After washing the living realm off the soles of her feet, she settles into her desk to fill out death transaction receipts for the Fates when Soul Evans wanders in her office. Maka drops her quill, eyes wide.

"H-how did you-"

Finding the source of her voice, he perks up. His smile is a little awkward. "'Sup?"

Maka finds herself standing out of her chair, reeling with disbelief. "How did you get past Cerberus? Only the dead and immortal are allowed past the gates of Hades without appointment!"

The young man scratches the back of his head, eyes drifting to the array of strange baubles and underworld oddities scattered across her desk. "That demon thing with three heads? He likes belly-rubbings, I dunno." He shrugs.

Her mouth hangs open.

"You're right, though- the glow is pretty cool, here." He risks a glance at her shell-shocked expression and grimaces. "I shouldn't have come, huh. I asked around and found out where the gate was, and you mentioned I'd be welcome, so I just..."

Maka steps around the side of her desk, stammering. "No! No, not at all, you are very much welcome! I, uh. I haven't- I wasn't prepared." She fumbles with her planner and tucks it into her cloak before banishing her desk and summoning her obsidian refrigerator from the nether. "What do mortals drink these days? Nectar? Ambrosia?"

He hasn't been here but a few moments and he's already laughing at her. She sucks her lips into a tight line, glaring at him over her shoulder.

Soul makes a shoddy attempt at sobering his amusement. "Mortals generally drink water, heh. But, uh, I don't need anything, thanks. What is this thing?" he asks, stalking around her fridge and peering inside.

Maka quickly shuts it, remembering belatedly that Chronos would get on her case if Man learned a few millennia too early about certain technological advances. "S-storage! You know, for drinks and, uh, blood of the innocent and all that scary stuff mortals should never touch because they'd explode. Painfully. Forever."

Soul does not look convinced. "Forgive me for saying so, but uhh… I call bullshit."

She heaves a sigh just as the main klaxon sounds, shaking the room. Her guest startles, looking for the source of the alarm. "Okay! I don't call bullshit!" he insists, covering his ears.

Waving her hands assuringly, she yells, "It's just my doorbell! Sorry, can you hang on a minute? I need to greet the new residents!"

When the alarm ends, he gives his head a shake. "Residents? You mean, dead people?" he asks.

"Yes. I must make record of everyone who enters the underworld." Pulling the hood of her cloak securely over her head, Maka drifts to the stairs Soul had recently climbed.

"Hey, Hade- er. Maka?"

The bashfulness in his voice stops her descent, and she glances behind her, finding him eagerly waiting at the top of the stairs. "...Yes?"

"Can I come watch?"

She replies, incredulous, "You want to?"

Soul shrugs slightly with one shoulder. "Yeah. I mean, it sounds cool."

Well, if a mortal was comfortable with giving the three-headed hound of the underworld 'belly-rubbings', she supposes he can't be terribly shaken with her realm in general. Still, she feels she should give him fair warning. "It might not be pleasant."

He does that little one-armed shrug again, feigning nonchalance, but his response is surprisingly frank. "If life was always pleasant, you'd never appreciate it," he reasons.

Maka hurriedly tugs her hood over her forehead more firmly, as her pale skin is probably glowing like a teenaged mortal. Honestly, what kind of goddess gets flustered over some dude who openly welcomes the gloomy with the cheerful? She turns around and continues down the stairs, waving him to follow because she doesn't trust her voice not to squeak.

Soul follows her to the shores of the underworld, openly admiring the glittering walkways and the ever-shifting glow emanating from the repenting souls in the Acheron. Other spirits wander the shores, sifting through the salt and pepper beaches. "What are they looking for?" He asks as they arrive at an ornate dock.

"Loose change," she replies. "Those who do not arrive with proper payment for the ferry must wander the shore for a hundred years. We tell them there's money on the beach to keep them occupied."

"...Is there money?"

"Who knows?"

At his troubled silence, she amends with, "Hades is a busy place. Time is not how you are accustomed. A century gives the system enough time to expand and register the new additions, as well as find proper work and accommodations. They hardly notice," she says, waving a hand towards the treasure hunters roaming the opposite shore. "It feels like only a few days have passed for them."

He seems a little mollified at this information, if not outright puzzled.

"By the way," she asks, "how did you pay the ferryman? Usually he only accepts coins placed on the eyes or mouth during funeral rites."

Soul's eyebrows arch with surprise. "Charon? He said my tab was 'prepaid for all eternity'. I figured you did it."

"I, uh-" Gosh, why hadn't she thought of that? That would have been a great show of generosity to a potential consort! "No, it wasn't me. That's strange, all deposits must come through me, before…" Maka pulls out her planner from her bottomless cloak (Soul shies away at the sight of it, to her mild amusement) and pries it open. Scanning recent deposits, she finds Soul's name written in someone else's handwriting.

"'Soul Evans, current balance: unending. Authorised and funded by Zeus'." That sneaky little omnipotent trickster! She's probably the reason behind her mysteriously empty underwear drawer as well! Maka slams the book shut, feeling drafty and wondering how she can improve the security of her realm against the ruler of all gods. "You have a very generous patron," she flatlines.

He looks astonished and kind of nauseated at the mention of Zeus. "Yeah, apparently."

Narrowing her eyes, Maka gives him a distrustful glance. "My sister doesn't normally do things for free."

Soul holds his hands up, defensive. "Woah, hey now. If you're implying I slept with the boss to get to the the land of the dead, we need to straighten a few things out."

Tucking her planner under her arm, she lets the full weight of her cloak's darkness emphasize her displeasure. "Just how friendly are you two, anyway?"

"Man, I don't care if you are a goddess- don't go jumping to conclusions. I've hardly spoken to her. Hell, I don't even know what she actually looks like. I've only seen her as a deer, a horse, a very pink peacock, and a talking violin. Wes was drooling all over her so much I had to take care of the harvest by myself," he complains. "When you're feeding the entire planet, that's a lotta freakin' food!"

"B-back up, a talking what?"

Soul shudders. "Take it up with my brother if you really gotta know."

Maka decides selective ignorance may be in her best interests, considering she is immortal and to learn of questionable things about one's relatives is to know them for all eternity. She directs her hooded leer away from him for the moment. "Well. It's not like you're unwelcome here, so no harm done, I suppose."

Voice tense, he says, "For the record, I'm not into women who play around with guys' hearts for fun. Mortal or otherwise."

"I don't find that sort of thing fun," she evenly replies. "And I'm not interested in 'hook-ups', or whatever you call them. I am to find a partner for life." She doesn't dare look over at whatever expression he might be wearing after that statement, as he had been (and possibly still is) the first attempt at such a partner. She fears her face may melt, so she's relieved when she spies a boat floating down the river.

"Stein! Right on time," she calls, eager to change the subject. "Any bad currents?"

Charon's patchwork boat glides across the glowing water with his recent load of newly-dead. "None more so than usual," he boredly replies, taking a drag from a spectral cigarette. "No thanks to this one, once again." Stein thumbs behind his shoulder at a glowing body skimming across the river.

"What did he do this time," she asks, helping Stein tie-off at the dock.

"I like making waves, alright?!" exclaims the messenger god in question, water-skiing on Acheron with his golden sandals. Hermes does a flip off a ramp of purifying souls. "This trip is so boring after the billionth time."

Maka can feel a vessel threatening to burst behind her left eye. "Do not use the dead as a ramp, you ass!"

His hat keeping him airborne, Black Star floats by, uncaring. "What, they're not doing anything useful, anyway."

"Their sins are being purged," Stein says. "They have enough headaches."

Landing on the dock without an iota of remorse for his actions, he says, "Yeah, whatever." Addressing Soul, he grins. "Hey mortal! Still hanging around this dump?"

To Maka's dismay, Soul and Hermes appear to have already established a friendly secret handshake. "Haha, uh, yeah? It's only been like two hours, though."

The little wings on Black Star's helmet give a vague sort of flap in the god's confusion. He blinks a little, and shrugs. "My bad, I guess. I get the timezones so messed every time I'm in this damned place. Anyway, check out the latest batch! Most of them died from the same thing. That's like almost winning the lottery."

Maka shoos them out of her way and summons a small chair and card table at the end of the dock, taking a seat. Quickly organizing the scene, Maka briefly interviews each new soul, scanning them to see which area of Hades they'd be most comfortable and taking down their information in her endless planner. Everything goes smoothly until the last occupant on Charon's boat clings to her in desperation.

"I… I can't handle being dead!" the spirit wails, floating pathetically around Maka's shoulders. It takes several minutes of encouraging words before the spirit calms down enough to at least stop crying, though it still refuses to exorcise from her person. With a sigh, she bids Charon and Hermes farewell for another trip.

"Tell Urania I say 'hello'!" she calls after Black Star. The playboy god uncharacteristically blushes, mumbling something incoherent and hiding a smile.

Soul asks, perplexed, "Urania?"

"Yes. A muse. He has the biggest crush on her so I like to give him hell about it. ...That wasn't a pun." Maka turns to regard the wavering soul still attached to her. "What am I gonna do with you?" she asks.

The spirit hides behind her when Soul tries to get a better look at it. "Does this happen a lot?"

She nods, sympathetic. "Some mortals aren't very good with transition."

"Mm. Even I'm afraid of change, sometimes," he murmurs. Addressing the spirit, he says, "Hey- it's not so bad down here, is it? What's your name?"

The spirit shudders a little, but replies, "Chrysaor. But… 'Chrona' is fine too."

"'Child of Medusa'," Maka recites aloud as she writes in her planner. "And how did you die, Chrona?"

After a lot of wobbling and finger twiddling, the spirit admits, "I was so hungry! Aaah, what a dumb way to die, I can't stand it!"

Soul tries to be reassuring. "Well, the upside is... that'll never happen again. You can't die twice, right?"

"I guess so," Chrona says, slowly sinking to a normal height. The spirit's feet form and touch the ground of the underworld.

Maka jots a few notes down in her planner, shuts it and holds it out in front of Soul's face, waving it until he awkwardly holds it for her. Hands free, she pats her body, searching her cloak for a pomegranate. Finding one, she pulls it out and offers it to the spirit. "Fate can only cut the string once. Welcome to Hades, Chrona."

Chrona smiles a little, gently grasping the fruit.. "Thanks. Um, a-aren't you Hades?"

"My name is Maka. This place is Hades. It's a common misconception." She forms a small business card from the nether and burns a few notes on it with her fingertips before handing it to the spirit. "This is your department. There'll be work for you there, and comfortable lodging. Don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions, okay?"

After Chrona wanders off beyond the docks, Maka pushes her hood off her head, officially off-duty. She takes her planner back from Soul, thanking him. She looks at the tome in her hands, troubled. Catching on her demeanor, Soul steps a little closer. "Is something wrong?"

Maka shakes her head. "No, it's probably nothing. Anyway, thanks again."

"No problem, again?"

She smiles. "I was actually talking about Chrona."

Blinking, Soul blushes a little. "Oh. Y-yeah, no big deal. What was that onion-y looking thing, anyway?" he asks, hands forming a round shape.

"It's not an onion," she giggles. "Don't you have pomegranates in the mortal realm?"

"Pomma-wha?"

Maka shakes her head. "It's a fruit. That one I grew here, in Hades. When a mortal eats food from the underworld, they become a permanent resident, so food is useful for those reluctant to accept their deaths. Though, even with offerings, when strays possess me it usually takes years to get them off. Chrona was only, like, a month! That's a huge improvement."

Genially, he smiles back in response to her excitement, though the rest of his face reads confused. "Well, that's good... But what do you mean by 'a month'? That was only twenty minutes, at best, wasn't it?"

Maka runs her free hand through her bangs, straightening them after having them ruffled by the hood of her cloak. "Well, yes, but the universal standard of measurement is set to Mortal Time. That was about a month in the mortal realm, just now." She brings her fingers to her lips, muttering, "I could have sworn I told you this a while ago."

She's impressed that Soul's skin can pale almost within her own complexion's range. "Say what. "

This is when Kim appears on the dock with a loud thunderclap. Soul nearly jumps a meter into the air. Maka, annoyed, tries to flatten the static out of her recently-straightened hair. "What're you doing here, panty-stealer?" she accuses Zeus.

"Who in the hell?!" Soul blurts.

Zeus rolls her eyes. "Who do you think?" With a glare to the young man, Kim shapeshifts her head into a certain thin-snouted doe and sticks out a little pink tongue.

"AUHGH, YOU!"

"Nice to see you too," she deadpans, ears flattening against her head and irritatedly jutting her hip to one side. She sighs, boredly inspecting the state of her gold-flecked nails. "Soooo, there's kind of a mass crisis?"

Maka's gut sinks. "What's happened?"

"Grandma's got a cold."