Black*Star: Finally, I get to show what a big star I am!
Tsubaki: But you're not even in this chapter and didn't Mulleb told you unless he asked for you to stay away.
Black*Star: Yes, but only when he's around. He never said anything about one of his OC.
Tsubaki: Still, I'm not sure if we should bother her. She doesn't seem like the type who can handle your...
Black*Star: Greatness. I had that affect on people. Beside, I'm sure we can... *Enter room to found Daisy busy at putting flowers into Medusa's hair which was already full of black and yellow flowers. Tsubaki stared as Black*Star burst into laughter*
Medusa: *Glaring* What so funny?
Daisy: Hold still, please. I'm almost done.
Black*Star: *Wheezing* How in the world did she convince you to do this?
Medusa: Seeing that I want this story to begin... Enjoy this story or else. *Go back to glaring at the boy hoping it would kill him.*
Chapter Four
"Oooohhhh…" moaned the demon swordswoman as she stumbled through the crowded streets. The sun had just risen, showering its warmth onto the somewhat sick girl and the many people already out and about. Some of them were heading for home to sleep off last night, while others... were waking up from stuffing their mouths and drinking a little too much, bringing hangovers and upset stomachs abounds.
One of them was Maka, who hadn't even meant to do it. She blamed her resident demon for her current condition, seeing as she had only managed to dissuade him from hunting the children's souls by treating him. With the money in hand, they had found a bar that was willing to take her cash and indulged in a couple of bottles of the famous local tequila. Ever since the day he'd gotten his bloody hands on some beer, the best – or if not, quickest – way for Maka to calm Ragnarok down was to get him a drink. Usually she would simply order something to please him and get herself a soda or water. She had seen the toxic effects displayed in alcoholics, and even though she could find them highly amusing, the addictions they suffered had put off any interest in trying it herself.
However, like any teen, even a very frivolous one, she was curious about the adult luxuries and let her curiosity get the best of her. Consequently, the last thing she remembered was downing her third drink as the effects of the depressant altered her mind. The next thing she knew she found herself awakening in a dumpster, covered in garbage. In one stiff hand she clutched a green bottle, and in the other held her hat in a death grip.
Fearing the worst, she removed herself from her repulsive sleeping area and as soon as possible checked her body to see if anything had happened. Thankfully she had kept her innocence, but the alcohol had taken its toll. Her head was throbbing, feeling as if a hammer kept beating away within her skull. Her mouth had lost all it moisture; she badly wanted to puke. In short she felt like hell, and all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and go back to sleep.
Sadly, she could not quite do that, for her basket was missing! It held within it all their food and money, and she really did not want to waste it. So, as she dragged herself through town, a fumbling mind tried its honest best to call to memory the location of the thing.
As she went by people stared after her, for she truly looked like hell. The hat helped contain some of her wild hair, but it was sticking up all over the place. Her clothing was stained with trash, which added its potent odor to the alcohol's repugnant stench. Red clashed in green eyes that were startlingly bloodshot. This along with the irritated attitude that radiated from her told passerby that so much as talking to her might cause that bottle in her hand to strike something.
She ignored the stares, more worried about getting back what was hers. Sure, she didn't want anyone taking note of her, but that was because she was crabby rather than due to her looks. Unlike the majority of girls her age, what her body looked like to others never much occurred to her. It didn't matter when you had a literal witch of a mother giving you better things to be concerned over. So she marched through the streets, hoping that by the time she reached the bar her mood would improve.
It didn't. When she found the outdoor bar, she couldn't find her basket anywhere among the half dozen tables comprising it; indeed, all she could find were a few drunks out cold and drooling on the tables. It seemed someone had stolen it. With a throaty growl she randomly hurled the bottle in her hand, earning a cry of pain from someone across the bar.
Taking a seat at a table, she crossed her arms on it and tucked her face behind them. Today was just going to be one of those days she would sit out on. By evening, she would hopefully be able to get some soul hunting done. As much she hated it, she also was obliged to do so. Mother was one of those factors that could encourage her and the demon to do so.
Yet for some reason unknown to her she felt as if she needed to do it, which frustrated her immensely because that meant she was doing what her mother wanted her to do. In her current condition, her mood continued growing darker and darker as the thought played through her head. "Stupid witch," she muttered, hardly for the first time feeling powerless to change her fate.
Feeling something knocking on her head, she growled out, "What is it, Ragnarok? Shouldn't you be hiding right now?"
"Don't need to," said the demon. "No one around except some passed-out drunks." Leaning forward to look into her eyes, he said, "So how does the princess feel after her first try at binge drinking?"
Without fully lifting her head from her arms, she tilted it up until she could glare at the demon. "Like shit. Making things worse, we lost our food and probably spent everything on the drinks." Burying her face in the self-made darkness once more, she added, "Remind me to never drink again. All it does is cause trouble."
Shrugging, the demon said, "Well, you can't sit here all day. Best way to get rid of a hangover is to work." Grabbing her by the shoulders, he forced her up, causing her to moan in protest. "A little food in your stomach should help, too."
"But I don't want to move," she whined. Sighing, the demon shook her, which did little to soothe her headache. "Alright! Alright!" she exclaimed. "I'll get us some food, just stop shaking me." Satisfied, the demon let go of his host, who fell over and face-planted into the table. "Give me a moment," she said, her voice muffled by the wood.
Putting her arms on the table, she pushed up, using the momentum to get out of her seat. As she steadied herself on her feet she kept one arm on the table, while the other went to her head. "My head hurts," she said as she gained her balance. "Is there any chance we went by a pharmacy last night? I need to get some aspirin." Slowly, placing each step as if relearning how to walk, she marveled that she was still able to move.
"I think there was one down the block," said the demon as he sank back into her back. "Though, you'll probably want to get a drink to rehydrate. I feel dry, but sticky. It's a weird feeling I like to get rid of."
"Yeah, yeah," she said as she stepped over a man sleeping on the sidewalk. "There'll probably be something at the pharmacy." After traipsing a block, she found the place she wanted. A small, square building about three stories tall was painted white with a sign in Spanish, which she hope read 'pharmacy,' hanging over a door. Standing in front of the wooden door, she jiggled the knob only to find it securely locked. "Holidays," she said to herself, a little peeved.
If she'd felt like being an idiot, she would have used Ragnarok to slice and dice the obstacle until it lay in several tiny pieces. Having more of a brain on her shoulders than that – with or without a hangover – she traced the perimeter of the building in search of another way in. In the alley on its right, a metal staircase was attached to the wall. The sliding ladder, intended as a fire escape, was currently out of reach, but that fact didn't deter her.
Scanning the area, she tossed up a plan and put it in action. Grabbing a trash can with a flat lid, she plunked it down under the ladder. Then she stepped onto the lid and reached for the ladder. It was just out of her reach; teeth gritted stubbornly, she rose to the tips of her toes, causing the trash can to wobble. Feeling the can prepared to tip from under her feet, she jumped, shoving off so her hands could latch onto the bottom rung.
As her weight fell upon the ladder it slid down halfway before catching due to rust. She grumbled unhappily, as jerking to a halt had caused her head to whir. This had better be the place, she thought in the back of her mind. Pulling herself up, she wriggled onto the platform and clambered to a window near the roof.
Peering inside showed her that the room was empty, a layer of dust on the floor indicating that it been a while since this room had been used. "Ragnarok," she said as she tried to force the window open, "take your weapon form." The demon did so, and she looked the blade over before jabbing him under the window. A moment of pushing down with all her might, using the sword as a lever, and the wood the window was anchored to gave way with a loud crack.
"Hope nobody heard that," she remarked as the demon went back into her body.
"So what if somebody heard us?" said Ragnarok as she pried the window open. "Not like they can cause us much trouble."
Stepping into the room, she shut the window behind her before proceeding. She'd been right about the dust; as she crept to a door, impressions of her passage were left in the dust. If anyone bothered to investigate this could prove a minor problem, but as she entered into a hallway she found the lights all off, and she couldn't hear anyone else.
Moving as quietly as possible, she snuck down the hall toward a stairway leading down. Upon reaching the bottom of the steps she silently congratulated herself. The store was definitely a pharmacy, for when she stepped over the small chain meant to block the stairs she found a counter right next to her, and there was plenty of medicine stored behind it. There were also other things stocked up on shelves throughout the store.
She swung over the counter and spent a few minutes looking through the medicine. She got what she'd come for and decided to see if she couldn't bring anything else with her. Stowing the bottle of aspirin in her pocket, she poked through the other shelves grabbing anything she could carry. Once done, she was left carrying a paper bag full of items as she headed back toward the stairs.
"Cereal, some granola bars, water, bananas, and cookies," she listed off, a triumphant grin plastered on her face. "As soon we get somewhere more private, we can eat." Staring down into the bag, she was surprised when she ran into something at the top step. Startled, she tried to take a step backward, but was unable to catch anything under her feet. Teetering on one foot, she waved her arms about for several seconds before regaining balance.
The person she ran into, a boy, was as surprised as she was. Sitting on his butt, he shook his head with his eyes closed, trying to clear the confusion. When he opened them he found a thief trying to steal what belonged to his parents' shop. "¡Ladrona!" he screamed, alerting everyone in the house.
Silencing him with a sharp punch in the kisser, the girl twitched an eyebrow in annoyance as she glared at the now unconscious boy. "Did you have to yell?" she groaned, as her headache had been inching toward something halfway tolerable until he'd shouted.
"You know," said the demon, "you should have checked the place out before breaking in."
"Try thinking ahead when your head is throbbing," she shot back as she quickly made for the dusty room. Closing the door just in time, she heard the running of feet and shouts of Spanish. Not keen on giving them the chance to find her, she quickly went through the window and jumped from the second platform. But for a jolting pain when she landed, she sustained no injury as she fled. After several blocks, when she was sure no one was chasing her, she took a seat on the ground. Taking her spoils from the bag, she sighed and proceeded to stuff herself, taking a couple of pills to rid herself of the headache.
At the hotel, the team of meisters and weapons had gathered in Sid's and Nygus's room. It was a standard room, but quite nice with it dual beds, a small bathroom, a dresser, a table with two chairs, and a T.V. None of them could have cared less at the moment. All they wanted to do after treating their wounds was to sleep.
Sid wasn't kidding when he'd said this wasn't going to be a vacation. After taking care of Hoja, the scythe meister had found himself sprinting around the city in a wild attempt to keep up with all the screams. The place was crawling with kishin who seemed to have agreed as one to strike out in so many different places that it was almost impossible not to run into one. He could have sworn that with every block ran into two kishin on average.
And that being when they weren't working as a group. More than once he wound up in a sticky situation when three or more kishin attacked him at once. Most of them seemed to have an awkward time working as a team, though, which he could play to his advantage. On the other hand, a few of them were able to pull off creative and very effective maneuvers that forced him to retreat.
All night this went on, and as it grew old his muscles started to give in to fatigue. Near the end, when the moon was about ready to set, his body told him firmly, after taking out one more of the demons, that it refused to continue. Collapsing onto his rear, he sat and spent a good minute trying to override its protest and keep moving.
The body won the battle; he had used Soul for support and managed to limp back to base. Needless to say, he felt like he was giving up, but when he learned that the other young meister had been carted in on his partner's back, he didn't felt so guilty.
For the time being he was camped on one of the two beds, using his arms to prop himself up. His coat, vest, and shirt were currently in the zombie's and his partner's hands as they sewed up the multiple cuts in them. Soul was standing to the side, observing the many scrapes his meister had collected to see if any were going to cause a problem. There was little blood when they took off his clothing, but it never hurt to check.
As the albino was learning, all the cuts to his meister's torso were shallow though many. Scabs had already formed into thin lines, few if any of which would result in scarring. There was also one narrow, scabbed laceration going down his right cheek. Other than being exhausted he was, overall, in perfect health.
Treou on the other hand had taken heavier damage. Even though there weren't nearly as many wounds on his person, there were two critical ones that stood out. One was a diagonal slice across his sternum that was small but deep. This wound he received early on yesterday, but he'd refused to leave the field and so had it dressed the best he and his partner could before continuing on. Obviously whatever pierced him had missed any vital organs; however, the larger wound on his leg was probably the worse of the two.
At the end of the night, when it was all but time to quit, he ran into one last kishin that was hidden in the sewers. He had been near a drainage ditch when it reached out with it dagger-like fingers and seized hold of his upper leg. Fortunately, it didn't get a firm enough grip as to prevent the meister from pulling away. Less fortunately, it dragged its fingers' clawed points down the length of his leg, opening up four long, fairly deep wounds.
Limping away from his attacker, he made it a short way before the loss of blood forced him to stop. After his partner dressed the wound, she carried him on her back to their current location. Right now she was peeling off the bloodied bandages in order to place a fresh dressing over the wound.
Of them all, the older meister alone seemed to have suffered not a scratch, or even been wearied by the night's work. Sid may not have been winded, but he did seem amused as he watched his younger counterparts. "So I'll take it that tonight has been a bit challenging?" he asked good-naturedly. There was the nodding of heads.
"Well, we did warn you."
"We know– ah," said Treou as he winced slightly. "Be careful with my leg, Clair. It hurts like hell." His partner momentarily stopped wrapping the bandage around his leg so she could make some signs with her hand. "I am holding still," the meister replied. "Not my fault that your hand won't stop trembling." Giving a shrug, she went back to her work without heeding the stares she was getting from the scythe meister and his weapon.
"Does she ever talk?" asked the scythe.
"Nope," replied Treou. "She's been mute since the day she was born; at least that's what she told me. When I first met her it took a while for us to get past the communication barrier. For a girl who doesn't talk she has a lot to say." Finished with the dressing, she sat by her partner and made more signs with her hands and body movement. Crona recognized it as American Sign Language, which he had seen before but never taken the time to learn.
Translating, the blond said, "'Please don't indulge yourself talking about me while I'm around. I'm mute, not deaf.'" Arching an eyebrow, he watched as she made a few more signs before giggling. "Not sure if I want to speak that out loud," he said as she stuck her tongue out at him.
"Catch," said Sid, throwing Crona's shirt his way. Catching it, he slipped it on as Sid said, "I'll finish the vest sometime tomorrow. Your coat should be done by tonight, but till then go get some rest. It should be a bit easier than the night before, but knowing how yesterday was..."
Nodding, Crona stood up and said, "Yes, sir. I'll go right this instant." Turning to Soul, he added, "Need to do anything before we sleep?" In response the weapon gave a shrug, which he took as a no. Without another word he left the room, his partner following behind him.
Watching them go, the blond said, "Those two make a strange pair. Wonder what their story is." Receiving a light knock on the head, he turned around to find his partner telling him something. "We're not strange," he said, sounding offended.
As the older meister and weapon watched the exchange they couldn't help but laugh to themselves. They're talking about strange teams, Sid thought, yet they seem to have forgotten about the zombie and mummy pair right in front of them. "Ever feel like the world never knew you were even there?" whispered Sid.
Shrugging, the mummy replied without stopping what she was doing. "Can't remember a time that it's happened, but I can see why it could be amusing." Pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts she asked, "Based on how the four have acted so far, I'll say they've done decently."
Nodding in agreement, he said, "They're not dead, so that's a start."
"You do know we can hear you," Treou pointed out, he and his partner glaring at them.
The mummy shrugged it off; the zombie said, as he rubbed the back of his head, "Sorry, we thought you weren't paying attention to us."
Rolling his eyes as he carefully got to his feet, the blond said, "We'll be heading to our room now. See you guys tonight." With that said, with the help of Clair, he hobbled out of the room and left the two alone. Having nothing better to do, they finished up the sewing, and with extra time to spare Sid watched T.V while Nygus fished out a book to read.
"What are you…?" asked Maka idly as she gazed at the world of souls. Sometime during the day she had gotten bored and begun trying to figure who the witch's soul belonged to. Having cleaned herself up in a restroom by using wet paper towels to wipe herself off, she presently stood about a hundred feet from a hotel, chewing on a cookie as she watched the place intently. Why it had been bugging her, she had not a clue. So what if there was some idiotic witch in there running the risk of getting her soul reaped? It was none of her concern.
The night before, she had spotted one of the meisters – some boy wielding a whip – taking out one of the kishin. Truth be told, she didn't know for sure whether he was a meister or one of those people who hunted them for a living. She had seen them once or twice out hunting, most of them possessing very powerful souls.
The only reason she'd decided to check the witch out was because she wanted to find the whip boy again. It had to be fun to lash that whip around, producing loud cracking noises as his weapon moved about like water. While he was busy taking care of his target, she helped herself to a look at his soul wavelength so she could track him down later. Now that she had come to see if she could "borrow" the whip, her discovery of the witch so near the guy had gotten her thinking.
"How long are we going to stand here?" whispered the demon. Lacking the ability to see what she could naturally meant he found the times she did this quite boring. It didn't help to be out in plain sight where anyone could spot them – so right now he was hiding in her back, mentally grumbling over how annoying his meister could be.
"Not much longer," she said, blinking so that her normal sight returned, the ethereal filter removed. "The one I'm watching is asleep, along with the other one. Short of storming right in, I won't be able to find out who it is." Grabbing her chin, she stared at the hotel thinking deeply about something. "…Can we barge right in?" she asked as she looked over her shoulder.
"Sure we can," said Ragnarok, his voice full of sarcasm, "It might help if I turn into my weapon form so we can at least grab some souls while we're at it."
"Geez," she said as she turned around to walk away, "you know, you don't have to be so sarcastic about it." Putting her hands on the back of her head, she said as she stared up to the sky, "So, what should we do?"
"Oh, I don't know... go collect a few souls."
"Alright, we'll..." Stopping in place, she heard a sound all too often associated with Mexico. A smile spread across her face as in a flash a sombrero replaced the fedora hat and maracas inexplicably appeared in her hands. "Mariachi band!" she shouted with a shake of the maracas.
Heading toward the music, she ignored the demon as he exclaimed, "Maka, it's soul eating time! Not 'Let's be immature' time!" As she made her way to the band that was standing in the middle of a square, she swayed her hips to the rhythm. Since the sight was somewhat common locally, the band gathered a crowd made mostly of tourists, with a few natives here and there.
Pushing her way through the crowd, she came up to the band. "¿Se importan si acompaño?" she asked. 'Mind if I join you?'
Pausing for a moment, one of them with a trumpet looked her over and asked, "¿Puedes tú mantenerse con el tiempo?" – 'Can you keep up with the timing?'
"¡Sí!" she exclaimed, giving a shake of her instruments for emphasis.
"Pues nos acompañas, chica," – 'Then join us, girl,'he shouted simply, throwing his arms out in welcome before tooting his horn again. In turn the others followed suit as the girl jumped in with them, shaking the maracas to her heart's content. The crowd cheered her on, encouraging her to play along as the demon's voice was drowned out beneath all the festivity and noise.
I lost her, thought Ragnarok with a sigh. At least I can listen to some music for the next who knows how many hours... Unfortunately for him, his meister was ready to get her groove on, playing with the band until the night had set.
Pulling on his coat, Crona looked over a line of newly sewn in stitches. From a distance they weren't that noticeable, but up close one could see how many times he had needed it patched up again. "Thanks," he said to the zombie who was sitting across from them. After a full afternoon of sleep he and his comrades were freshened up, ready as ever for tonight's hunt.
They were gathered around the same table that had served them as a rendezvous point the past few days. Nygus was standing by Sid, while Treou and his weapon sat across from them. Standing beside the mute weapon, Soul and Crona were waiting for the zombie to give the briefing. "Glad that I'm still able to mend clothes," remarked the zombie. "You've had that thing for three years, and it's seen more abuse than its wearer has." The pink-haired boy shrugged and said nothing, for it was true.
"That aside, I want to be sure the four of you are still in shape." His eyes happened upon the blond; the dressing was not in view under his clothing, but Sid was still concerned.
"I'll be fine," said Treou with a wave of his hand. "If need be, Clair here can and will drag my butt back down here if I don't see reason." His weapon gave a nod to that.
"Still, tonight I want us to rendezvous in a specific place so that I can check your status." Looking at a watch on his wrist, he continued, "Right now it's about four forty-five. Within ten minutes before or after eleven, I want you to report to the flag at the Zócalo. If you don't have a watch, ask someone the time. Is that clear?" There was a collective nod of assent. "Good; now go out and get some food in you. In an hour or so, we're going to have one more rough night to deal with." Agreeing with this, the teens dispersed, heading toward a restaurant they looked forward to trying out.
Leaning back in his chair, the zombie said, "Every year I do this, it doesn't get any easier."
Shrugging, the mummy said, "At least they are all still alive."
"True," he muttered as he scanned the room. "I just hope they stay that way."
The second day of the holidays was much like the first, though unlike yesterday where the saints were given some time of thought and regard, today was reserved only for the dead. So, with the second and final day of the holiday commencing, the celebrations were raring into full swing. Tonight was the time for the spirits of adults to visit.
As on the night before, the spirits were given gifts – though instead of toys and candy, a generous supply of alcohol and plenty of tasty food had been prepared. The night was going to get wild. Everywhere there were parties, some out of control and others kept more formal depending on the people, as the living and dead toasted for the night's joy.
There was one person, however, whose craving just then could quite seriously impel her to kill for a soul. Standing atop a building, staring down at a group of dead and living hanging around on a large patio, Maka was wrenched by a strong yearning to go crashing into the place and slaughter as many of them as possible. The reason lay probably as much in a lust for adrenaline as it did in the harvesting of scrumptious souls. She was both compelled and repulsed by her own eager and irrepressible imaginings of spraying of blood, of the screams of the dying – and as the soon, so soon-to-be frenzied bodes fled coming destruction it would only enliven her drive to see them to it.
"Looked at all those people," enticed the demon. "Not a care in the world, and not a clue of what's about to happen." He was nowhere in sight, but his voice rang all too clear in her head. "Come on, Maka. You may hold yourself back when it comes to children, but do you have the same restraint with adults? I don't think you do." With a will all their own, her fingers twitched, curled around an imaginary hilt. "It's been nearly a week now since we enjoyed our last meal," he said, of his appetite for souls. Slowly sliding into form her hands, encased in a foully dark glow, the onyx blade began to solidify as he continued. "Would it hurt to take just one of them?"
Her body shook as she tried to resist the madness, but there was nothing she could do to keep it from invading her mind. She couldn't take it – not another second. As abruptly she'd begun quivering, she stopped – paused – hung motionless. When a giggle broke from the mouth whose corners ticked sharply up into a small grin, the demon knew he had her. As she hunched over, her grip tightened savagely on the hilt, he exclaimed, "Ready, set, go!"
Jumping from the roof, she nosedived earthward – the two massive black wings bursting forth just in time to catch her as she plunged into the crowd. Those who'd seen her jump off the building had momentarily thought her suicidal, but were thrown off guard when the draconic wings appeared. The living gawked in consummate terror as she pulled up and presented the sharp end of the blade, rearing back with a mad glint in her eye.
Mowing through everything that breathed as she launched herself forward and glided at high speed, she clipped cleanly through body after body, severing most of them in two just below the shoulders. Those who were merely spirits vanished, violently dispelled forms leaving only their souls behind. Those who comprised the living… well, it was certainly becoming a bloody mess. For a moment or two the survivors watched as she sprang back into the night sky. Her lithe silhouette shone with the city's lights, poised before the backdrop of a hysterical moon, but they didn't need to see her to know what was coming now. Ducking for cover or just trying to flee the area, the partygoers scattered like ants.
Looking on them from above, the girl contemplated whether she ought bother to chase them or not. "First the souls!" urged the blade. Glaring at him for a moment, she considered tossing him aside just to watch him fall. Deciding against it, she smoothly descended to the ground, her feet meeting the bricks gently.
After the voracious demon gobbled up the souls, Maka activated her soul perception. "Now, where did those toys scurry off to? I wasn't done playing…" She twisted around three hundred and sixty degrees on the ball of her foot, large eyes casting about for anyone she could amuse herself with. Doing this several times for the fun of it, it was the fourth spin that something dawned on her preoccupied mind. Coming to a stop facing the east, her finger snapping in the direction, she chirped, "Found the witch."
A little confused, the demon asked, "Witch?" Without saying a word the girl pumped the wings to send herself flying back onto the roof. Without much thought she dashed forward, and when she saw the space between buildings she didn't slow down. Like a gazelle she easily cleared the gap and continued running once she landed. "Maka," exclaimed the demon, "you're passing all the people! What is it that's gotten your attention?"
Coming to a stop near a ledge, she squatted as she peered down at the nearly deserted street. Switching off her soul perception, she stared down and was more than a little baffled at what she saw. "Hey, isn't that the boy you ran into yesterday?" asked the demon. "At least I think it's a he; either an effeminate boy or a girl with an even flatter chest than yours."
"Yes, but that can't be…" –realizing belatedly that she been insulted, she shouted– "My chest isn't that flat!"
"They're not that big to begin with. Now please tell me – what's so interesting about the boy?"
"If I'm seeing things right, that boy has the soul of a witch."
There was a period of silence during which the two unwitting boys talking down below were the only source of sound. Certainly it was the same boy who had asked her to use wisely the cash she'd wasted. She didn't know who the snow-haired boy was, but he seemed to know… She never had gotten the name of the pink-haired boy. "Cotton candy head," she said, christening the boy with a clap of delight.
"Doubt that's his name," said the demon, "but you're sure he's a witch? All the witches I've seen have been chicks. Unless it is a she, after all…?"
"Maybe when witches have boys, they get rid of them," she said, something envious in her voice.
"If so, he probably doesn't have a clue what he is. More importantly, are we going to sit here all day or are we going to eat their souls?"
"Nope," she replied, getting to her feet, "we're going to talk to him." Making her way down the building by finding some stairs on its wall, she added pointedly, "So, if you would be so nice as to get rid of the wings..."
"Wait a just a second," he said, instead using the wings to block her view. "Unless you're going down there to rip 'em up and eat their souls..."
"But Ragnarok," she whined, drawing out the name as she tried to push the wings out of her face. "Aren't you even slightly curious about him?"
"Why should I be?"
"Typical," she said, pouting. "Look, I won't gather anymore of your tasty treats for you unless you let me see him. What harm can it do?"
Grumbling, for he knew she would carry out the threat, he said, "Be quick about it." The wings dissolved from sight, allowing her to continue on.
Down in the street, a little lost, the meister and weapon kept to the middle of the road. There was no sign of life in this part of the city. "I think we lost it," said Soul with his hands in his jacket pocket. He was referring to the wounded kishin they had been tracking – the key word being 'had.'
Peering up at the drooling moon that sat high in the sky, he asked, "What time is it?"
Right beside his weapon, Crona scanned the area for any sudden movement. "Don't know. I left my watch back home." Sighing, he chose to allow the fact that their prey had slipped away from their grasp to justify the next proposed course of action. Sticking his hand into his coat pocket, he pulled out a folded map and started to open it. "Let's head for the square. Based on where the moon is in the sky, it's almost time, and we're going to need a little bit to find our way there."
Once the map was unfolded, he held it up for he and his partner to look at. "I think we're somewhere here," said Soul as pointed at the map.
"Are you sure? Because then we should be somewhere near the middle of town, and I think we're near the edge. I think our current location's somewhere around here," he said, one of his partner's hands taking hold of the map as Crona pointed. "Or we might both be completely clueless on the matter," he added, his free hand scratching the back of his head.
As the two debated, they didn't notice that a new set of feet was heading right for them. They were surprise when a hand gripped the top of the map and yanked it down, causing it to wrinkle. "Hello, cotton candy head!" exclaimed the girl, sending the two jumping a good foot back, startled by her sudden appearance. Giggling gleefully as a hand went to her mouth to stifle it, she inquired, "Did I scare you?"
"No," said Soul as his blood pressure normalized, "you just gave us a heart attack."
"Little old me scared you," she said, glowing with mirth as she giggled some more. "Sorry about that. I just wanted to see Cotton Candy over there," she said, gesturing to Crona with her elbow.
"You're the girl from yesterday," said the meister, letting himself fall back into a relaxed stance. Putting the map away, he brought to mind yesterday's meeting.
"Yap," she replied, taking a generous step toward him, "thanks you for what you did, by the way." Leaning in close to his face, she stared at him, examining him intently. Frowning, she asked, "Are you a boy?" Arching his eyebrow in annoyance, he gave a nod. Snapping backward, she threw her arms up into the air and exuberantly declared, "It's a boy!"
Sweatdropping, the boys watched her as she leaped and proclaimed this several times, almost as if she were speaking to another, telling the invisible party she'd been right. "Are you… okay?" Soul asked uncertainly once she stopped shouting.
Turning to face him, she quirked her lips up in a wicked smile. "Of course I am. Do I look sick to you?" She turned her body so she was now facing Soul, and leaned forward without making contact. The scythe was forced to lean back at an awkward angle, trying to ignore the fact she was seriously intruding on his personal bubble. She knew it, too, and was enjoying the uncomfortable look on his face. "Well, do I?"
"You're a bit thin," he said, not sure what else to say.
Shooting back upright, straight as a pole, she said, "I do need to eat more." Poking her stomach, she seemed to be lost in thought until she abruptly blurted out, "I've got black blood!" This announcement baffled them, and she started to spin around as she sung out, "Black blood, black blood, truly the best! Black blood, black blood, wins at every test! Black blood, black blood, so much better than the rest!"
As she hollered the same phrases over and over, Soul leaned over and whispered into Crona's ear. "I think this girl has completely lost it." Nodding, Crona walked forward, for the girl was spinning and prancing drunkenly away from them. "Dude!" cautioned the weapon, grabbing his meister by the shoulders. He glanced over his shoulders, his eyes demanding an answer and not receiving one. "We've got somewhere to be and don't need to get involved with her."
With a small, benevolent smile he said, "I'm sure Sid wouldn't mind if we escorted her to a mental hospital. Look at her," he said, pointing to the still singing and twirling girl. "We can't just leave her like this." His partner glanced at the girl before sighing and letting go. Mouthing the word thanks, Crona walked up to the girl. Reaching out to take her by the arm, he said, "That's a nice song. Why don't you tell us how you came up with it as we go for a walk?" His voice was gentle as if he spoke to a child, but firm enough to say she was going. Odd… that red – now that he noticed it, was that blood he saw on her clothes?
Still singing, she didn't seem to notice him until his hand made contact with her arm. The touch was in no way hostile or aggressive, but by the girl's reaction alone it would have seemed he was trying to assault her. The loosely melodious tone was replaced by a shriek as she jerked back from the touch of his fingers. Pivoting on her heel, she spun around so that a hastily bunched fist slammed into jaw.
As she shrunk away Crona stumbled back, stunned at the sheer disproportionate force that was carried in her bony hand's punch. Only the back of her hand had connected, clipped him, really, but it felt as if he'd been struck by a steel fist. Before he could fall onto his behind his partner moved up behind him, catching him. Arms sprawled across Soul's arms, he opening and shut his mouth, working the mandible to check for any breakage. As for Soul, he shouted, "What the heck was that for?"
The girl wasn't responding because she was hugging herself, her entire body shaking. "No, no, no, no, no," she repeated, her eyes shut tight as long hair was whisked about freely.
"No what?" Soul barked. "What right do you have to–?"
"Calm down, Soul," said Crona, shifting to stand again on his own strength. Turning his to face his partner, he smiled to show that no real harm was done. Looking to the girl, he said, "My fault anyways." Careful not to startle her, he took one step at a time toward the girl, keeping his arms to his sides. "I'm sorry. If you don't want to be touched, you won't be touched. But please, come with us. We want to help you."
Several inches away from her, he listened as she cried out, "Go away! I'm not curious anymore..." –and, quieter, "and you shouldn't waste your time on me. I'm not worth it."
Before he could say anything, her entire posture changed – the air around her transformed. Body snapping stiff as a board, her arms uncoiled themselves, her hands balling into fists. She was still quivering, and with one look through her eyes Crona could tell it was partly due to fear. However, a mixture of hated and defiance was battling that fear, causing him to question more than her sanity.
"I knew it," she breathed out. "So who did you send?"
Stop messing around and take his soul, urged the voice she could pick out among thousands. The first thought to fly to the girl's mind was shock as to how the hell she was able communicate with her.
"I knew it," she breathed out. "So who did you send?" Ignoring the looks she was getting from the two boys, she scanned the area, trying to dig her furious eyes into every dark corner. She knew somewhere that it was futile – whoever it was wouldn't be in her line of sight – but that didn't matter to her at the moment. "Once," she said out loud, "just once I'd like it if you could just leave me alone!"
But dear, said Medusa, disguising her typical monotone with a motherly tone, What would have happened last night, if I'd left you passed out drunk right where you were? You know that men would have loved to take advantage of that. Maka cursed herself; she had forgotten one little detail about her mother. Through her snakes she could see, hear, and, if she so pleased, speak with others from long distances. Apparently, her magical serpents had the ability to survive colder weather.
And here I thought I told you not to act like a senseless tourist, continued the witch, sounding like a mother rebuking a small child. Guess that means you still haven't learned a thing.
"Shut up!" yelled the girl, trying to block out her voice. "I don't need your help."
And I don't need to tell you to take those two boys' souls? Frozen in place, Maka jerked her head up to gaze despairingly at the boys, not wanting to perpetrate what was being asked of her. Nonsense – they would never understand, my dear. Right now, they're looking at you like you're insane.
"But I am insane," said the girl, downheartedly.
And that's all they can see. A crazy little girl who needs to be locked up in a small, dark room. The hate in Maka's head turned to fear at the last three words. Locked away in a room with, nothing better to do than stare at the walls. Rotting away, as minutes go by like hours and hours stretch into days. The best thing to do right now is deal with them so they can't drag you off into that dark, secluded place.
Watching her stand there, rigid, for a good minute, the witch wondered if the girl wasn't broken again. "But... I don't want to," Maka protested feebly, in the tone of a defeated child.
There are always things out there that we would rather not do, but they must be dealt with. So, take care of them now, my dear.
Almost instantaneously, the overcoming of her normal self – at least normal for her – by madness was foretold by a faint giggle. She didn't know when she'd started staring at the ground, but it was not all that important when she looked up. Filled with the insane playfulness, her wide eyes shone with excitement as her mouth twisted itself into an awkward but vicious smile. "Time to play," she announced, the monster within her released.
Taking several large steps away from the girl, Crona said, his voice calm, "Soul, get ready." The change the girl went through had shocked him a little, but what truly caught him off guard were her eyes. They were still the same green, certainly, but now the girl's gleaming emerald orbs looked not upon two human beings, but two creatures with which to amuse herself.
Stepping closer to his meister, Soul's arms extended tensely as he prepared to fight. "Just wait a moment," said his meister, who was examining the girl. "Just because she suddenly lost it doesn't necessarily mean she's a threat." She was radiating ill intent, and sure, she had a mean right hook, but he'd been caught by surprise and didn't plan on taking a second hit so easily.
Even though he didn't like it, the weapon gave a nod. "Okay, but the moment she does something out of line I'm transforming." Nodding his head in acknowledgment, the meister knew all too well that things could turn sour quickly.
Taking a step forward, staggering a little as if with intoxication, she said through her crooked smile, "Want to play, toys?"
"I think I liked it better when you called me cotton candy head," said Crona, who had to admit being called that was a step above being called a toy. At least he'd been considered a person before.
She opened up and laughed aloud as if he'd made a joke. After the burst of laughter settled, she sang, "Oh Ragnarok, oh Ragnarok, time to came out and play…" With her arm stretched out, her hand clamped sharply onto empty air, though molded as if she was holding something.
The broadsword appeared first as an outline, glowing a light hue of purple. Then the obsidian blade resolved itself, scattering its glow to the wind to leave the white strip and the strange red lips the most striking features upon it. "Finally," said the blade, its lips pulled back into a maleficent grin, "took you long enough to come out." As she answered the blade with another giggle, he added, "Cream those suckers."
With unnatural speed for a person so obviously malnourished, she easily closed the gap between the three of them and sliced away. Forced to break away from each other in evasion, the boys leapt to opposite sides of the street, each unable to join the other for the girl now stood between them. Glancing cuttingly between the two, she asked, "Which one should I go after first? The cute one, or the funny looking one?"
"Don't care. Just kill."
Choosing to go for Crona, she sprinted straight toward him, the blade drawn back to deal maximal damage to the torso. "Hey!" shouted Soul, hoping to draw her attention to himself, "Why play with the sissy over there when you can face another weapon?" This did nothing to discourage her, but in some crevice of her her mind she filed that little interesting outburst away for later.
Seeing as her target was unarmed and cornered, she swung the blade expecting an easy kill. Instead of standing there quivering in fear, he ducked her strike and rolled to the side to get some distance from the building. A little upset by this, she moved forward swinging the blade for the vitals, certain that the long reach of the sword should able to down him. Yet with each swing he would smoothly dodge, not even being nicked. If she swung from the sides he simply skipped away and backpedalled. If she cut upward or downward he would slip to one side or the other. And the most frustrating thing about it was that – to her eyes – he wasn't even trying.
Hardly sweating, breathing steady and level, he betrayed no sign of tiredness. "So you're fit," she said with a scowl. "It isn't going to change the outcome." To that Crona just offered an easygoing smile, which was about the only reply he could give. This wasn't exactly his idea of fun, but if it weren't for the effort she was hurling into killing him this would had been amusing, which got her even more infuriated.
Trying to get to his partner to assist, Soul, who had already turned one of his arms into a curved blade, kept getting close to the fight. However, he couldn't get by the girl, who made herself an excellent obstacle. Somehow each time he grew near she knew he was there, and would quickly twirl the sword around and ward him to a reasonable distance. "You'll get your turn soon enough," she would spit before returning her attention to the pink-haired boy.
Due to this minor distraction, Crona was able to sidestep a clumsy strike. As he dodged the blade he pulled back his fist, hoping to get a hit in. With only moments to get by her, he rushed into a good position and punched her right above her ear. All this did was momentarily stun her, but it gave him all the time he needed. Ducking behind her, he shoved her, sending her stumbling forward.
While she was busy skipping on one foot and trying to recover equilibrium, Crona maneuvered toward his partner, his arms extended. "About time," said the weapon as he leaped into the air, his body enveloped in a blue light. When he came back down he was in weapon form, spinning toward the earth. Sidestepping again, with one hand Crona gripped the middle of the pole while he twirled in a circle. The hand on the pole slid down, halting its motion while his second hand gripped the pole half a foot from the blade.
Coming out of the spin, he held the scythe in guard position, ready to parry the expected attack. However, the girl was still trying to balance herself, arms cycling in the air as she got back on both feet. Finally regaining her footing, she spun around with a small, vicious smile on her face. Staring at the scythe, she said, "So you guys are like me and Ragnarok."
With a rueful smile, the pink haired meister replied, "What are you doing out here? I doubt you're authorized to be away from Death City, much less attacking a fellow meister."
"Hm," she muttered, putting on a thoughtful expression. Digging the tip of the sword into the asphalt, she leaned on it, zoning out with her mouth screwed up in thought. "Death City… Death City… nope, never heard of it." Pulling the sword back out she said, "And why would I need… um, to be auth-o-ri-zed. Thought a girl can take as many souls as she wants."
His grip on the pole tightened as he shot out, "You're a kishin?"
Shrugging, she looked down and asked the sword, "Are we?"
"We hunt human souls, so I guess we are," said the demon, as if he hadn't thought about it himself.
"Oh," she said, sounding exactly like her partner, "that explains why we're crazy, huh?"
Looking up to Crona, her eyes reawakened with insane playfulness. "Doesn't mean we're done playing with you, toy." Covering the distance in two long strides, she was upon him bringing the blade down toward his shoulder. Easily parrying the strike, he knocked it to the side and took a step back to brace himself.
As soon as the sword was parried it came back, and each time it came he shunted it away finding each staggeringly heavy blow a little harder than the last to block. He wanted to examine her style of fighting by giving her the chance to beat at him a little. It was a risky move, for she could also use the time to figure out how to break through his defense, and she was learning fast. When she finally managed to draw a thin ribbon of blood from his forearm, he decided it was time to go on the attack.
Dodging the blade by jumping back, he quickly searched for an opening before aiming for her legs. The sword collided with the scythe's pole with a clang, the curved blade point left an inch away from her left leg. Giggling, she jumped straight up and brought the sword with her, letting him withdraw his weapon before pulling himself to the side. Her blade cleaved empty air as she came down, and did so again, lashing through space, when she bolted up and swung diagonally in a wide arc.
Standing a good few yards away from her, he let her clear the distance between them again. She swung the sword to his right, and he blocked like before. Before she could pull away, he turned the scythe's blade so that when he brought it down it was right behind the girl's shoulder, giving him the chance to rip right through it. Probably not an instant kill, but it should render that arm useless at the very least. So he pulled the weapon toward him, fully expecting it to bury itself in her flesh.
A startlingly metallic clunk told him something was very wrong, and unable stop the motion, he pulled the girl caught on the deadly edge of the blade right up to his face, able only to look down at her in shock. A very perky face smiled cheerily back at him. "Surprise," she exclaimed darkly, "you can't kill me."
Making the most logical move he could in the improbable situation, he brought the blade up over her shoulder and hurried several steps back. Back in a defensive position, he spoke without expecting an answer. "That should have done damage. How did you...?"
"Remember my song?" she said with a pout, "My blood is black." Pointing to the scythe blade, she added, "See, there's some." Taking a glimpse, he saw what she meant. A black fluid was flowing along the curve of the blade, dripping off its point. "If you can't cut me, you can't kill me."
Turning his gaze back on the girl, he stared her down and kept his face far calmer than he actually felt. At least, he thought his demeanor was calm. The girl just grinned as, with both hands locked on to her weapon's hilt, she turned the blade's lips toward them. "Ragnarok," she whispered, "Scream Resonance."
Ragnarok's tongue moistened the grinning lips before he emitted a terrible noise. Screaming from the depths of the soul, blood lust, hunger, and malice mixed into one as it radiated outward. The sound covered over a half mile radius; most unfortunate enough to be anywhere near the epicenter were brought to their knees. Not too far away, with his hands over his sensitive ears, the robed figure gnashed his teeth as the scream nailed itself into his head. "Not good," he muttered out, "she just pinpointed herself."
Being so near the scream, Crona endured its maddening effect as he kept his stance. Staring at the sword, he saw it was now vibrating rapidly, yet the girl was somehow able to hold it steady. Unlike him, she was completely unfazed by the screaming bombardment of noise as she positioned the blade to stab. It took a minute for the screams to come to a tolerable level. It was still painful, but at least it wasn't paralyzing anymore.
During this short time the two meisters stared each other down, neither making a move. "Your ears are bleeding," noted the girl, just wondering if he knew. He could feel something coming out of his throbbing ears, but his focus remained on her. "You might want to get that checked out – if you somehow survive, that is." With that little piece of friendly advice aside, she dashed forward and jabbed once aiming for the right side of his torso.
He smoothly moved his body away and placed the scythe's pole to his right, anticipating the oncoming attack. Sure enough she loosened her grip on the hilt so the vibrating blade edge was angled toward him. She quickly got the leverage she needed and slammed it dead into the scythe. What Crona didn't anticipate was that the blade behaved somewhat like a chainsaw. When the two weapons made contact, the strike was not deflected.
The ghastly sword's sharp edge sawed violently into the pole, causing Crona's partner to howl out. Lifeblood gushed out, splattering to the ground as the blade cut in. A pinch of anger flashed in the pink-haired meister's eyes as he gave up ground. Once he'd jumped back a good several feet, he asked quietly, "Soul, what just happened?"
"I was being sawed in two, that's what," exclaimed the weapon, holding in a grunt of pain.
"We need to get out of here," Crona realized as he edged backward, inching away from the girl. "Too many hits like that and you're as good as dead."
"Oh, no you don't, toy," shouted the girl, running straight at them. "We're not done playing until either I say so or you break!" In range, she swung in a wide arc, forcing him to fall back.
"Use me to block!" Soul barked as his meister narrowly evaded swing after swing.
"Do you want to die?" Crona cried as he jumped over the blade. While still rising, he pulled the scythe back and swung downward to catch her sharply at the neck. Rolling her eyes at the effect, the girl pushed the blade away and let him back into a good position to continue his evading. "Stop toying with me!" he shouted, feeling like a mouse being released by the cat for pure sick amusement.
"Why?" said she, whooping in excitement. "I'm having too much fun!"
Unfortunately for Crona, he became less entertaining when he tripped on something. With little time to react, he fell down and landed hard on his tailbone. He didn't fall a great distance to the asphalt, but he landed on just right place to send a jolt of pain from the area. Gritting his teeth, he tried to get back up, but was halted beneath the sword point poised at his throat.
"Hope that weapon of yours can hold out," she said, staring right into his eyes. "Because if he doesn't," –she flipped the sword and raised it into the air, ready to cut him in two–, "bye-bye to the two of you!"
Seeing no other choice in the matter, he looked down to the partner that lay across his lap and whispered one word.
"Sorry."
Bringing the pole up in defense, he locked his teeth and silently cursed himself as unblinking eyes watched the sword lurch to its highest point. "Sweet dreams," she said softly, her eyes milky and dazzled, her voice euphoric. Before the executioner could bring down her blade, something whistled above the boy's head to slam squarely into the girl's chest. Her not having seen it coming, it was able to sink deep enough into her breastbone to lodge when her blood hardened. It may have not done much damage, but the fine military combat knife had drawn everyone's attention to it. Blinking at the piece of metal sticking out of her chest, the girl stated the obvious. "It's a knife."
"No shit, Sherlock," exclaimed the sword. "Where it came from is a little more important right now."
Hearing boots hitting the asphalt, she looked up to see that something big and blue was charging straight toward them. Jumping over the boy, it hurled a knee clear into her face, forcing her to back away. "Ow," she yelped, backing off. A hand gripped the hilt of the knife as an elbow rammed into her nose. Stumbling back, she barely kept hold of her sword as a hand darted to cover her face, protecting it from further harm. As she retreated, the serrated knife was roughly yanked out of her chest, adding the pain she was in.
Grinning, Crona said to his savior, "Sorry for missing the meeting. As you can see, I've been kept a bit busy."
"That's alright," said Sid, sinking into an offensive stance. "Good job staying alive. Now take a break and let me take care of her."
Daisy: Next time on Soul Eater: A Switch-A-Roo.
Maka: *Screams* Big blue ape!
Sid: I'm a zombie.
Maka: Big blue dead ape!
Sid: Okay, now you're doing that just to annoy me.
Medusa: Hm... things might get interesting, but I got other things to worry about. Just make sure she doesn't die my faithful servant.
?: Yes, Lady Medusa.
Maka: Next time- Big blue ape v.s. the crazy girl: The witch makes friends with father winter? Read it or I'll...
Sistine: She'll take your soul, fried it, and serve it with tartar sauce.
Maka: Where the hell you come?
Sistine: Nowhere and everywhere. *Than disappear in a flash*
Daisy: Guess she wanted to check on how things going. Wonder how she like the why I did Medusa's hair?
Black*Star: It sure does lighten her up a bit.
Medusa: Oh shut up. Daisy, would you please release me from this torture and end this? *Get stare from the assassin and weapon.* What?
Black*Star: You just said please... What did she *Pointing to Daisy who was tending a venus flytrap* able you to act like this.
Daisy: If she doesn't want to say anything she doesn't have to. As for the reader, please review. Flames, good criticism, and comments are welcome. Until next time, have a good day.