"Come on, we can check on the film and make some prints."
Soul hops up and follows her to the drying closet where she is taking down the film strip.
"Hold it by the edges." Maka hands him the strip and he holds it up to the light.
"I think I can see my hair, totally black." He squints at them suspiciously.
"Let's go to the dark room."
The dark room is not as dark as he had imagined, but everything is a greyish shade of yellow. He watches as she cuts off a piece of the negative and slips it into a flat slide in an odd machine. She flips a switch and light is shone through the negatives, revealing a larger version of the image.
"It's still in negative," he points out. His hair and skin appear quite black, his eyes just a little brighter. Absolutely demonic looking.
"Don't worry about it." She twists a few controls, changing the focus and the brightness. Maka flips the switch back off and pulls a piece of paper from a drawer, positions it in a framing device and flips the light on for a few seconds. "Okay, let's check it out." She holds his wrist and tugs him lightly to the chemical bathes in the middle of the room. She slides it into the first one with a pair of tongs.
Soul stands right behind her, looking over her shoulder as she gently shakes the pan, stirring the chemical bath and watching the clock. He puts a hand on the table on either side of her, leaning in to be able to see the paper. His face appears slowly, the grays getting darker, the contrast becoming apparent. Some clean citrus smell mixes masks the alkaline scent, maybe her shampoo.
"Okay, next one." She drops it in another bath followed by the a third before she put it in the sink.
"I want to see the other pictures." She deftly grabs his arms moves them back so she can move back to the projector. She slides the negatives over to see some portraits of Tsubaki, as far as he could tell, but they looked more posed than his very candid shot. "You can't really tell which one is the best."
"Yeah, I should make a contact sheet, I just have the one shot of you," she cuts and slides all the negatives into a clear sheet.
After another flash of lights she's sliding another piece of paper in the chemicals and tiny sizes of all the pictures soon appear. Besides the pictures of Tsubaki there are a few pictures of sparrows, and some that appear more abstract.
"How did you do these? I can't tell what it is," he remarks. Meanwhile she fishes the sheet out and dips it into the next bath, watching the clock all the while.
"They're taken through a glass lantern I found, the patterns are from the indentations in the glass," she explains
"It's beautiful."
"I'll have to make larger prints later, but the paper is expensive." She moves the sheet with the miniature pictures into the third bath and then the sink before fishing out the picture of him. "You look good in black and white."
"I guess the eyes aren't so frightening," he comments, glancing over his own image, still slick with water.
"But just as startling." She takes it back from him to squeegee off the extra water. He gets a little twinge in his stomach, not entirely sure how to interpret her words.
They go back out the odd, space-shuttle like revolving door which protects the room from outside light.
"When do you get off? Do you want to head back up to campus?" he asks.
"Not until 5," she grimaces, "I'll stop by with take-out later though. You take this with you though, I don't want to worry about wrinkling it on the bus" she slips the print into a paper sleeve and hands it to him. "And keep in mind that if you rip it up I can just make another one."
He smiles, nods, and heads for the door, still thinking about how she seems so scared of immersing herself in what is obviously a passion. He makes the short drive back to campus, his own likeness gingerly tucked inside his coat.
He unlocks his room, tosses his bag on the bed, turns on the radio and pulls his picture out to examine it. It's not quite like looking in a mirror, though the apathetic expression and drooping eyes are certainly a common expression. It seems somehow to capture more than that which he shows the world on a daily basis though. Slightly disconcerted, he lays it down on his desk and flops down on his bed to nap until Maka shows up. The Beatles are playing on the radio as he drifts off to sleep.
He jolts awake when he hears a knock at the door.
"Open the door Soul." He hears Maka's muffled yell from the other side. He leaps up to open it and smells delicious noodles. "I come with Pad Thai."
He drools a little as they head for the kitchen. Ignoring the plates, they slide to the floor and start at the take out box armed just with disposable chopsticks.
"Maka, I don't get it," he says through a mouthful of noodles.
"God Soul, chew your food before you inhale it."
"I'm serious though, you have some talent, if you love photography that much why don't you pursue it."
"No offense Soul, but your opinion on photography is about as valid as mine is on Jazz Piano," she snaps.
"Ouch."
"I'm sorry Soul, but as much as you may think so, I'm not really any good. It really kills me that I have to have a backup plan and that you can do what you love and get paid for it, you don't need to try to make me feel better about it or something." She stands up and heads for the door.
"Maka, that's not what I'm saying at all, you're being totally irrational about this," he shouts after her but she's already slammed the door behind her. "Maka wait a minute!" he yells down the hallway but she's already gone. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.