A/N: This one is from a prompt, role reversal. Short, exposition heavy, but there you have it.
Weapon and Meister
For someone who was supposed to be a meister, he was woefully unknowledgeable about—well—about everything. Maka groaned, not for the first time, as she grilled her new meister on basic soul theory yet again. They had a test on Thursday and since their grades were averaged, she wanted to ensure they both did well. Unfortunately, the apathy and ignorance of her partner were both working against her and as he rolled his eyes at her, she had to forcibly restrain the growing urge to bean him over the head with a textbook for the half dozenth time that night.
Why had she gotten her Papa's stupid scythe gene, anyway? All she'd ever wanted was to be a great scythe meister like her Mama, not a stupid death scythe like him, and yet, here she was, with a lazy, snarky meister trying to make her into a death scythe because damnit, if she was a weapon, she was going to be the best damned weapon to ever walk the halls of Shibusen, a way better death scythe than her no good cheating Papa could ever dream of being. She would do it, apathetic partner or no, even if she had to drag her meister kicking and screaming.
And it wasn't Soul's fault he didn't know anything. He wasn't a Death Kid like her, had come from somewhere out east when he'd discovered he could sense souls and, with that discovery, had stumbled onto the knowledge that he was really a meister. She didn't know much about his past, but she did know he'd wanted out and that being a meister, coming to Shibusen, had been his ticket. He wanted to be here, but he had hardly known the DWMA existed before discovering what he was, let alone all of its lore. She should be patient. He'd get it, eventually, if she had to beat the knowledge into him with his own textbook. At this rate, she just might.
Besides, she knew he cared. They had only known each other for a few months, but he had instantly grasped onto the idea of how cool it would be to make a death scythe, to wield a death scythe, and bitch though he might about their studies, he was as eager to start taking missions as she was underneath it all. She knew her meister had it within him to be great, to make her great. She had sensed it when they'd first shook hands, and it had been cinched in her head when she heard his dark, haunting music. There was something in him, something special. She could feel it from the first moment he had wielded her, in their first, spectacularly failed attempt at soul resonance in which their souls had barely brushed, and yet, the impression of him lingered even still.
"Again," she said, careful not to snap, and while he rolled his eyes again, he also complied.
They would get this, he would get this, and then, she would become a death scythe, death's weapon, she was sure of it.