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He actually didn't know what to do.
He was just sitting on a chair.
He had a palm open, resting his face.
And he continued to think.
He mused over a lot of things.
But thinking had never been his type.
Soul groaned.
Still, he wouldn't give up.
No matter how ironic it was.
Before him was a piano.
He had been playing for hours, thinking.
While his fingers had absently touched the piano keys, he kept thinking.
But was still confused.
He needed to know how it was done.
From slow music to rapid melodies...
He kept thinking.
Maka hadn't mentioned it to him.
Not even once.
But he knew.
He was planning to be dramatic, although it sounded uncool.
He wondered what would happen?
He just heard of it?
Did he need to apply it?
Expose himself?
Or drink it?
He shrugged.
He was going to try it all, then.
If he was still alive.
He stared silently.
Would it be effective against zombies?
But that was not the reason he got it.
'Hmm... Muriatic acid.'