Part Nine
It turned into a hell of a lot more then the oh so suave sounding 'maybe just one more time'.
I don't know exactly when or how I climbed onto Blackstar's chest, pinning him to the ground with my knees, raising one fist and punctuating each word quite literally while Blackstar snapped back and forth like a rag doll. I'm not sure if he was unconscious, or if he just didn't care. "You. Got. Fucking. Carried. Away? Balloons. Get. Carried. Away. Pieces. Of. Paper. Get. Carried. Away. You. Do. Not. Get. Carried. Away!"
That's also about the time I felt a cold circle of metal pressed into the back of my neck, almost my spine, right on top of that little bone that starts your vertebrae.
"Soul." came Shay's cool voice. "It's been seven minutes or so since you've lost it. You can forgive him now, or I can shoot you."
To anyone else, that would have sounded like psycho hose-bitch from hell.
To me, it sounded like my best friend letting me know that she needed my help to look for the movies I'd promised to watch with her while she made popcorn. And that she knew Blackstar was at that special kind of self sacrificing god state today - the one where he would let me do anything, anything to him because then he could go back to being his self righteous absorbed ego head tomorrow.
I push myself off Blackstar, and turn my back on him, trusting Shay to move the gun fast enough, which she does, but still manages to konk me upside the head with it. Thanks, trying to have a tough guy moment here. "Next time I want a fight, just give me one." I say, breezing into the house like I'm not leaving a couple pieces of my soul on Shay's backyard. Because it's not going to be the same after this. It is never going to be the same again. Shay follows closely after me, and I'm pretty sure she stuck her tongue out at Blackstar when I wasn't looking. I slam the door behind her, making it clear he isn't invited inside.
She nudges my shoulder with the gun, and gives me a half hearted grin. "Hey, you guys'll be good tomorrow morning. Trust me, I'm a doctor." She strikes a goofy pose, stroking her chin and pointing at her baggy tied back t-shirt, which supports that at least.
"I don't know. This was a one time thing, seeing him like this," I frown. "And I beat him up."
"He asked for it." She shrugged as if that made it ok. Shay always was a weird one. "Why do you think I let you go after him? I gave him plenty of time to run first with all that arguing." Shay leaned on the counter, using her elbows as support, the barrel of the gun under her chin.
"Shay! Be careful! What do you have, a death wish?" I yelled, trying to figure out the best way to force the gun out of her hands without actually pulling the trigger by accident, doing that weird fluttering thing with my hands that makes you look like a worried bird.
"Oh, this? You didn't think I'd - stuuuupid Bloody. Come on, let's all go fix your hands up." Shay said, white light filling the kitchen briefly as her head was suddenly propped in Liz's lap. "I texted her to come back right away, duh, I knew I was going to need backup, and I was fairly certain I could keep her from breaking it up until I needed to."
The texting. THE TEXTING. God, oh dear lord in heaven, why am I such an idiot? At least I hadn't started spilling my guts or anything again. I don't think I would have been able to live that down. Maybe in front of Tsubaki, I could deal with that, but I didn't think me and Liz were going to develop a special bond any time soon. I shake my head, wishing I was alone so I could slam it against something, preferably a wall, preferably repeatedly. At the very least, I should have recognized Liz in her weapon form.
"Ok, Shay." I said with an air of defeat, glancing around her kitchen. I was suddenly starving. Maka's oh-so-wonderfully-prepared-lunch was a half full thing of lukewarm nachos that she stole from Death the Kid because he was having a symmetry attack (no doubt brought on by the idiot who got him the nachos) so she wouldn't have to go all the way to the cafeteria that no one ate in anyway.
It was pretty small, as far as kitchens go, in fact, the old grayish island and the three of us took up most of the room, including all the other kitchen-y stuff that goes in these places. There was a pair of windows to the right of the island above the sink, which was jammed up right against the stove. Across from me was the fridge, with a couple of bottles of pop, Faygo and Mountain Dew (the diet kind) lined up by its side. I eyed it thoughtfully, hoping Shay would get the hint.
Shay rolled her eyes with a groan, getting off Liz's lap. "I'll give you the grand tour while Liz gets the stuff she managed to buy before I interrupted her from the car. Oh, and could you grab his shirt from on top the awning? I don't want my aunt to get any ideas." She said wiggling an eyebrow at me suggestively that I replied to immediately with a snort before she opened the fridge.
Liz shrugged and hopped off the counter, brushing past me and out the door. "I'll be back. Oh, Soul, you're going to have to register your new uniform if you find anything you really like."
I sighed. Stupid rules. Yeah, since the DWMA was a private academy technically, Lord Death thought it would be 'cool' if we had uniforms. Someone had then, thankfully, talked him into the idea that since we were risking our lives voluntarily, we should get to choose our uniforms. Since someone had gotten wise and just come to school ten minutes early everyday to register a new uniform, you could only change it two or three times a year, depending on your academic success.
"That reminds me!" Shay said, turning away from the fridge, an Arby's sandwich gripped lightly in her hand. My eyes went wide. There were no major fast food chain restaurants in Death City, at least not the traditional kind. She must have brought it with her, but then again, she was rich enough to have a helicopter fly one in every day for the rest of her life.
"Is that…" I breathed reverently.
"The Good Mood food, that's right." Shay shook her head at it sadly, shutting the refrigerator with a padded thud. "You know, it's still good. I only came in - what, Monday?"
"Shay, don't play games with me." I said, starting to salivate just a little bit in the corner of my mouth. "We both know you want something."
"Yeah, you have to help me pick out my uniform. I've got it narrowed down to about four." She said, face all business as she opened the fridge again. "Arby's sauce, or horsie's?"
God, why did she always win this way? It seems so… effortless. There wasn't even any bargaining. "Arby's. And you suck."
Shay grabbed two packets and stuck the sandwich in the microwave, setting it for 45 seconds. "Don't burn yourself, they get hot really fast." She instructed me sagely, handing me the packets of sauce. "And careful, or you'll be painting my nails too." She added with a quirky frown, shoving her hands in her pockets.
Geez, I've already got one girl that can walk all of over me. What am I supposed to do with one that wears heels on Thursdays?
It took me longer to get home than I think it takes most people to get married. They had to change everything about my… look, and it scarred me. I'd say for life, but I'm not going to be at the funeral.
Picking out Shay's outfit was possibly the only fun thing I did, which would make me feel like a gaywad if I didn't get to tell her several times exactly why it's unfair to wear 'that thing just because you want to see me beat up people who are hitting on you on a slow day.' Instead I got to feel sort of important, mostly because her aunt (who she lives with) won't kill me because she gets mauled by boys and thus has to kill them brutally. Though it would be very good for her entrance exam grades.
I start to head to the elevator in our very nice, if depressingly bright, apartment lobby, then realize if Maka's still up she's going to kill me for not using the stairs, especially since I've been trying to get in the mysterious 'shape' lately. I weigh my options and check my watch, realizing it's already eight. She's probably knocked out in bed by now, with a scathing note on the counter asking me where the hell I am - with hell crossed out and heck written in case her Papa comes in - and why I'm not as tired as she is and how it isn't fair, and she's going to kill me when she's awake, that's for sure. I laugh to myself, quietly, then louder, not really caring if the guy at the desk is giving me weird looks. It sounds exactly like something she would do. I rub the bags under my eyes with a fist, and wonder how just thinking about her can make me smile.
Then I head for the stairs, just because, a little bit of the smile still there. I grab the old metal door handle, wincing at the way the rust burns my hand as I twist it, listening to the familiar groan of the door's hinges. Everyone else in the building, everyone else sane uses the elevator. The thin corridor is actually lit by just a dangling bulb, and I've sworn that there are rats. Maka says I'm stupid, but I think they're afraid that she'll Maka-chop them. "Ok, here we go." I breathe, stepping onto the first stair. They're steeper then normal stairs, each one about the height of a size 12 shoe, and I walk carefully up the first flight, avoiding the bare spots in the carpet out of habit. Me and Maka are on the top floor, though I'm pretty sure you couldn't tell by looking at the outside. Lord Death designed this building himself, which means it's held together by very few laws of physics and a whole lot of nonsense that makes sense to a Death God, I'm sure. He made it right after the Academy, saying that he was so depressed after making it that he needed to make something colorful. When we were assigned to this building, we were more scared then impressed, even if it is in a good area.
I finally reach our flight of stairs, totally focused on my feet. There's no banister, either, just another brilliant architectural choice, or the rats ate it. I pause to yawn, knowing from experience that to keep walking is stupid.
When my eyes open again, I see Maka sitting at the top of the stairs in the corner, her head leaning against the wall as she breathes in and out evenly through her mouth, eyes shut. I swear I have a heart attack right then, gagging on my words as she shifts her weight slightly, moving her legs a little. I look away quickly, wanting to hit myself in the head for the almost overwhelming curiosity, but I'm too afraid I'll fall down the stairs if I try anything like that. Speaking of which, what the hell was she thinking? I swallow, poking my face. It doesn't feel any hotter then usual to my hand, but it sure feels like it's burning up. I mean, she's supposed to be the smart one, and she falls asleep on the top floor of the rat infested stairs?
I sigh. There's really no way out of this one. I'm going to have to wake up the sleeping beast - or carry the said sleeping beast home. Waking her up, pros and cons: She'll be really grumpy and possibly kill you and make you carry her anyway, but complain about the way you do it. But you'll find out why she was on the stairs. Carrying her, pros and cons: Possibly the most romantic, once in a life time chance you will ever get. You'll find out why she was on the stairs in the morning, when she's coherent and not annoyed at you. She'll still possibly kill you… but it'll be in the morning.
Yeah, carrying her definitely sounded better. I walked up the last couple steps and then examined how she was sitting, trying to be completely tactical about it. Or, in other words, not a complete creep and check her out while she's asleep. Which would be much easier if she wore longer skirts.
Or was sitting… in a… different position.
My escalation into Spirit-dom aside, Maka had her feet - bare feet, no less, God, what was wrong with the girl? - one step down from where she was sitting, making her pretty cramped up against the wall but stable. If I wanted to pick her up, I was going to have to brace myself against my side of the wall with my legs and then scoop her up under her legs and shoulders respectively.
I did so, and it worked fairly well, ignoring the various weird slime that got on the back of my neck that had been stagnating on the wall for various millennia. I ignored the creeping sensation down my back, because two bigger problems had hit me at that moment.
One: Maka, my meister, wore a miniskirt. You think this might have occurred to me before. And, trust me, it had. Several times, in fact. It just hadn't occurred to me that in the romantic carry that said miniskirt would wish to slide up her torso and not down her legs. I mean, in every movie, show and anime you've ever seen does the girl's skirt ever fall up? No, it stays safely there.
Two: The door. Had. A door handle. To open the door handle you needed to use your hand. To carry a sleeping girl you needed to use two hands. To carry a sleeping girl who's skirt is falling down (... up? ...), you needed to use approximately three hands. I think. I'm still working that one out.
I swallowed the rising nervous lump in my throat, wishing the flames in my cheeks would go away. Along with Maka's body, warm and soft, it was almost like I was getting heatstroke. Maybe I should just put her down and wake her up. Yeah. I glance down at her as I start to crouch again, and something in her face makes me go all soft and gooey inside, like when we brought Chrona to the beach the first time and he caught a fish for Maka, and Ragnarok ate it. Maybe it's just because she looks so tired. The dark circles that I'm used to seeing once she washes off the cover up she does NOT use are there, but they looked like someone punched her out rather than she's just a really preppy goth.
I sigh. She's had a longer two weeks then I have, and I've been, what? An ass about it? No way am I dumping her skinny, bony butt on these stupid stairs and making her walk all the way home, no matter what the hell I had to figure out.
I force myself to look at her skirt area, which is the entire problem, or at least a big part of it. The problem is simple, I discover.
She wears boxers.
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing, teeth scissoring into my skin with ease, but it's worth the joke. They're very tiny, actually. Like mini-boxers for the underprivileged. Or panties with a tail. And even worse they're Eclipse boxers. My shoulders are shaking with silent chuckles, my glee checked only by the fact that I won't be able to use this on her. Oh, God. The mere possibilities.
Anyway, the reason it was such a problem was because the bottom of her skirt had somehow gotten tucked into them, leaving me some very awkward and delicate maneuvering that I'd rather not go into, other than to say that Maka has very soft skin. I shook my head, tucking my arm properly under her knee and the other under her shoulders, making sure her arms were on her chest so it didn't feel weird for her and wake her up, defeating the purpose of the entire thing.
Now for the second challenge: the door. Honestly, this should be simple for me. All I have to do is crouch a little and twist the handle without letting go of Maka.
Except there's no handle.
Greeeeat.
I can see why she was waiting for me, now, at least. She must have been holding the door open. I try pushing on it a couple of times in a clearly futile manner. Any other night. Any other day.
I look down at Maka. Take or leave? I'm going to have to come back for her anyway… so…
I sigh. You wanted to be the hero. I just wanted to take the elevator, but nooooo. I think sarcastically to myself as I head down the stairs.
One agonizing step at a time.
AN: Hey, sorry it took me so long to update, was knocked out sick for a while, but am back up AND on Spring Break… so updates should be coming out fast! Hehe, and don't you just want to know what I'm going to do the poor Soul… MusicSoundsMySoul14 and DreamerOfTheFlowingDream, you give me hope!
