to acknowledge that truth for others, but for him, with him, it somehow feels right, and it strikes her anew how important he has become in so short a time.
The room service doesn't take long, a tall, blond man arriving with a rolling cart containing two covered, silver platters. Oddly, he is wearing earbuds, just visible-and while Maka knows that such things will play music in the ears, it doesn't seem to hinder him from his duties. Just as he is thanking them and Soul is placing money in his gloved hand, there's a meow, and a streak of black shoots out from under the table cloth and leaps into her arms. She looks different, without the purple cast to her fur, but Maka would know her anywhere.
"Blair," she squeals happily to twin stares by the server and Soul alike.
"Wha?" Soul says as the man makes a startled noise in his throat.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Evans, I had no idea-I'll call someone from animal control to remove this," he pauses, distaste dripping from his voice, "-creature-immediately, and my deepest apologies-"
"You will do no such thing!" Maka interrupts, incredulous, as Soul continues to stare. "Blair is my friend, and she's staying right here. Aren't you?" she adds, scratching under the cat's chin, to which the cat replies with a content meow and loud purring.
"Sir?" The man flaps his hands helplessly, and Soul gathers his wits enough to reply.
"Look Mr.-" Soul scans his chest, must catch sight of his name tag "-Law. It's-fine. If Maka says it's her friend, it's her friend. Thanks for the food, and have a good night." He pulls more money from his wallet and pushes it at the man, who looks between them with uncertainty before shaking his head and scurrying back into the elevator and away.
"Definitely gonna get an earful for that shit, but whatever," he grumbles as he eyes Maka warily. For her part, Maka is only half paying attention, too busy snuggling her lost pet in a rush of joy.
"Ah! I should introduce you! Blair, Soul, Soul, Blair."
Soul just blinks, and Blair meows.
"You don't have to be shy," Maka says, beaming down at her oldest friend and companion. "You can say hello and-and tell us how you got here! You didn't listen to my note-I told you not to follow. But-I mean-I am happy to see you!" She realizes she's babbling but it's Blair, and she's missed her, and she thought she'd never see her again, so of course she's happy.
Blair starts to tell her what's happened, and it doesn't matter if she meows because it's part of her heritage as a princess to understand it, but she figures Soul should hear this, too, so she quickly interrupts.
"Could you speak so that Soul can understand, too? He's not a princess like me, so he doesn't-"
Three more meows and she gets it.
"Oh," Maka says, disappointed. "I didn't realize this place would make it so you can't talk, I'm sorry. I guess I could." She looks to Soul and back to Blair. "Translate?
No need, Blair meows and then there's a puff of purple smoke and instead of Blair, a woman stands, with purple hair and a witch's hat and very little else.
"B-Blair?" Maka stammers because-she recognizes those yellow eyes, but how can it-?
"Ah, Maka, Kitten!" she stretches her back and grins her way, feral. "I'm glad that worked! Now I can talk to your boy. Hello Maka's boy!" She turns her eyes towards Soul and her smile widens. "Nya, he's cute."
"You-you're Blair," Maka manages to get out, still a little stunned, because Blair is a cat. At least, she's always been a cat before. She's supposed to be a cat. Only now, suddenly, she isn't.
"Of course it's Bu-tan, Kitten. You asked me to talk, and I can't do that here in this form, so Bu-tan had to change. I know, I know." She waves one manicured hand, long purple claws flashing. "You haven't seen Bu-tan this way, but here I am!"
"But why-you never-" It's confusing.
"I know I look different," she admits with a small pout. "But Bu-tan could always change. With how things were in Albarn, it was just easier to be your kitty. Bu-tan likes being with Maka-kitten, but Bu-tan is also a kitty with a lot of magic." Her smile is fond, and Maka, though confused, smiles back because it's Blair and she's missed her so.
For his part, Soul is still gawking wordlessly like a hooked fish.
"How did you-get here then?" she soldiers on for both of them.
"Wellll…" Blair puts a finger to her chin. "Once you left, after Bu-tan made sure everything was in order, it was time to follow your scent to Kimeal, and she told me where she sent you, so Bu-tan followed here, too. Took a long time to follow your scent here, though, but I found it and I found you, Kitten!"
"I'm so glad!" Maka admits with a smile, and Blair surprises her by scooping her into a bone crunching hug, smooshing her face into ample human cleavage. "Blair!" Maka gasps. "I can't-breathe!"
"Oh! Oh, sorry, Kitten!" The woman with purple hair and purple cat ears and warm golden eyes smiles sheepishly as she steps back. "Bu-tan just missed her little kitty."
"Me too," Maka says, and she could cry she's so happy to see her friend in any form. "I hope Kim wasn't too hard on you," she adds, concerned that the witch had fleeced her favorite pet.
"Oh, Bu-tan has known Kim since before Kitten was even born, no worries." The sharp smile that spreads is a reminder that the woman is, in fact, feline. "She owes Bu-tan a favor or three, so Bu-tan collected. Now-" she shifts her eyes suddenly to Soul, who still looks stunned, frozen in place as he takes in their little reunion. "Tell me about your boyfriend, Kitten."
"He's not-we're not-" Maka sputters, because leave it to Blair to get the entirely wrong idea.
"Sure, Kitten, sure," she offers an exaggerated wink. Meanwhile, Soul's mouth has begun to work.
"A cat," he manages to get out, shaking his head. "She was a fucking cat. And now she's-what-I don't even know-"
"Oh he is adorable, isn't he? Bu-tan can see why you picked him!" Walking over to Soul, she smooshes his cheeks together, then squeals to smush him to her chest much like she had recently done to Maka. He manages a helpless, distressed look her way, and Maka takes pity, calling her friend.
"Um, Blair?"
"Yes, Kitten?" Blair releases her latest victim, who pants for breath, red faced.
"Maybe we should catch up? I didn't tell you but, Prince Ox-"
"Oh, my yes! Bu-tan wants to hear all of her little kitty's adventures!" She tilts her head thoughtfully as she looks between the two of them. "Though, Bu-tan misses Kitten's pets. Maybe…"
"You can change!" Maka says happily, because she's missed petting Blair, too. "I'll tell Soul if you have anything to say to him!"
A puff of purple smoke later and the black cat is back and in her arms and, as she tells her tale to Blair while eating ice cream with Soul, all is right with the world.
Two hours later, Maka is in what she's claimed as her room within this three bedroom suite, laying on her side as Blair curls next to her contentedly. She'd sent Soul to bed an hour ago-he'd started dozing, the dark smudges under his eyes highlighting his exhaustion, and Maka had insisted he needed rest. His protest had been minimal, and really, she is just happy for the time with her lost pet.
But now she's told Blair all about her time here and the strange things she's discovered, wrapping up with how she and Soul had fled here earlier in the evening.
The way that cat blinks slowly at her as Maka continues her ministrations is unnerving. She knows this look-it's the same look Blair always gives before she drops a fireball in her lap-the same look she'd given her when she admitted she'd wet on Papa's latest mistress's bed or when she'd bitten her etiquette tutor on the nose after the woman twisted Maka's arm for curtseying wrong. That look never boded well.
So, Blair meowed at her. Your boy insisted on coming.
"He-wanted to come," she says cautiously, willing away the color she already feels rising on her cheeks.
Because he was worried. Because he cares about Kitten. She's purring, but her eyes are also calculating.
"Maybe?" Maka admits.
And Kitten cares about him.
"We're friends," she says tersely. "Friends look out for one another-stop looking at me like that!"
Blair just blinks, still purring.
"We're friends," Maka repeats. "He took me in when everything was new and confusing, he's helped me because he's a good person, but that's it."
If you say so, Kitten. Blair looks smug, knowing, but what does she know, really? Just because Soul makes her feel warm, just because she likes his smile, however rare, just because dancing with him had been so nice, just because he's her friend and she cares about him, it doesn't mean anything. Or at least-she thinks it doesn't. She knows she doesn't want it to mean anything because friendship is safe and-whatever else it could be is scary. That-whatever else-it rarely ends in anything but disaster, and she'll be damned if she went through running from one marriage just to end up in another. She will be better than both her mama and her papa combined.
"I say so," she insists. Blair offers only a loud sniff in reply, so Maka pets her nuisance of a cat until they both drift off to sleep.
Maka wakes up to blinding light streaming in through the floor to ceiling window and a note on her pillow:
Kitten,
Bu-tan had a few things to see to, plus Kitten needs time with her boy. Will find you when it's time, but if you call for me, Bu-tan will always come.
Love,
Blair
Gone? Blair had only just found them and she's already gone? Maka knows her cat, knows she will find her, but it hurts just a little that she's left so soon. Still, there's no sense dwelling on what she can't change, so she doesn't, instead throwing on some clothes-she'd packed jeans and a light sweater among a few other things-and making her way into the living room. Catching her image in the windows, she still marvels at the existence of feminine trousers. Brilliant.
The little clock on her nightstand had read 10:00, and she can't help but wonder if Soul is up. It had been a late night and, from what she's been able to tell so far, he's not an early riser, but somehow, the thought of being alone just now puts her insides in knots, so she hopes beyond hope he's awake.
The real surprise comes when he actually is.
He's up at a dining table tucked onto one side of the suite main room in front of the windows, shoveling in eggs from a laden plate as he flips the channels of a nearby television idly. Noticing her as she nears the table, he grins her way and swallows down his mouthful before gesturing across from him where there's a covered dish waiting.
"I ordered breakfast. There's juice and coffee, too, if you want." He waves a hand over to the little cart nearby.
"Ah, thanks," she replies as she lifts the dish to a pile of steaming hotcakes and sausage, her new favorite breakfast. It's amazing to her, sometimes, how much he catches the little things, and she couldn't fight back the warm smile she offers if she wanted to.
"Welcome," Soul grunts around a second mouthful.
They eat in companionable silence, clean up just the same, and then they are left without a plan.
What does one do when running from an egomaniacal prince on a mission anyway?
"So I was thinking," he finally says as they stand awkwardly, both seeming unsure in a way they haven't been since they first met so many days ago. "Since you need to stay on the move, we can just see more of the city if you want. I know you mentioned being curious about the art museum, and well, I doubt your prince is going to be trolling the sights looking for you. If he's got that charm or whatever, it's probably better if you can get lost in the crowd, right?"
"Right!" Maka says, voice bright, because she really has wanted to see the museum since watching a television program with such a visit a few days back, and the distraction would be more than welcome.
It's a nice day, if a bit cool for the desert spring, so they decide to walk. In the daylight, the hotel they leave behind is even more of a marvel, shining brightly in the sunshine, and she gawks a bit, much to Soul's apparent amusement.
"Are princesses allowed to gawk?" he asks, laughing.
"Oh, shut it." Maka throws an elbow to his ribs, but it's playful, Soul's protests feigned. They've established a camaraderie in their time together, an equilibrium that's just nice. He's just nice, though such thoughts are dangerous, so she stuffs that one down in the depths of not gonna happen as they keep walking.
They reach the museum soon enough and then it's hours of wonder, of amazement that so much variety can exist, that so much beauty could spring from the minds of man. In Albarn, in her world, music is important, but visual art is-less so. It tends to be pretty but only just pretty-where here, it is ugly and beautiful and masterful and daring. It evokes everything and nothing. Somehow, it reminds her of how strange and textured and varied this new world is, of how her memories of her old world, her old self, seem flat and dead in comparison. She's in awe.
For his part, Soul appears to be largely bored, his eyes more often on her than on the paintings and sculpture and other pieces.
"Don't you find it fascinating?" Maka asks at some point, puzzled by his lack of enthusiasm because how could he not be inspired?
"Eh," he shrugs. "Nothing I haven't seen. Nothing I wasn't dragged to a thousand times as a kid. But I'm glad you think it's cool."
Maybe it's because it's so new, so different that it strikes her so, but whatever the case, he seems content to let her drink her fill, to drink the place in to the lees as it were, and Maka's more than happy to do just that.
By the time she's ready to go, they step outside and it's dark and she realizes she's starving. Which means, Soul must be, too, that she's let herself get lost in it all and has been completely selfish. Turning to him, brow furrowed, she says as much. "I'm sorry I lost track of time-you must be so hungry-you should have said something!"
"Nah." Soul puts his hands behind his head as they make their way down the steps, looking relaxed, content even. "'S fine. Are you hungry, though?"
"Famished!" she admits, and he laughs and shakes his head.
"Leave it to you to be so engrossed you forget to eat." It's playful, but she feels herself color nonetheless. "I know a place," he adds. "If you want?"
Mostly, they've done take out since he's not much for people from what Maka can tell, so the idea of going out somewhere for a meal intrigues her.
"Of course!"
Grinning at her enthusiasm, Soul leads them through streets and alleyways until they hit a dark little road with several well lit places dotting the way. There are lettered signs glowing in what they call neon, each with a different name, but they finally enter one called The Little Demon, and Soul steers them to a small table not far from the stage where a quartet of performers make the type of music that Maka's pretty sure she recognizes as what Soul had called jazz.
The place is dark and smoky and strange, with red and black checkered tile, black lacquered tables, and red velvet hangings. Somehow, it reminds her of Soul.
The menu is sparse-sandwiches and soups and salads. Maka orders a salad and some wine, Soul gets a burger and beer, and they focus on the music. It's odd, though interesting. She can't say she gets it, but she doesn't hate it either. For his part, Soul seems enthralled, foot tapping along, fingers occasionally working invisible keys on the tabletop, eyes hazy as he just listens. She'll admit that she'd rather watch him, watch how the music takes him places she'll never go than try to understand it herself, and thinks maybe that's how the museum had been for him. It would explain how much he'd stared, anyway.
As the quartet breaks, Soul turns to her expectantly, eyes bright. "So, did you like it?"
"Yeah, it's great!" Her enthusiasm isn't feigned, though it's his enthusiasm that captivates.
"Right? This place is awesome. They get some really good acts."
Their conversation is hushed as the quartet resumes, and Soul is so absorbed, Maka can't bring herself to ask him to go, so they remain long into the night. As the band is packing and the waitstaff cleaning, other patrons fled, an idea comes to her. This place clearly speaks to him, is him in a way, perhaps this is what he does? This is the music he himself plays? It's different from what she'd heard him play when they first met, but that doesn't mean he isn't capable of both.
"Would you play for me?" she suddenly blurts.
"Huh?" Soul blinks her way, his fog lifting. "Maka, they're closing up, we should go, I don't think-"
"You could ask-I'll bet they wouldn't mind-excuse me!" she bolts up from the table as a tall, curvy woman with long, blond hair passes. "Do you think my friend could borrow the piano for a few minutes?"
The woman looks them both up and down before popping her gum. "Sure thing, just be out before we lock up." She holds out an expectant hand and Maka has no idea why, but Soul walks up behind and slips her something green. "Pleasure doing business with ya. I'm Liz if you need anything," she says as she strolls off behind the bar to continue cleaning.
Behind her, Soul sighs. "You really shouldn't have."
"Please?"
She must relay her enthusiasm because Soul sighs again, but then makes for the stage. "One song," he calls over his shoulder. "Then we go."
"One song!" Maka agrees, unable to keep the triumph from her voice. If this is what Soul does, then she wants to hear, wants to see him in his element, though she doesn't dare parse why it's suddenly so important to her.
As he sits to play, he looks up at her, face unreadable-and then, his fingers hit the keys and the world is his. Maka gets lost in his music, and it's like what they've listened to but not, like what he'd played before but not. It's captivating-a little dark, a little wild, a little sombre, a little playful. She could bask in it, drown in it. Music is part of her legacy as a princess, but she's never understood it, not really. But this? She may not understand it, but she gets it, it resonates, it's him.
It's over too soon, and other applause joins hers.
"You're great," the tall blonde from before, Liz, walks up. "You should do an audition. I'm sure Sid'd take you in a heartbeat."
"Uh, thanks," Soul says gruffly, and fishing in his pocket, shoves another bill her way before hopping off stage. Maka follows, surprised.
"Don't you play here? Is this not where you work as a concert pianist?" she asks, confused, and is surprised when he recoils as if he'd been slapped before quickly recovering, face carefully neutral. "I mean, I know you play music, so I thought-"
"Nah, not this type. Shit I play is boring. They'd never let me near a joint like this no matter what that girl said." Maka notes how his fist clenches at his side as he stops in the middle of the room, belying the bored tone, the mask of indifference.
"Your music is not boring!" Maka can't help the incredulity because she'd heard him before, has only just heard him again, and it had been-like the art, like the museum, amazing.
"That was just-that's not what I play." The brush off is unexpected. "I play symphony shit. Classical. The shit my parents made sure I could get perfect down to the least sixteenth note."
There's defeat in his eyes, and something clicks. "But you hate it."
"Don't love it," he half grunts. "'S not-me, I guess. But it's a living."
"But this music is you?" She lets her gaze sweep the room.
"Dunno." His shoulder lifts slightly. "Maybe. Not like it matters."
"Because your parents want you to-to play different music, right? The music that's not you?"
He looks surprised for a moment, then shrugs again. "An Evans doesn't play jazz," Soul says, his voice going deeper, more refined.
"You don't have to do what they want, Soul." She's quiet, careful. "You're your own person, your own man. You can play jazz. You can play anything."
"They'd disown me." It's bitter, his look, his voice.
"That would be on them." Maka searches his gaze, glued downwards, fixed on his hands. "If I did what Papa wanted, I'd be married to Ox. But-I couldn't. And if this is what you want? Then it's what you should do. What would happen if they disowned you?
There is some realization dawning as he looks up at her. "Dunno. They could cut me out of the will. 'D still have my trust, though. Shit."
Maka is about to smile, to encourage, but he deflates before she ever gets the chance. "Doesn't matter, we should go."
And they do, they start to walk again, and Maka can't help but think that somehow, someway, she's failed him. His face is tense and he grabs her arm, pulling her to one side, and before she can shout her surprise, his finger is to his lips, desperate, and following where his eyes stray, she sees it, sees him.
Oh no. Not again. Not again. Kim. It was all Kim.
Because there, not twenty feet away across the club, is the prince, his armored retainer in tow. Ox's eyes widen in surprise as he catches sight of them.
"My love!" he sings out, and oh gods, oh gods, the music swells again.
"Oh, my love! My darling! I've found you once again!" He approaches, voice swelling. Maka cringes, can practically feel Soul tense beside her. "This time, for good! For I won't let you go now, this cad shall pay the price! And you'll be miiii-" Maka's about to summon her sword when his singing chokes to a halt in a blur of purple and flesh, and suddenly, Ox is on the floor, straddled by Blair's human form, face smothered in a massive quantity of sheer breast.
"Maka, Kitten, Go!" she grins up at them cattishly. "Bu-tan has this!"
"Come on!" Maka pulls a stunned Soul by the hand, unwilling to waste her friend's sacrifice. She eyes the man with him warily, but the knight just shrugs as if to say none of my business as they pass, and Maka tugs Soul out of the club and into the night. "Run!" she says forcefully, and pulling him along, they both speed away from her would be wooer for the second time in as many days.
They find themselves in a seedy little motel, with nothing but the shirts on their backs. Maka is unwilling to risk returning to the glass hotel, unwilling to risk that Ox had tracked them to the club from there.
She's afraid she'll have to kill him to keep him from killing Soul and forcing her back home, and she doesn't want to go there-she can't go there. Ox may be annoying and deluded, but he isn't evil, and Maka just isn't quite that selfish. If she has to run forever, so be it.
"Fuck, what a dump," Soul grumbles as they close the door to the little room. There are two beds with worn covers, some fading art on the walls over equally fading wallpaper, a television, a few small tables, and some very worn looking carpet on the floor. Soul had called this a 'flea trap' when she tugged him this way, and Maka is inclined to agree, but then, it's also the last place someone like Ox would ever expect to find a princess.
Flopping on the bed, Soul blinks up at her, hands behind his head. "Is this really necessary?"
"Do you want to run into Ox again?" she snaps, beyond frustrated with the situation herself.
His sigh is answer enough. "Noted. Roach motel it is."
Maka makes a face, nose wrinkling. "Really?"
Soul shrugs. "Probably." He grins up her way. "But you can just sing them into compliance, so."
True as that is, she prefers not to sleep where it's dirty enough to attract roaches, and this place does rather remind her of the seedy little inns that dot the road to Albarn, the type she'd snuck off to as a teen to get a feel for what it was like to be something other than a sheltered princess.
"Whatever." She rolls her eyes his way, the mannerisms of this world growing on her steadily. She kicks off her shoes and flops onto the other bed, exhausted. "There are worse things than roaches."
"Like princes?"
Maka looks over to find Soul's eyebrows raised, amused smirk on his face.
"Like princes," she agrees, and they both laugh.
Before long, a late night episode of Law and Order is on courtesy of one of the cable channels. In her mass consumption of television during her time here, Maka has found courtroom dramas to be her favorite. The police and the lawyers are something like the knights of her own realm, protecting people and doing good, fighting the good fight against the forces of darkness. It reminds her of her mama, and she thinks it wouldn't be so bad, to lay down the sword and take up a pen, a podium, and her wits.
As she's drifting off into slumber on their second episode, this one about a jazz musician falsely accused, she hears Soul's voice call out, "Hey, Maka?"
It crosses her mind for a fleeting instant that she's falling asleep with a man in the room, a gross impropriety, but it's Soul and she trusts him.
"Mmmm," she answers as the thought flees, eyes closed, the soft hum of television in the background.
"Been thinking, and you're right."
"Aren't I usually?" she sighs, smiling at his responding chuckle. "But what about this time?"
There's a pause and she opens her eyes, nearly turning to her side to look at him, but then he speaks. "Music. I should-I should try it. Jazz, I mean. Being a concert pianist, that was Dad's dream, not mine. So yeah. Thought you should know."
"Mmm." Her eyes flutter closed again, content. "That's great, Soul. I'm really glad."
"Me too," his voice is soft, soothing, lulling her deeper towards slumber. "Thanks, Maka."
"Welcome," she murmurs as the world fades to warm static.
Maka wakes to a splitting headache and the sound of a shower. There's a box on the little table near the window that reads Death Donuts, along with some napkins, and the sound of Soul's voice, muffled by the noise of water.
Funny to think she can so easily recognize the noise when two weeks ago, she couldn't have told you what a shower even is.
Flipping open the box, she pulls out a powdered pastry and chews thoughtfully. If this is to be her life, well, at least she has Soul. Maybe it isn't knighthood, but it's better than marriage to Ox, anyway.
It's too bad Ox is the one who rescued her. Too bad it couldn't have been-
What a silly thought. It couldn't have been Soul, of course not! And she shouldn't want it to be, either. But still-his warm eyes, strong hands, kindness, loyalty, even his snark. She can't help but feel being married to Soul would be very different from being married to Ox, and she wonders, if it had been him, would she still have run?
The fact she can't say, the fact she even thinks, deep down, maybe she wouldn't have scares her, so she shifts her focus to his muffled singing, trying to pick out the words.
The fact he sings in the shower when he's so openly teased her over her own song is beyond amusing. Endearing, even.
"...are you woman enough to be my man, bandaged hand in hand." The words are faint, but she manages to catch them and they make her blush, the thought of Soul singing a love song.
Maka shoves in another bite of donut, chewing with vigor, anything but to let her thoughts keep drifting in such ridiculous ways.
The shower turns off, his voice fades, and she's relieved when the door clicks open, though it's short lived because, really, Soul in jeans with a towel slung over his glistening, naked chest should not make her feel hot, but it does. And he's got a scar, long and jagged, from shoulder to hip. She wonders where it came from, if it hurts. Would sort of like to touch it, run her fingers down the length and-
What is this nonsense?
Another rough bite of donut and he arrives at the table, hovering over her to grab up his own pastry and she doesn't need this.
Bolting up, Maka calls out, "My turn," and scurries off into the bathroom, hoping the shower will clear her head, and it does. It's only too bad it can't do the same for the stirrings in her heart.
An hour later, they're gone. Soul has handled what is called 'check out,' and they're wandering aimlessly, no plan and nowhere to go. Ox has become the bane of both of their existences, and Maka realizes, suddenly and forcefully, how unfair this is to Soul. Not that she hadn't known, but if he wants to try playing jazz, to build a different kind of life, this certainly won't help.
The thought consumes her all morning, through a quiet lunch, and into the afternoon. This isn't fair.
They are passing by a shop with a wall of TVs in the window when Maka finally pauses, and Soul looks back, confused.
"You don't have to do this," she says firmly, gaze fixed on his own.
"Huh?" Soul runs hand through his hair, clearly confused.
"Staying with me," she clarifies. "You don't have to. I can take care of myself, and it's really not fair-"
"Maka, it's-" he begins, but suddenly, his eyes flick to one of the televisions "-well no shit?"
It's her turn to be confused until her gaze follows his and she knows. Because there, right on the big screen for all to see, is Ox of Ford, riding atop a bus, sword puncturing the roof as he screams that he will slay this beast to rescue his beloved.
"He's mad," she breathes, shaking her head. "Absolutely mad."
"You think?" Soul sounds incredulous, then sighs. "He's gonna fucking hurt someone."
"He is," Maka agrees, clenching her fist.
"We need to stop this, don't we?" Another sigh.
"I do, yes," Maka confirms. "Do you know where that vehicle is?"
The irony that they now must chase the man they've been running from doesn't elude her, but she refuses to allow anyone to be harmed in her name.
Soul purses his lips in thought. "I think that's the Death Center Park line, runs around the perimeter."
"Which way?" Maka asks, eyes meeting his grimly.
Gesturing vaguely to the west, he says, "I'll take you."
"Soul…" Her voice is tense. He has a life, and she can't stand the thought of him getting caught up in this, of him getting hurt.
"Don't worry." His grin is sharp. "This time, you'll lead."
Her heart swells at his words, his smile, his utter faith in her, and Maka nods and grabs his hand to hurry their way across the city before Prince Ox can do far more damage than he's worth.
It turns out Death Center Park is big.
This is a fact Maka had vaguely known as they'd visited its edges and skirted it over the course of the week, but making their way through and around, it could take hours, it could take days. They might never find the prince amidst the trees and the people.
"He was on this side," Soul offers as they strike down a path. "I mean, the bus was, anyway. So I guess we-wander and listen for the sound of panic?"
Since it's not as if she has a better plan, Maka nods her agreement and grabs his hand again, tugging him along. He doesn't question that she's taken it, and she's glad. Feeling his hand, warm and solid, gives her an odd, inexplicable sort of comfort.
For a good hour, they walk path after path, making their way through the east side of the park, watching and listening and waiting.
When Soul tugs her to a halt, suddenly, forcefully, her first instinct is to snap, but he puts a finger to his lips with one hand and points across the way to a field with the other and oh, oh, that's why.
There's a lone figure to the left in the field of grass, a faint swell of music drifting on the breeze along with his voice. It's Ox, and he looks-well, honestly pathetic. There are dark shadows ringing his eyes beneath his trademark spectacles, his velvet attire is torn and soiled and sad in ways she hadn't noticed in the hazy light of the club, and once again, he's singing.
"They said you'd give me treasures beyond compare. They said you'd love me, you'd be my love, my queen most fair." There is despair in his voice and Maka almost feels bad for him. "Damn all the promises that were made, from the cradle to the grave, when all I want is home."
What now?
In the distance, she can see him kick the ground.
"You say you want nothing to do with me. But to last my life, I need a kingdom, a birthright!"
Is he saying--surely he can't be saying…? But as he goes on, it's clear he really is. "You run from me, run from a life of gold, our story to remain untold, a love so pure it's cold."
Maybe… maybe they don't have to fight after all? Maybe, just maybe, there can be another way.
"For the promise that was made, I might have learned to love, to hold, for all I want is home!"
The song swells to a close, and Maka knows what she needs to do. Suddenly. Clearly.
"You heard that, right?" Soul looks down at her, confused. "He doesn't even-he just-"
"I know." A grin slowly spreads across her lips. "It's perfect."
When Soul looks even more confused, Maka tugs on his hand and says over her shoulder, "Just. Watch."
And then they're across the field, and she's calling out, "Ox, Prince of Ford, I would parlay!"
A few people who had been staring at the strange, singing prince eye them with amusement, and Sir D'Eclair looks towards them warily, but Ox seems genuinely pleased as he calls out, "My love!" and hurries their way.
Unwilling to let him approach too closely without understanding first, Maka puts up a hand, shouting, "Halt! This is parlay, therefore, we will meet on neutral terms."
"But-my love?" His face falls.
"No, you will address me as Princess Maka and you will keep your blade sheathed as you approach."
"I-" his step falters. "As you wish, Highness." He does not draw his blade, removes his hand from the pommel, and lets them draw nearer on their terms.
"I will free you from his spell," he says softly as they approach, but Maka shakes her head in response.
"There is no spell, Prince Ox, only my free will. I do not love you and have no wish to marry you." His face falls further, dejected, so she holds up a placating hand. "But," she adds, "You have done me great service by rescuing me, and I would reward you. It would seem you have wish for a Kingdom. As it so happens, I have no wish for the one I am to claim upon my father's demise, no wish to be his heir. Therefore, in the interest of all parties, I would sign my inheritance over to you, my prince, if you would have it."
"You-you will?" Ox blinks at her, stunned. "I don't-" he begins shaking his head.
"But only if-"
"If what?" he interrupts, suddenly kicked by her words into skepticism.
"If you agree to stop pursuing me, to stop trying to take me to back, only if you cease declaring your love for I will never love you in return."
He lets out a deep breath. "Is that all?"
"Y-yes?" Maka can't help her confusion at his quick shifts.
"Done!" he says happily. "To be honest, Princess, you really wouldn't have been-ah-my first choice."
There's a snort, and Maka swivels her gaze towards a very amused looking Sir D'Eclair. At her questioning look, he shrugs. "He seems to prefer pink-haired witches."
The way Ox colors only confirms the statement, and it's Maka's turn to snort.
"Yeah, good luck with that," she offers with an amused smile and shake of the head. Maka had seen Kim and her 'assistant' together first hand, and if the little looks and touches they exchanged were anything to go by, then Kim is far out of his reach. She's probably far out of his reach in any case."If we've come to an accord, then, shall we draw up terms?"
Ox agrees readily, and Maka summons her pouch with royal seal from the same nether space in which she stores the sword, sitting on the grass to get to work and only stopping as she hears a loud throat clearing from above her.
Eyes turning that way, she sees Soul frown, looking rather incredulous. "So that's-it?"
"Yep!" she says happily, and he scoffs, shakes his head, but then smiles.
"You people are so fucking weird," he grumbles as he sits down on the grass beside her.
It doesn't take long for the terms to be drawn up to the satisfaction of all parties, and Maka sends off her one time betrothed with a pleased smile. If she'd known all he wanted was her Kingdom, she might have avoided this entire mess.
Then again, her heart sinks, had she known all Ox wanted was her Kingdom, then Maka would never have come to this world, would never have met Soul.
Perhaps things worked out as they were meant to after all.
"Well that was-strange," Soul says as they both watch Ox walk off with his retainer into the sunset.
"I think-I think all is as it should be," Maka finally settles on with a content sigh, the new world spread out before her in all its glory.
Soul seems about to say more, but before he gets the chance, there's a puff of purple smoke, and Blair stands next to them, also watching Ox fade into the waning light.
"Of course it is, Kitten," she says happily, clapping her hands together. "I'm so glad you figured it out!"
Maka blinks at Blair, her turn to be confused again. "You mean, you knew Ox just wanted Albarn?"
"Bu-tan knew it wasn't true love," she admits with a small shrug. "What his motives really were Bu-tan couldn't be certain, but that you held no love for one another has been true from the start-"
"So Kim was right, my curse wasn't broken by true love's kiss!"
Blair laughs lightly, waving a hand. "Of course not, Kitten! If you were never to be happy in your own world, Bu-tan couldn't very well weave such a thing into the curse!"
"Wait-what?" Turning to face her longtime friend fully, Maka's eyes narrow. "You-you did what to the curse?"
"Well, you see-" Blair squirms the slightest bit. "Bu-tan is, well, Kitten's Fairy Godmother, and so, when that awful Medusa cursed you, well, something had to be done!"
"So the stories are true. You altered the curse. You're Bellamore!"
"Of course!" Her smile is soft and a bit proud. "Blair is short Bellamore, Witch of the Feline Forest and your protector."
"Wait," Soul speaks for the first time in several minutes, looking between the two of them. "You said she couldn't fall in love with Ox because she was cursed to never be happy in her own realm-does that mean she-can be happy in this one?"
"Smart boy!" Blair's smile becomes predatory as she ruffles his hair. He scowls at her, batting away her hand in annoyance. "You should keep him, Kitten, Bu-tan means it. But yes, my little Kitten can be happy here if she chooses. At this point, it's in her hands." The shrug is slight but meaningful. "Anywaaaay~" Blair practically sings. "Bu-tan has a few things to clear up in the other realm, but we'll see each other again soon." Stooping, she hugs Maka and offers her a kiss on the cheek, then turns to Soul for an instant. "Take good care of my Kitten," she says, then she's gone in a puff of scented purple smoke.
For a few moments, they both stand blinking after the rapidly dissipating purple cloud before finally turning eyes to one another.
Her heart feels full, her new life before her, and Blair said-Blair said she could be happy.
"So?" Soul asks, a loaded question in such a small word.
"So," Maka echoes, meeting his curious stare.
"What now?" he prods gently, hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck, and when she doesn't answer right away, adds,"What I mean to say is-what'll you do? You don't have to run anymore, right? I mean-unless that Medusa could still come for you, or your father."
"I-don't think so," she says, biting her lip in thought. "Medusa is long gone, rumored to be ruling the Moon Kingdom from the shadows along with her sisters, controlling the puppet King Asura. After doing a little research, I'm pretty sure she only cursed me to begin with because she was angry that my mother defeated her, and with Mama long gone, well-the witch Medusa is rumored to be vindictive, but her rage doesn't tend to last so very long."
"And your Dad?"
Maka offers a shrug. "Papa can come if he will, and of course I will see him, but he can't make me return. I'm not worried about Papa."
"So you're free," Soul says, and there's something in his eyes she can't place, something a little sad and maybe a little proud.
"I'm free," Maka agrees.
"What'll you do now?"
"Mmmm… I'm not sure," she sighs. "This world is still very new. But I think-I might like to become one of your lawyers. Mama's a knight who fights injustice and protects the innocent, and isn't this what your lawyers do?"
He snorts, a bit incredulous, but then concedes, "The good ones, maybe. And that'll make you happy, you think?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I think-I think I still have to find my path, but it's a start, anyway."
"And-" Soul hesitates, uncertainty furrowing his brow, but something like resolve then flashes in his eyes and he pushes on. "Do you think there's room on that path-for friends? Do you think there's room-I mean, could there be room." He pauses, swallows, searches her gaze. "For me?"
His hesitance, the way he asks, the way it's her choice and hers alone if he remains a part of her life-her heart swells. Yes, she thinks to herself. Because she is Maka-not her mama and not her papa, and because happiness is hers to find-yes, there is room for him. And to erase the end of her old life and start her new one off right, to make it her choice and maybe his, too, and because it feels right, she leans forward, leans up, and presses her lips softly to his.
It lasts but an instant and it's done, but unlike her first, this kiss is her choice, this kiss is the one she'll always remember, warm and soft and right.
"Does that answer your question?" she breathes, and his smile, so fond and genuine, tells her all she needs to know as she takes his hand and they walk off into the sunset together.