"My teen angst has a body count"
-Veronica
She was drowning in the static.
"Give him back!"
And it was so easy to forget. So easy to slip away and stare at the screen. The channels kept on changing, there wasn't enough time for her thoughts to stall and stagnate between the walls of her head. Eyes forward and mouth open, she stared.
"Sell us a soul, get another one back. Don't you love puns?" Mocked Ragnarok.
"Maka…"
She felt almost giddy. The worry had been weighing her down too much, she'd forgotten what it felt like to be free. Letting the concern float away like a bad dream just felt so good that it was disorienting; her head was swimming from the bliss of the static and a sporadic case of the giggles wouldn't leave her alone. Mind-numbing and just so…
"Insanity is a science." Said the witch, her voice distorted and deep like the gravelly tone of monsters that lurked in the picture books and scary cartoons of childhood. "This is an experiment."
"Come on Maka…"
No. She was here. In The Room, on The Floor, buried under soft pillows and face lit by the glow of the TV screen as scenes from life flickered by. She was thinking about it. A paradox? By remembering how good it felt to forget, she wasn't forgetting…right?
Maka massaged her temples, fingers flickering between the pudgy digits of a toddler and the slender ones of a teenager. Which was it? The static was making it too hard to think, she couldn't concentrate (but wasn't that the point?). Hesitantly, her hand reached outwards for the knob on the T.V., only to draw back at the last moment as if burned. No, no, no…she didn't have to turn it off, she just had to…turn it off? Headache…
"And you, are my test subject."
"Wake up!"
"Wha?! Huh…?" Maka gasped awake, eyes flying open and lungs fighting for air. Blood was pounding against her skull as she fought to make heads or tails of the surroundings. No TV, no books, no Lady…
A dream?
"Geeze, I thought you'd never wake up. Nightmare or naughty?" Still waiting for her brain to catch up with…everything, Maka could do little more than stare sluggishly at Blaire. "You were moaning." The cat clarified with a grin that made her look like she'd just caught the canary. "So either there was a nasty monster chasing you in that dream of yours, or there was a nasty man saying even nastier things and doing-"
"Nothing." She blurted out. If possible, the cat's grin grew even wider. That sounded like a denial to her.
"It was nothing. Just some stuff. Boring stuff." Blaire looked unconvinced. "Stress?" Maka offered, though she was grasping at straws. She just needed a few minutes to think; sort things out before the cat actually started asking questions that mattered. Their (her?) magical tenant hadn't questioned Soul's disappearance too heavily, but sooner or later the period of détente would come to an end. Maka hoped for later.
"It's laundry day, isn't it?" The blonde didn't wait for a response, her brain told her to take the excuse and run with it, so she gathered Soul's comforter around her shoulders and grabbed the heap of dirty –bloody- clothing off the floor. Doing chores in her underwear. Oh yeah. She was fine, not at all mentally unbalanced. But it was better than questions, and it gave her something to do. Distract herself with. Maka left the bathroom and Blaire behind her without looking back.
Their (or was it just "her" now?) apartment wasn't huge, so it wasn't like it was a very far walk to the laundry room. For that much Maka was greatful; dealing with Crona wasn't exactly at the top of her things to do list. She just didn't have the will or energy to waste on fraternizing with the enemy at the moment. She was trying, trying so very hard to find terms that the two of them could relate on. The sooner she understood Crona, the sooner she had a potential ally under this witch's nose, and the sooner she had a chance at snatching back Soul from the hag that had stolen him away.
Why she'd taken him, Maka couldn't figure out. There were probably a billion less conspicuous ways to force this random witch's bidding upon her without the kidnapping of her partner. Maybe it'd been for the kicks? Waking up in that snow covered alley all alone. All the screaming she'd done. That'd probably been a barrel of laughs.
Somehow, the thought that all this drama had been conjured up for the amusement of some sick hag didn't make life any better. With a sigh came digression. Laundry. Right. She'd done this before, washing out the blood. It happened, injuries on missions, tumbles off the bike, the occasional surprise period; she (they. Which was it?) had nicked some hydrogen peroxide from the school's labs a while back and it worked wonders on the nasty stains.
But as Maka stared at the once white gloves, she really wondered.
I killed a man yesterday, Soul.
Would it wash out this time? Ragnarok's words still hung heavy on her shoulders. (She shouldn't be taking his words so seriously, it was practically his job to drive her insane!) All she needed to do was tune him out and play along with Crona so that she could get back Soul.
It would wash out. For sure. Just blood. Nothing that a little cleaner couldn't take care of.
I killed a couple more after him.
The blonde wondered if he would've gone through this for her; The slow but steady working of Crona, the missions on the sly from the pinkette's mysterious witch benefactor, the informal house-arrest from school.
She liked to think that he would've handled it better. As in, charging in without a plan and without a worry and not a shred of this self pity that clung to her like a lost child. But that hardheadedness was more "her thing," wasn't it? Memories of holding her ground, stomping her feet and baring her teeth because she's a scythe technician dammit, and this is what she does!
I killed the woman I was trying to save.
"Her thing" had given her a scar across her chest and black in her blood. "Her thing" had ended her up in the hospital and her partner on the MIA list. "Her thing" had left her as the lapdog of some deranged witch, fighting for a chance to break down the door and storm the castle to save…well, not her prince charming, but something similar.
Hah. She should be stronger than this. She is. Was. Will be. Something.
I ate their souls.
It was stupid; Idiotic beyond belief. She'd killed before. Yes, Kishin eggs counted. They were human at some point, she reaped their souls. It counted. So she had no reason to be standing here, holding onto the washer for support incase her legs gave out.
Maybe her brain didn't believe her, but she knew all the same. There was no difference. None. They looked the same, bled the same, died the same. Their souls were still devoured. Rationalizing, she's rationalizing, some obscure part of her tells some other part. The one part clips back that she's also composing an inner monologue to her partner, so they had got bigger things to worry about.
Weak. Weak. So weak. She wasn't defined by Soul. Couldn't be. She was Maka. She could get stronger without him, strong enough to save him. She didn't need him beside her at all times to keep breathing. (No, but she still wished he was here.)
I don't think I'm so good at this "saving people" business, am I?
The blood would wash out. No reason it shouldn't. She tossed the gloves in with her white shirt, deciding to wait before throwing in her skirt and jacket. The woes of mixing lights with darks in the laundry still haunted her to this day; red skirts and white panties didn't go together well.
I killed a man, Soul.
Maka pulled the blanket closer.
Tsubaki had expected to spend the remainder of her evening playing psychiatrist. Not that she minded. It was worth it; would be worth it, when the search parties returned with a certain scythe in tow. This was her job description, what were friends for after all? And the ninja weapon liked to think that Soul would appreciate it on his return if Maka was not unstable from guilt or worry or something. (It was so hard to tell these days. Maka's moods swung faster than Black Star could write his name.)
Until Soul was found or (as doubtful as it was) Maka chose a new partner, the blonde was under some sort of house arrest. Well, city-arrest was probably a better term for it. Tsubaki had heard the official order was that there would be no leaving Death City. Implied was that searching for Soul on her own was forbidden.
So she'd brought ice cream. Double chocolate chip cookie dough for Maka and orange choco swirl for herself. Old movies? Check. Tsubaki knew for a fact that the easiest way to distract Maka was to pop in a horror flick, so although she didn't care for them all that much herself, it would help. Reassuring Maka that no, the couch would not eat her in the middle of the night was much easier than trying to comfort her that eventually, some day, they'd find Soul (or his corpse) and everything would be daisies and sunshine. Really.
"Maka-chan! I'm coming in!" Depending on her mood, the blonde had a tendency to leave people standing outside the apartment door. She'd been in that mood a lot more lately, and since there was no Soul around to open the door…well, it certainly wasn't her fault that Maka's hiding place for the spare key was obviously under the welcome mat.
"Maka…chan? Hellooooo?" Blaire must have gone to work, her hat was absent from the coat-rack. Maka's overcoat was gone as well though. Odd. But where would she be at this time of night? The library was closed. The same was true for the small bakery that the blonde liked to haunt. Following her gut, Tsubaki tread further into the apartment, investigating rooms as she passed.
"I brought ice-cream Maka-chan!" Well, the TV was on, for one thing. That was a dead giveaway. The lights were off, but Maka was obviously home. The question was, where? Sleeping maybe? But no, her room was empty and her bed was made, not a rumple on the covers. The bathroom door swung open without a hitch and revealed a room without a soul, so she continued onwards.
And she hadn't been planning to check Soul's room, but the rather loud 'THUMP' and the ensuing 'CRASH' from within kind of gave it away.
"Why are you hiding in the closet, Maka-chan? I don't bite." The blonde grinned embarrassedly as Tsubaki swung open the unlocked door, revealing mess she'd made of whatever it was that Soul kept in his cubby of storage.
"Ts-Tsubaki-chan! I didn't know you were coming!" But her eyes had already moved onto a second human-shaped lump in the pile. Said lump shook off a blanket that had fallen over its head, revealing pink hair and blue eyes.
Her blood froze.
"Who is that?"
"Er, who?" The blonde didn't get an answer, so she followed Tsubaki's glance to the girl next to her. Oh. Oh.
"Oh."
"Is that-?"
"Yeah…I mean no. I mean-!" It was. God, it was.
"Why is the kishin who tried to kill you hiding in your closet?" Okay, so maybe her voice had gone a little shrill towards the end there, but she had good reason. Shibusen did not train you for best friends hiding demon gods in their closets.
"She's not a kishin…"
"Yet." Crona amended, realizing that they were talking about her. "I'll be a lot stronger when I am." Medusa-sama said she'd be more useful then. It was a nice though. Maybe she wouldn't have to go back to the room, then.
Tsubaki turned back to the blonde, grabbing her by the shoulders as if she could shake some sense into her. This could not be right. A dream. Black Star had knocked her out during training and now she was hallucinating. "Maka, she's wanted for murder! Have you not seen the posters around school!?"
"It's…complicated?"
Breathe in, breathe out. Try to calm down. Finally, resisting the urge to shake her further, she spoke. "Then I'll listen. But please, please, tell me this is for a good reason."
"No Tsubaki-chan, I'm keeping a mass murderer in my closet because it's fun."
Something told Maka that her joke hadn't had the best sense of timing.
"MA-"
Thunk.
Faster than the eye could track, Crona's arm had snapped out and bent at some impossibly angle, planting her fist squarely beneath Tsubaki's ribs. The brunettes eyes bulged, and she had just the strength to stare up at Maka in horror before she swayed forward and face planted, unconscious.
"Tsubaki-chan!"
"I don't know how to deal with people yelling at me." Crona mumbled. "She was going to start yelling and…"
"Um, hello!? We've still got orders you know! Go break the werewolf outta jail, posthaste. Ring any bells, bitches?" Ragnarok didn't seem to care that they'd technically been discovered, (honestly, hiding in the closet. How had she ever thought that would work?) and for that much, Maka was grateful. If Ragnarok didn't care, she doubted that the witch would hear about this…slipup.
But still, what to do with Tsubaki-chan? She'd let her get hurt and now…
"I just can't get a break, can I?" Maka finally muttered.
So are the circumstances still confusing? Or have I cleared everything up? (Doubtful)
Ah, and sorry about the wait?
I would like to point out that I called Maka being a weapon before the last episode came out. So hah. Sure…she may not be a scythe in this…but still!
About that…um, there's gonna be a bit of a contradiction with the anime on that point now, seeing as Maka isn't a scythe in this. And you know that "special battle armor" from the latest chapter? Yeah. I wanna use that. This is now officially manga continuity :P
I also apologize for the excessive Maka angst. Believe me, there will be crazy Maka and kickass Maka and etc Maka, just not till...well, kickass Maka is next chapter, but anyway, I really would like to know if anyone thinks I'm taking it too far on the angst.
On a side note, I would like to point out that a little more than one third of the section is now Soul/Maka, or at the very least, has them as the main characters. And it seems that whatever isn't Soul/Maka these days is Male/OC. I'm not complaining, but is it so much to ask for some Sid & Nygus? (which would make me a hypocrite for not posting any? Yeah, I'm still working on that)
Or at least, could I ask for some gen? Seems to be pairing central round these parts…
Anyway, I'd like to say thanks very much to Black-Blood-Demon, Nenena, ElricKeyblade, FallenRaindrops and Iatheia once more for the reviews. Make me happy you do :P
Time to wander back to finishing up exams. Gah, IB papers may be short, but I hate essay form D:
EDIT: And for the third time, I've cleared everything up. Chapter 5 now actually makes sense, I'd like to believe.
