Chapter 4

There wasn't anything more exhausting than fronting romance to an audience. Every outing, every appearance, every moment was a photo opportunity for their supporters. The public relished every touch between Soul and Maka, hyper-analysing their non-existent love and chemistry as if the two had any to begin with. As uncomfortable as the attention was, Maka was pleased to see support emerge from the tightest pockets and stiffest folds, all of whom expressed their blessings to the couple.

Soon after a tiring month of exposure though, the pair dedicated three months of hard work, building, tweaking, arguing, and grinding that resulted in a single Steam Victor prototype. When the partners finally appraised their own craftsmanship, Maka felt like she could cry.

"Soul," Maka said, pursing her lips. "It looks awful."

They knew from the start that the Pegasus would be more art noveau than the average Death City resident was used to. The outer shell of the device was constructed from swirling pieces of metal shaped by Soul and brass gears placed and polished by Maka. The torso and legs to the horse were indeed impressive.

No, the problem was the Pegasus head, which appeared to have its gnarled snout stuck in mid-sneer. The horse's glassy, lifeless eyes were haunting. The mechanisms Maka had installed to give it some automated actions jerked and squealed with every movement. The overall effect was that of a possessed animal laughing at you.

The pair stared at the abomination they created together, trying to come up with a decent comment about the final product.

"I was going for 'Night Mare,'" Soul said.

"Your morbid wordplay isn't going to sell us any units, Soul." Maka ran her hand through her blonde bangs. "How are we supposed to convince people to trust our product if it looks like a demon?"

"I think it looks fine," he said. Even after so many years apart, Maka still knew Soul's minute expressions well enough to tell when he was swallowing offense. "The only reason it looks so uncanny is because it moves of its own volition. I told you that we shouldn't strive to be so realistic."

"That horrific face you made is realistic?"

"I can tweak it. You should fix the interior so it stops rocking side to side like an undead horror."

"I spent half a day installing those gears, and it would take just as long to remove them."

Soul clapped his hands together. "Then you better hop to it, post haste."

Huffing, Maka headed over to a store room to dig out some tools and formulate a game plan for the Pegasus' face lift. This specific part of the prototype was for aesthetic purposes only, but it was an absolute bitch to put together. Though she knew doing her due diligence and getting it right would pay off in the future, it felt like going back to square one. There were better uses for these wasted hours.

Like courting more investors through public dates with Soul.

Tiptoeing around Death City with Soul under secret pretenses was an addictive thrill. After such a long break out of the public eye, Maka's heart pulsed to go on another date again, but better. More elaborate and convincing. So convincing, in fact, that maybe she would cast away her doubts and fully believe the lie.

One of her father's favorite mottos was 'fake it until you make it.' Maka never asked him how long the faking phase lasted. She really wished she had.

Back in the workshop, she heard Soul call out to her. "Maka, you didn't tighten this screw half way. The tension will make the entire thing-" A resounding crash of metal clanging on the floor and screws scattering shut him up. Maka rushed back into the mainroom and skidded to a halt when she saw what Soul had done.

The Pegasus was a horror before. Things were worse now that it was dismembered and headless. In tweaking screws and nuts and bolts, Soul had done Maka the singular favor of taking their work apart.

The long night ahead of her drained Maka of her anger. "You just gave me another hour of extra work," she stated. Adding in the rework of the Steam Victor skull, she might be in for an all-nighter.

"I'm a classically trained sculptor, not a wrench boy," he sputtered.

"Maybe you should let the self-taught engineer take the lead here and apply your artistry to something else. Like our horse's head."

For once, Soul didn't argue. They swapped places as he got up off the floor and Maka knelt to get started reattaching the legs. She picked up one of the graceful legs they had built together and ran her legs along the metal. He had made this one. Sure she gave him trouble for setting her workflow back, but Maka couldn't deny that Soul's level of artistry far outclassed her own.

"Hey, Soul?" Maka looked over her shoulder and saw Soul backpedal out of the hall.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"We haven't had any outings in a while." They locked eyes. "Don't you think it's about time we planned-"

"Yes," Soul answers. He colored slightly and swallowed. "I mean, I agree. You can never have too much capital, and though our methods are unorthodox, they are working. Plus we've been so busy lately. Perhaps we deserve a break. An evening out."

Maka chewed her cheek. For some reason, she thought suggesting another date to Soul would be more difficult. But he was ever the pragmatist, always thinking of their shared goals, always willing to follow her lead and throw support behind her ideas. If there was any other emotion underneath his assent, Maka didn't see it. And that stung.

"Yes, an evening out," Maka agreed. Calling it a date felt presumptuous. It would be as Soul said, an opportunity to let off steam, relax, and get more funding. That was all.

The two returned to their own tasks, hands molding metal and adjusting screws as their minds wandered elsewhere. After spending her evening reconstructing their prototype, Maka decided to forgo the allnighter and get some shuteye. Sleep did help the imagination flourish after all.

The next morning, Maka had a plan to get their project rolling again. She left her estate early, careful to not make much noise lest she wake Soul from his slumber. Outside the garden gate, her boots kicked up gravel and dirt as she followed a winding path towards her workshop at the edge of the estate.

She spotted a slip of paper attached to the door as she traveled up the path. Neighbors complaining about the sound of saw grinding steel, she thought. Nothing unusual.

Instead, Maka found a charming little threat.

You will get what you deserve soon.

Between her father's philandering and her own penchant for infuriating men who thought highly of themselves, passive aggressive notes weren't very unusual on the Albarn property either. Maka ripped the note off the door and stowed it in her pocket.

The workshop door was unlocked. Now this was truly unusual. She rubbed the note between her fingers inside her pocket as she pushed open the door. At first glance, nothing was out of place. Then she found Soul in yesterday's clothes, half-asleep on her desk. At some point in the night, he had commandeered her desk and started scribbling new ideas for the horse head. Rejected leafs of paper were piled on the desk, in the trashcan, on the floor.

Judging from his crooked posture and low, unending groan, Soul could be suffering from only one thing: art block.

Maka briefly left him in the workshop to ask the servants to deliver them tea and coffee. Soul would clearly need it soon. When she returned, she saw that her partner had roused from his half-sleep to look at his night's work with despondance. When he noticed her presence, he tried to flatten himself against her desk until he melted away completely.

"I tender my resignation," Soul mumbled.

Maka crossed her arms. "Yes you've hit a creative snag, but we'll overcome it together." Spying a small design on a scrap of paper by his elbow, Maka picked it up. "How about this one? I think it's nice."

Soul glanced at it, rolled his eyes, and slumped back over his desk. "Do me a favor and throw that trash in the incinerator. Burn it all."

"Oh, come now. Leave the theatrics to your brother. Let's take another look at your original designs and see where everything went wrong."

"Can't find 'em," Soul said bluntly.

This gave Maka pause. "What?"

"They weren't with my things. Or in that-that box." His eyes flicked towards the letterbox where she stored their correspondence over the years. Maka went white. "It's not just my drawings that vanished. The tools I was borrowing yesterday afternoon aren't where I thought I left them. I suspect I threw them away on accident because I was too exhausted to pay attention. I promise I'll replace everything, when, er, if I get the money."

A threatening note meant nothing. An unlocked door was worrisome. Disappeared blueprints were catastrophic. They normally locked up the workshop tight when they left in the evening, but if Soul fell asleep at her desk he might not have remembered. Was there thieving afoot? The individual who pinned the note on the door might have snuck inside while Soul slept unaware. Or did he just misplace her rusty tools and his design of the Steam Victor head?

In the end, it didn't matter. After all, she kept the most important and confidential of their documents in a safe in her closet. Everything worth patenting-namely the work she developed with her mentor-was locked away. Soul's blueprints were valuable, but it was nothing they couldn't recreate or redesign to be even better.

So Maka gathered up his rejected ideas and fired up the incinerator. Burning the scraps of failure was a cathartic exercise. Soul brightened up immediately. Maka had half a mind to toss her letterbox in wholesale, but in the end she treasured its contents too well.

She didn't throw in the threatening note, but she didn't mention it to Soul either. Best not to worry Soul with speculation and flimsy threats, especially when he was so stressed already. Onward and upward.

A servant bearing a tray of coffee and biscuits glided into the room. After delivering the goods, the servant whispered to Maka that a Mrs. Stein was waiting for her in the parlor. Her godmother, Marie Stein, had come to call. Face lit up like a Death City steam-powered Christmas tree, Maka asks that Marie be escorted to the workshop at once.

Maka had first become acquainted with the lovely Mrs. Stein through her godfather and mentor, Franken Stein. Marie was a small woman who exuded elegance, sunshine and raw power. Though Stein danced around it for years, the pair eloped to Earth and returned to Death City with a baby on the way. At the time, the scandal made Marie a pariah. But once the gossips realized that Marie cared not a whit of what they thought, the ostracization stopped.

With a small amount of dread, Maka waited for Marie to arrive and take a look at their prototype.

Marie, bless her, did not wince or make a face when looked at the Steam Victor. She just cocked her head to the side.

"Very fine craftsmanship, thought it doesn't really say 'Death City' to me," Marie said. The clock embedded in her eyepatch ticked as she tapped her chin. "But it does remind me of Old Town. Is that what you are going for?"

Maka jumped to her feet immediately. "Old Town! Of course!" To her confused partner, she explained, "Oldtown DC has some of the oldest and most unique architecture in the city. It might be worth a visit, for inspiration. And we've been talking about taking a break."

"Old Town is a very romantic neighborhood near sundown," Marie mused, tapping her chin. "Lovebirds like you two could certainly stand a romantic evening walk, right?"