When Maka awakens in her room, it feels like she's in a tree house: windows open, ocean breeze rousing her along with the swaying of the trees. It would be a peaceful scene, if not for the nerves bouncing around her stomach at the thought of Nana.
She decides that it's not worth prolonging it, so she heads downstairs to face the music. Maka doesn't find Nana in the kitchen, but she does find the kettle hot, complete with a bag of Earl Grey waiting on the counter for her. The smile that crosses her face eases the guilt a little, at least.
Maka finds Nana on the porch, mug of coffee in hand, shock of grey hair blowing slightly in the breeze. She slides into the seat beside her, testing the waters.
"Hey, Nana," she says, and Nana turns to meet her gaze, stoic but attentive.
It hurts to wait. Every moment she spends not apologizing prolongs the unsettling feeling in her gut, so she lets it out.
"I'm so sorry about last night," she says. "I got wrapped up in everything and I totally forgot to call. I'm sure you were really worried."
There's a moment of silence as they both listen to the water, Nana's lip twisting thoughtfully.
"Worried?" Nana muses. "Mmm. Yes. That was part of it."
Surprise colors Maka's face. "Part of it?"
"It was not... entirely worry," Nana says. "I know my baby girl can take care of herself, though I suppose anything could happen." It looks like she wants to wink, but she holds it back, the energy between them still slightly frigid.
"What else was it?"
"Now, you can't get upset with me when I say this," Nana warns her. "You know your Nana will always tell you the truth, right? Even if it'll make you a little angry."
Maka watches her carefully for a moment, and then nods. Nana's not one to spare feelings, especially if she thinks someone needs to hear something. And it's something Maka appreciates, despite the sting that might come with it.
"It just felt… a little familiar, baby girl," Nana begins. Maka cocks her head to the side, and Nana elaborates. "Staying out all night, not calling… spending the night who knows where, and with who knows who."
Maka stills because - as Nana predicted - anger hits her like a wave.
"It's hard, at this age, taking care of someone," Nana continues. "Twenty-two is old enough for someone to make their own choices. But-"
"Nana," Maka says, cutting her off. "I am not Papa."
"Oh, believe me, angel," Nana says, putting a hand on the back of Maka's chair. "I know that. It brought me back, though. Made me remember a different time."
It's a hard pill to swallow, and the knife twists in her gut even more because she sees what Nana saying. Maka knows that she can have a pity party about it all she likes, but ultimately, this all could have been avoided by just telling Nana that she'd be late.
"I'm... sorry, Nana," she says, choosing to swallow her pride over this one. "I'll call every other night this summer."
Nana fixes her with a smile and winks. "I know you will."
They settle into silence for a brief time, watching the clouds drift by across the water.
"You're not as different as you think, you know," Nana says, watching Maka with a mischievous glint in her eye now. "You and your papa."
It's not something that she ever wants to hear, and she groans.
"I know, I know," Nana says with a laugh. "There sure is a lot of your mother in you, but… you got some things from your papa, too."
"Like what?" Maka says, still a little bitter, which only makes Nana laugh harder. Finally, she quiets for a moment, sipping her iced tea.
"...He never asked for help once, you know," she finally says. "Raising you. When your mama left, he shouldered all of that responsibility himself. We'd get so fed up with each other because I wanted to explain how to do everything, and he'd say, 'Don't tell me how to do it. Just give me ideas.'"
"That's totally impractical," Maka says, crossing her arms.
"It sure is," Nana says. "Sort of like someone dragging ten loads worth of wood to the shop in a little red wagon instead of borrowing her papa's car last weekend."
"I didn't need the car from him," Maka says, though she can see Nana having the time of her life, grinning broadly out of the corner of her eye.
"That's all I'm saying," Nana says, putting her free hand up in surrender. "You both like to do things yourselves."
"Well. He was still a lousy dad, a lot of the time," Maka says, sticking her lip out. She knows that she's being a baby, but she can't help reverting to her teenage self when she talks about Spirit.
The corners of Nana's eyes wrinkle as she smiles. "I was far enough away that I couldn't show up at your door every day, or else I would have. But... he wanted to do things himself. Wanted to prove he could, I think. Wanted to do his best for you."
She is determined not to appreciate this, and so her lip is permanently stuck in a pout. "He made stupid choices," Maka says, though the iciness in her tone is thawing.
"He did," Nana agrees with a nod. "Still does, actually. Some of the stupidest ones I've ever seen." Still, her tone is soft when she asks, "But did you ever doubt that he loved you?"
"... No," Maka admits. "Not really."
"I'll never make excuses for that boy," Nana says. "Your papa is flighty, and he's as hare-brained as they come." She raises her iced tea to her lips in a final dramatic pause. "But when you really love someone, you both love fiercely, and that makes your Nana proud."
There's a little knot in her chest, now, and it's stretching toward her eyes, making them brim.
"Speaking of which," Nana says. "There's one more very important thing you have in common." As Maka watches, the mailbox-twinkle returns to Nana's eyes. "...I love you both very much."
The statement is so simple, so pure, that Maka can't help the small smile that spreads across her face.
"We love you too, Nana."
-ɸ-
The next time that Soul pulls up for driving lessons, Maka makes sure to leave the garage door open.
"Dude," he says, jaw agape as he walks up the driveway towards her. "No way."
"What?" she asks innocently, but he's already glaring at her as he walks up to the rest of the way, standing behind Nana's car with a totally awestruck expression on his face.
"You didn't tell me," he says, like he's accusing her of something. She just rolls her eyes.
"I told you I'd tell you soon," she reminds him as he walks around Nana's 1981 Mercedes like it's the first time he's seeing a car. The car is a manila beige, with mini-mirrors on the headlights and the same beige color set into the centre of the wheels. Its overall shape, however, is similar to Soul's, as if the two cars could be siblings.
"It's beautiful," he breathes. "Look at the headlights." He looks down and his eyes widen further. "Look at the wheels."
She wants to say something sassy, but she restrains herself - mostly because she finds herself strangely content, watching this departure from his normally surly demeanor. It's almost childlike, the awe in his eyes. Like Christmas morning.
"Do you like it?" comes a voice from the doorway, and Soul looks up to see Nana. It's the first time he's seen her, Maka knows, and she's quite the spectacle with her iced tea in hand, striding up to them with her gray hair flying away from her head in every direction.
"It's so cool," he says. "The color is old school."
"Old school?" Nana says, feigning offense, and he almost starts to apologize before she verbally swats him away, with a cane accompaniment. "I'm kiddin'," she says. "1981 isn't even old."
"Soul has a Mercedes too, Nana," Maka says with a grin, and his eyes widen again, as if he'd almost forgotten that he had one. "Wanna show it to her?"
"Uh, yeah," he says. He turns tail and walks quickly back to his car. Maka's pretty sure he would skip back if no one was looking. "C'mon out."
Before Maka can blink, both of the cars are side by side in the driveway, front hoods popped, both of them examining the twists and turns of the piping.
In the background, Maka sips at an iced tea, endlessly amused as the two of them pick the cars apart.
Their driving lesson has been forgotten for the moment, but she finds it difficult to mind.
-ɸ-
"They don't make cars like they used to," Nana says as the three of them sit on the porch an hour later watching the waves.
"They don't," Soul agrees. "There's no heart in them anymore, everything's too flashy now-"
"Flashy like bright red seats?" Maka murmurs, and he shoots her a pointed look, which makes Nana chortle.
"There's nothing wrong with being a little flashy," Nana says with a cheeky grin, tapping her foot against the table, bright pink toe nail polish on display. "It's called having personality."
"Well, you've got personality in spades, Nana," Maka says. Out of the corner, Soul lets slip a rare small smile, and it gives her an idea.
"Speaking of personality. Are you free later, Nana?" Maka asks, holding Soul's gaze. "There's someone else I'd really like you to meet."
Soul hadn't expected to come here, but as he's starting to realize, this summer has led him to lots of places he wouldn't normally go.
The iron door actually creaks when he pulls it open, a mark of exactly how long it's been since he last came through this entrance.
As he flicks on the fluorescents, the room is bathed in flickering light before revealing a perfectly boring warehouse, with a small office at the top of a staircase in the corner of the room.
He edges through the room, passing by several large dustop covers, and heads straight for the upstairs. The stairs creak as well as he climbs them, and he makes a mental note to try to get Wes to reinforce them with something the next time he comes back here-
Next time. He's already thinking about next time. Well, whatever. For now, he thinks as he finds what he's looking for - a toolbox and belt, with a swatch of tools sticking out - he'll just do what he's come here to do.
And what is that, exactly, dear brother? the Wes-voice in the back of his head counters.
He's not really sure, actually. But as he tugs a cover off of one of the cars, dust sprinkling the air, he decides that when he finds it, he'll know.
Wes's introduction is every bit as grand as Maka had hoped.
"Is this the Nana Albarn I've heard so much about?" Wes says, strutting up the driveway like a peacock in a full-on petticoat, bright blue tails streaming behind him.
"Flashy," Nana mouths at Maka, who buries her smile in a sip of iced tea. "You should have told me you were wearing that blue, young man," Nana says. "I've got a dress that matches it perfectly."
"Well, what's stopping you from donning it now?" he says, a shocked expression on his face, and Nana's face lights up.
"Well, I'll just be right back, then," she says with a flourish, ambling back into the house as fast as her cane can carry her.
"Oh, she loves you already," Maka says after a moment, and Wes sends her a satisfied grin. "You little charmer."
"They tell me that is one of my many talents," he says with a deep bow. "But you only know half the story. I love her already as well."
"She's a loveable one," Maka agrees.
They wait for a few minutes, smiling when Nana reenters the garage in a deep blue sundress, ample ruffles tickling her calves.
"Ah! Delightful!" Wes says, clapping his hands together in delight. "Ravishing. And where are we off to this evening?" he asks, offering her his arm.
"The back porch!" Nana says with a laugh, and though she's on his arm, she's undoubtedly the one leading him. As she gives him a full tour of the garden and the small sliver of beach in front of the house, Maka listens to their exchange with a heart full of love.
When they finally get settled back on the porch with hibiscus tea - a blend reserved only for special occasions - they fall into an easy pattern of conversation, discussing Wes's woodworking pursuits and Nana's gardening ones, which both of them seem to find surprisingly riveting.
"And where is that brother of yours this evening?" Nana eventually says as the sun is starting to set, fireflies coming to greet them on the patio. "He sure does know a lot about cars."
Wes lets out a hearty laugh. "He does. And you inspired him this morning! He's been cooped up in the shop all day, tinkering."
"In the shop?" Maka says. "The woodworking shop?"
"No… ah," Wes says, tilting his head curiously. "He didn't mention the auto shop?"
"... You guys own an auto shop," Maka says, eyes to the sky. "Color me not surprised at all."
"He... normally doesn't really go in there anymore," Wes admits, though he looks a bit wary about saying this, like he's divulging a secret. "You must have really influenced him!"
He says this to Nana, but at the end of the sentence, his eyes flicker over to Maka as well. And she can tell he's doing it on purpose, like he's trying to tell her something. In a blink, however, it's gone, replaced by his normal composed expression.
The night ends with a pact: an agreement that Wes will return, and drag Soul over occasionally as well. Agreement is, ultimately, a loose term - Nana had essentially decreed it, and when Nana wants something, everyone is hard-pressed to go against her wishes.
Even so. Something tells Maka that it's not going to be hard to twist their arms.
-ɸ-
As the driving lessons continue, Maka continues to improve.
At the very least, she's getting more familiar with the feel of the clutch, and the timing of switching gears. There is minimal foot slamming now, and Soul's utilization of the Oh Shit bar has significantly diminished, so there's that.
Their level of comfort with one another is also going up, if only because being stuck in numerous near-death situations for hours at a time is a quick catalyst for bonding. On maybe the fifth or sixth lesson, Soul abandons his carefully cultivated polite teaching style and returns to his default setting of sass.
"Ohhh my god watch the hill watch the hill-" Soul squawks as the car starts to roll backward - though, to his credit, he does not lunge for the steering wheel like the last three times this has happened. "I'm gonna die here. On the road between Shareport and the underworld."
"I am not that bad at driving, okay?" she says, slamming on the brakes. "Hills are the hardest part. And starting on a hill is even harder."
"You should see the hills in New York," he says. "Those are scary."
"The city?" she says, after they have made it over the hill and her brain and vocal chords are again capable of functioning in tandem. "There's not that many hills in New York City."
"Nah, not the city," he says. "Upstate. Mountains. Hilly."
"You guys are from upstate New York?" she says, shocked. "But you both seem like such... city slickers."
"Wes, maybe," he says. "He's got the right amount of... razzle dazzle for that."
Her mouth quirks up. "Did I just hear the words razzle dazzle come out of your-"
"Anyway," he says, shooting her a little glance that she might classify as playful, if she didn't know who she was talking to. "We're not city people. My parents are business people, and they own a collection of restaurants and stuff around Rochester. It's still big enough to satisfy their bougie tastes."
He says this last line with real, unfiltered derision, and Maka wants to laugh, but she's not sure if she should.
"Based on what you've told me, they certainly seem to know how to spread their money around," she says. "Does that… bother you?"
He pauses, considering this. "Mmm. I don't really care how much they own, as long as they keep me out of it."
"They own a lot in Shareport too, right?"
He lets out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, they do."
"And you've got more of an… opinion on that," she observes. She has learned, over the past month, that sighing appears to be his preferred method of communication.
"Yeah. No. I dunno." He fishes for his words, tapping his fingers against the side of the car as he steels himself for the daunting task of opening up.
"I don't know how to explain it," he finally says. "When I was really little, I used to love coming here for the summer. But now it's like, every time I walk in someplace it's like everyone's got their guard up."
"... Why?"
"Not sure," he says. "Maybe they don't want me reporting back to the parents about a new business opportunity, I guess. Like I'd do that." He rolls his eyes. "Wes wouldn't, either. But I guess I don't blame people for closing themselves off."
"Well, not everyone's like that," she says. They come to stop at a stoplight and, when she starts again, she makes an almost-flawless transition into first gear that makes him give a little hum of approval.
"Like what?" he asks, after they've cleared the light.
"Oh, like…" It sounds stupid after the pause, now that she's had time to think about it, but she lets it fly anyway. "Not everyone's an ice queen. Look at me! I've let you teach me how to drive your own car."
"I think that says more about me than you," he says with a laugh, and then he goes suddenly silent, turning to look out the window. After a few seconds, he adds, "You're doing better. By the way."
"Thanks," she says dryly, though she does appreciate the compliment. "You're grabbing the bar less, so I could tell I was improving."
"Eh, you've still got a ways to go," he says with a grin. "You're at like… a C plus today."
"A C plus?!" she exclaims, indignant. "You take that back. I've never gotten a C plus in my life."
"I never would've guessed," he drawls. "And I've got bad news for you. The first time was definitely not even close to a C plus."
Her face reddens, but she smiles as she slams the clutch into second gear, sending him jerking back in his seat.
"Oops," she says sweetly.
"I swear, if you break the clutch-"
"You'll do what?" she says, eyes narrowing.
His bluff has been called, and he knows it. "Ugggh," he groans, head hitting against the headrest.
She takes pity on him, and goes easy on the clutch on the way home.
"Hey," she adds as they conclude this lesson, pulling back into the driveway. "There's one more place where people don't treat you differently, you know."
"Hmm? Where's that?" he asks, shrugging out of his jacket.
"...Skully's," she says with a little shrug. "Right?"
He ponders this as he gets back into the front seat, shutting the door.
"Huh," he says. "Yeah. I guess that's true."
But for some reason, he doesn't look convinced.
In addition to heavy lifting, working on cars again is making him do some heavy thinking.
Soul doesn't enjoy thinking, and therefore he does it constantly. It's unfortunate, the fact that he is complicit in creating his own misery.
Today's misery is a different beast, though. Instead of brooding about his family problems, he's considering something else. Stepping back from the hood of another old Mercedes - 1977, white, beige interior - he wipes the side of his face with the clean side of a greasy towel and sighs.
There's one more place where people don't treat you differently, you know.
Is that actually true? He thinks back to his interactions at Skully's. Blake treats everyone the same - badly - so there's nothing to evaluate there. And as he tugs his tool belt around, searching for a mallet, he thinks back to his conversations with Liz, and Patty, and Kid especially.
He's never really thought about it before, but he supposes Maka is right - not that he'll tell her that. Kid, especially, has every reason to treat him differently, since his father is the one who bought them out last summer. But now that Maka's brought it up, he doesn't remember Kid ever saying anything snide.
Hell, he'd even given Soul a job, trusting him enough not to undermine the fledgling little pirate restaurant Kid and his mysterious dad were creating.
That, at least, is reassuring, but Soul is very aware of all kinds of problems, and there is another problem.
When Maka had said that, he'd thought she was going to say with me and Nana.
And now, he must wrestle with the fact that that's what he wanted to hear.
He thinks back to the way she'd looked when she laughed by the fire, eyes alive in the flames. The warmth of her body against his on the boat. The easy back-and-forth they'd fallen into with driving the car.
And despite himself, he wants.
But you can't have, he reminds himself. She'd made that clear, remember? She's not looking for 'all of that' right now.
Tamping down on feelings has always been a strength of his, if one can call that a strength. And so he's arranging his heart around, reworking it so that he can keep spending time with her without wanting more.
Unfortunately, as he is in the process of doing that, Wes walks in to shake everything up.
"Knock knock!" his brother says as he strides into the room, appearing at Soul's side in a matter of seconds.
"What do you want, Wes?" Soul says, diving back under the hood in an effort to escape.
"What a way to greet your visitors," Wes says, though he's clearly unoffended, standing behind him to clap him on the back.
"I'm busy," he says, reaching for any tool to look like he's doing something. But Wes is too smart for Soul's own good, and he just leans against the side of another car and grins.
"That's fine. I'm just here to spend some quality time with you."
So Soul continues to work as Wes just stands there looking all happy, and it eventually gets to him enough that he stands, closing the hood of the car, and says, "What are you so happy about?"
"I'm always happy!" Wes says.
"I know," Soul says, crossing his arms. "It's annoying."
"It just makes me happy… to see you in here," Wes hedges.
Soul lets out a little sigh, tugging the dust cover back over the car. "You're being weird. It's not like I'm doing anything different."
Wes clicks his tongue a little, eyes moving up to smugly graze the ceiling. "Oh, but you definitely are. And I know why."
Wes knowing anything is another thing to add to his list of problems, and so he treads carefully.
"Don't know what you're talking about."
"A quick denial from Soul Evans is a sure-fire way to let his brother know that he knows exactly what he's talking about," Wes says with a big grin, reaching over to ruffle Soul's hair. "C'mon. Let's go outside."
His heart-rearranging is not yet complete, and this makes him… vulnerable, so when they step outside, he's got a fist clenched, holding on to what's bothering him so that Wes can't dig too deeply.
"So…" Wes says. "You're spending a lot of time with Maka."
"Yep," Soul says. "Driving, remember? She asked me to teach her."
"Yes, yes," Wes says, saving a hand. "I'm sure it is, as you have assured me many times, 'just a ride'."
"It is," Soul says, rolling his eyes.
"But!" Wes declares, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Is that all you want it to be?"
Silence speaks loudly, and Wes can hear it.
"I like her," Wes says. "She makes you laugh. If only I had that kind of power!"
"Learn to be funny, then," Soul says dryly, head coming to rest on his knees, but Wes is smiling again.
"I'm not here to tell you what to do," Wes says. "And I don't fully know what she wants, but as your brother, I must endorse not doing that fist-clenching, pushing-people-away thing that you so enjoy doing."
Being called out so accurately is gross, and Soul's head stays on his knees, waiting for Wes to say something else, because he knows that he's not done yet.
"I'll go," Wes says, squeezing his shoulder as he stands. "But she makes you happy. So decide what you want, little brother. Maka's not the type of person you can hide things from."
"... Yeah, I know," Soul says to his knees, and Wes leans down to pat him on the back.
"Don't be afraid," he says. "It's easier said than done, but give it a try."
The next day at work is as full of unexpected events as it always is, but Maka is learning to appreciate that at the unexpected has become… somewhat dependable, as backwards as that sounds.
It's also an exciting day - it's the first time she's felt confident enough to drive to work, and Nana's car sits happily in a parking spot at the edge of the lot. She's excited that she won't have to walk home, though the prospect of no more motorcycle rides is something that she doesn't like to think about.
At least there's one thing she can still safely predict: Blake's cooking is still terrible.
"Ding, fries are done!" Blake declares as he sends a charred mass of potato out onto the bar, which Liz sends back in without another word and shuts the window. The damage has been done, however, as his declaration sends Patty into a rousing round of the Carol of the Bells rendition of the song.
It's only a moment before Blake joins her as well, opening the window as he waits for his second batch of fries to re-fry, before Liz brings it all to a screeching halt with an exclamation of "It's June! Quit with the Christmas music!"
All of this before 11 in the morning.
The rest of the workday comes with little bursts of intrigue, as there's something that she starts to notice not too long after the Carol of the Bells censorship debacle.
She and Soul are both watching each other.
Part of her wonders if she's imagining it, because they keep doing it at different times. A peek in the periphery, an inquisitive glance from the corner.
It's quickly becoming that strange dance that people do when you want someone to look at you, and so you catch yourself looking at them more than usual, which in turn makes them look at you, but then you aren't sure whether it's because you were looking at them, or because they want to be looking at you.
It's complicated.
Either way, there's something unspoken that's happening. They hand off plates to one another, they squeeze behind each other to deliver food, to bus tables. There's not a lot of actual conversation, but there's a change in the energy, a sensation in the air that feels heavier between them.
Unfortunately, she's not the only one that has noticed.
"Hey," Liz mutters to her after a few hours of this cat-and-mouse gaze game. "Why does Rich Boy keep looking at you?"
"... Huh?" Maka says, which is one-half false surprise, because of what she already knows, and one-half genuine contentment, because Liz has just confirmed it for her.
"Don't give me that," Liz whispers, essentially cornering her in the corner of the bar. "I see everything that goes on in this bar. My eyes are everywhere."
Curse Blake's shenanigans - he has forced Liz to hone her craft.
"We're working together," Maka says smoothly. "We're probably just checking in on what the other one's doing so that we don't mix up tables."
"So you've been looking at him too, good to know," Liz says even more smoothly, and Maka, realizing she's been bested, decides to quit while she's behind. "Way to make this sound like a conspiracy. What are you hiding?"
"Honestly? Nothing," she says. "Things have been… interesting between us, lately. I don't know."
"Do you even see him outside of work?" Liz says, speculative. Maka's long silence gives her all of the information she could possibly need.
"Ohhhhhh, so you have," she says, smug. "Wait. Did you go on a da-"
"No. No. No no," Maka says, in instant damage control mode. "He's… teaching me to drive stick. I need to drive Nana's car, and-" And why is Liz snickering?
"Trying to drive stick, huh?" she says, looking like she'd like to stuff her whole fist in her mouth if she could. "So you can take him for a ride?"
Maka is the living, breathing iteration of the -_- face, and it only makes Liz laugh harder, face turning red in the incandescents.
"Okay, alright, I'll lay off," she says. "As long as you promise to lay on-"
"Can I get some help out here?" comes about the least welcome voice in the world at this moment.
Liz and Maka both turn to him like two deer in headlights - though Liz ends up appearing more constipated than anything, as she abruptly cuts off peals of laughter.
"Yep, yes! Yes you can, sure!" Maka dives around Liz's interrogation station and back into the restaurant, leaving Liz with a bar to tend and additional innuendos to ponder.
"What was that about?" he mutters to her after they're far enough away, two tables apart.
"Oh, just Liz conjuring up delusions," Maka says, grateful for the hair lying over her ears, as she can feel them burning.
"... Hm," he says, tossing a rag on the table. "Maybe I've been conjuring them up, too."
"What do you mean?" she says, turning around and sizing him up.
"I… Have you been avoiding me today?" he says, grabbing the rag again for something to do, wiping the already-clean table a second time. "Just wondering."
"I… oh, no, not at all," she mutters, confused. "Is that why- oh."
"What?" he says, rag once again abandoned on the table.
"Nope! Nothing. I'm conjuring stuff up too, probably."
And suddenly, Blake appears behind them like some kind of horrible magic trick.
"...Did someone say conjuring?"
-ɸ-
"I do not understand why we're still here," Maka says as Blake frantically runs around the restaurant after closing, turning off lights. "Weren't we supposed to go out after this?"
"I got… struck by inspiration," Blake says cryptically, and once he has returned to the group, seated on the floor with all of the tables cleared away, he reveals his master plan for the evening.
"Oooohhh, pizza!" Patty says, and everyone else looks excited about this turn of events, as Skully's hasn't got pizza on the menu. "Did you get it from downstairs?"
"Nah, I had pizza last night!" Blake exclaims. "This is muuuuch better!"
He nudges the box with his foot to reveal a still-greasy pizza box that has been marked up in Sharpie, with something that looks familiar but that Maka can't quite put her finger on-
"Oooohhhh no," Liz says, standing up and heading instantly for the light switch. "No way, no way, no way-"
Patty starts laughing over the sounds of Liz's protests, while Kid looks almost amused, and only when Maka notices this strange reaction does she realize what this is.
"Oh! It's a ouija board," she says.
"A Luigi board!" Patty exclaims. "Sis hates these!"
Meanwhile, Liz has already flicked on three light switches, while Blake follows her around, flicking them back off again as he attempts to convince her that this is a good idea.
"C'moooon, it'll be fun! We always did a wee-jee-board when I used to come up for summer camp!" he explains. "It's tradition!"
"Leave me out of your ghost-summoning ritual traditions, you weirdo!" Liz says, rounding on him. "You're like a god of chaos, who knows what sorts of things you might bring into this realm-"
"Liz, it's a pizza box," Maka says with a laugh. "What could he summon, a ghost pepperoni?"
"You stay out of this, new girl!" Liz says.
"Liz doesn't have to do it," Soul says, his face breaking into a grin. "... but I wanna. Let's see what old creepy ghosts hang out in this old place."
"That's the spirit," Blake says, winking, and Kid actually lets out a laugh at that pun, looking more excited about this by the second.
"I'm in too," Maka says, nodding, and one by one the rest agree, leaving Liz to concede defeat as she groans her way back to the circle, sits herself down and latches on to Patty's arm for dear life.
The stage is set: candles abound, salt sprinkled between them in a circle, and a hastily scribbled pizza box ouija board at the center, prepared to welcome the spirits of the other realm into their humble seafood restaurant.
"Okay, who wants to go first?" Blake says, chivalrously stepping aside to give anyone who wants a try the floor.
"I'll go," Soul says. "Let's get spooky."
"Be careful!" Liz says, peeking around Patty's shoulder, only for Patty to jump up and leave her alone and defenseless, stepping up to hold the other side of the board. When they step up, Soul's face contorts in the light of the candles.
"Is this what we're using as the stopping-letter-thing?" he says, holding up three cold french fries taped together.
"Listen, gotta be resourceful," Blake says.
"You couldn't have used… pizza crusts, or something?" Maka asks. "To go with the theme?"
"My leftover fries had a stronger energy," he says with a shrug, and Liz, despite her nervousness, rolls her eyes at this. When a breeze passes through the restaurant, however, she reverts straight back to Panic Mode, scrambling up to Patty.
"Pat, please, I need you back here-"
"All right, all right," Patty says, scooting back with a laugh. "I'll pass. It's all yours, Blakey."
"Sweet!" he says, running forward to sit on the other side of the pizza box with Soul. "You guys ready?"
Everyone nods, and other than the whispers of the candles, there's not a sound to be heard in the restaurant or outside, most of Shareport's residents having retired for the night.
"Okay," Blake begins, eyes shut. "First, I call upon the spirit of John Cena, penman of the world's most excellent autograph-"
"John Cena's not dead, you dumbass!" Soul exclaims. "You can't communicate with people who aren't dead!"
"Shhhhh," Blake says, though a manic smile twists his features, making him look almost creepy in the light of the candles. "Okay. Is anyone besides John Cena in this room with us tonight?"
"John Cena can't be in this-"
"Shhhhhh!" the entire group choruses, and Soul's gaze flicks toward Maka, who is very obviously biting back a smile.
"Anyway, spirits," Blake says, nodding encouragingly. "If you're here, move the sacred fries."
They sit in silence for a moment, eyes fixed on the board, and suddenly, Soul can feel the energy in the room shift, a breeze awakening the candles to send them stirring.
Blake gasps. "It's moving."
"You are definitely pushing this," Soul says, hands on the other side of the fries.
"I'm not!" Blake says, eyes wide, and it almost seems... believable, the sincerity in his tone, as the fry-triangle makes it way to the word "Yes" at the bottom of the board.
Liz is shaking by this point, all of her focus directed completely at the board. Patty is also watching carefully, eyes wide. Soul isn't convinced, but he's also happy to try to creep other people out for a good time, so he continues on in the charade:
"...Who are you?" he asks.
The fries start to move again, and this time, he starts looking up at Blake and back down at the board, more unsure now. The letter moves to the M, then to the O, to the R, before stopping and quivering over the T. Blake and Soul look up at each other, eyebrows raised. Kid is looking troubled as well.
"That's definitely 'death' in French'," Soul says, which apparently everyone already knew except Liz, who lets out a loud gasp.
"... Huh," Kid says, mouth turning up slightly at the corners.
"Nope! Nope nope! No death here!" Liz says, standing up. "No thank you!"
"Hold onnnn," Blake says. "I wanna know what Death wants to tell us!"
They focus back down at the board, and despite the fact that this it's probably bogus, he enjoys the idea that it really is Death himself, communicating with them from the great beyond.
They watch breathlessly as the board spells out, incredibly, "PINBALL," followed by "UNPLUG," and Patty cracks up at laughing at this, which totally kills the creepy atmosphere but does give Liz some room to breathe. All of them start to laugh as Maka gets up to joyfully adhere to the great Death spirit's bidding.
"Hey, Death pizza spirit," Blake says, wiggling his eyebrows. "What else do you sense in this room?"
The fries sit still, seemingly unsure of how to answer the question.
"What I'm trying to ask is," he says, a wicked grin materializing on his face once more. "I have a very important question."
He waits until everyone's attention is fully focused on him before asking his Very Important Question:
"Could you please tell us if Soul and Maka would like to fuck?"
The collective breath that is drawn in the room feels like it passes through millions of years of time and space, and the shock is palpable as Soul and Maka, in tandem, make their opinions known:
"... What?!" they both exclaim, though Soul tacks on a "the hell, Blake!" for good measure.
"Whaaaat?" Blake says innocently. "We're all thinking it! Even Maka was thinking it!"
Soul keeps his gaze on the board, totally unwilling to show any sort of emotion over this. This isn't the time, damnit, and he's just starting to figure this shit out-
"I am absolutely not thinking-" Maka starts to sputter.
"Then what were you just talking about with Liz by the kitchen window, like two hours ago?"
"That was- oh my god, I'm gonna kill you-" Maka says, jumping up out of her spot in the circle and lunging for Blake, though Kid and Tsubaki step in at this point, holding her back.
"Candles, Maka," Kid admonishes. "Murder him outside, if you must. I won't complain."
"Wait," Soul says, his eyes focused down at the board again. "Blake, are you moving-"
"N-uh." Blake looks down, surprised. "I'm… not."
They pause for a moment, though he's not sure whether the tension he's feeling is because of the Lord of Death's presence or because of Maka's residual murderous energy behind him. He has the feeling that they probably have similar vibes. For a moment, she pauses, though, watching along with everyone else as the fries make their way around the board.
"CAR," it spells out.
Soul looks back at Maka, whose brow is furrowed.
"ALMOST," it spells out next, and by this point, Liz is nervous again, and everyone else is riveted to the board, and from the look on Soul's face, he isn't driving any of this any more.
"STAY," it orders, and it goes still for another thirty seconds. Soul is about to say something else before the fries move again, moving between to the numbers, 3, 2, and 1.
The next moment, there's a sickening crash outside the restaurant.
"Holy shit!" Liz says, jumping a foot, and beside Soul, Maka springs into action, since she's already ready to fight anyone. When she races outside, Soul is only a few feet behind her, the foghorn a distant echo as they run down the stairs.
"Ugh! No!" Maka yells from the middle of the stairs. Right before the car peels out of the parking lot, Soul catches a glimpse of a Massachusetts license plate - and apparently, so does Maka.
"Ugh! Masshole!" she yells as she runs up and kicks at the tire of Nana's car, whose back bumper is dented on the left side. Soul makes his way up behind her, Blake, falls into step with him.
"You are on my shit list," Maka says, rounding on Blake. "Ass. Also, your fries are haunted, probably."
Soul is comforted by the fact that Blake is looking a little paler than he was before, staring down at the pavement. "Yeah, I guess so," he mutters. "How's the damage?"
Maka pulls out the flashlight on her phone to have a better look, as the sun went down long ago, and starts picking up little bits of bumper that are littered around the parking lot.
"Doesn't look great," she says, and at this point, Soul bends down to help, tucking pieces into his shirt, which is lifted up above his belly button. The trunk still works, so she pops it and he unloads it into a little pile, fluttering his short shirt tout a little to get all of the stray pieces.
"I can't believe this," she says. "What a jackass."
"You saw the Mass license plate too?" Blake says. "God."
"I was talking about you," Maka says, shooting him a glare. "But yes."
"Wanna see if it'll still drive?" Soul asks.
They both walk to the front of the car, and when Maka turns the key, the car still revs to life. "That's good," she says, voice tinged with relief.
"I can still get you a tow if you'd rather not drive it home," Soul says through the driver's side window.
"Do you know of a towing place around here that'd be open at this hour?" she asks, hopeful.
Blake lets out a little laugh from the behind the trunk. "Oh man, does he?"