Depression is hard. Just got the monkey off my back a little and now I need to get my groove back. Will be working on this as I feel inspired. Writing is good for the mind. Specifically it's good for my mind and mood.

Disclaimer: see part 1

Maka knew she was starting to lose her mind as a consequence of isolation, and she didn't relish seeing the early snow begin to settle over the vast Evans property. Once a day, every day, a grocery cart would arrive roughly before breakfast time. Hunched and hooded figures wrapped in layers against the cold would appear as if by magic and swiftly unload supplies before the cart would take off down the lane once more, but Maka felt like they were no more real than her breath clouding the glass pane. Her experience with moneyed families tended to reinforce that the more you had the more people needed to support it, and she supposed the battalions of servants were following around Mr. and Mrs. Evans while this nearly empty summer home remained fallow. Maybe the expectation was that she was part of this skeleton crew, but she didn't feel at home.

Ghostly music, faint and discordant, would sometimes waft through hallways as she emerged from the library and took her meals. Other than a few awkward lunches with Wes Evans, who promptly left to attend to business on one of the other Evans properties as of yesterday, Maka hadn't had a chance to practice her social niceties, such as they were. Filling the time between bouts of work, as one could not work every hour of the day and remain on top of one's game, she took to walking the paths around the grounds and secretly searching for signs of life. Until this experience she had always thought she preferred a solitary life, but that was being proven untrue spectacularly by the creeping loneliness of the short daylight hours.

As if an answer to a prayer, the monotony was broken in her work by a distressing wheezing coming from one of the book filled rooms that made up the large interconnected library space. Closer inspection found what she would describe as a "disheveled gentleman" if a polite person had asked her, but in her own mind the words "aggravating ruffian" flitted through as his distinct white hair sparked recognition. He was sleeping in a chair to bask in what little sunlight there was to catch from the high windows with his booted feet propped up by a pile of books, and honestly Maka would never have found him if not for the snoring emanating from his general direction.

Maka wanted to speak sharply to him, remind him books were not meant for the purpose he was employing them for, but she also knew they were his family's to do with as they pleased. It would be the better part of a few weeks before she had to attack that particular stack of tomes and more good would be done by straightening her posture and taking the high road back to her work.

Of course, her body was more willful than her mind as she "accidentally" bumped into his feet and knocked them from their perch.

"What in… oh it's you." Sleepy crimson eyes took her in, slowly blinking, before a yawn showed off practically canine teeth. Expecting more dramatics than that, Maka had remained unmoving in front of him, and he regarded her once more with one bloodshot red eye. "Yeah? Some problem?"

"Not at all!" Maka's voice came out at a higher pitch and volume than she would have liked, completely obliterating the appearance of nonchalance that she had hope to create.

The single eye rolled back in the man's head with as much sarcasm as the gesture could contain given how little movement was involved. If Maka had been cold before, her steadily rising internal temperature was counteracting that nicely.

Giving a cough to grab his attention, which his answering groan confirmed, she added something extra chipper to her thinly veiled order. "Having inspected a number of the rooms for loose books, I can recommend what seems to be a number of more comfortable locations to nap. I'll be moving throughout the rooms and you might find that my activities will disturb your rest, Mr. Evans."

There was a grumble of words which she deciphered as effectively communicating that she should go about her business away from him, so Maka took a steadying breath and did just that. It took force of will not to simply stand next to the man and poke him until he interacted with her, if for no other reason than it would be nice to be a little less alone in this great big house, but her work was absorbing and an unknown amount of time passed in which she was plucking books from shelves, making notes, and designating piles. The Evanses, like many families in which there are multiple artists, seemed prone to leaving things pressed inside of books. At first it seemed quaint to find half written letters or snatches of poetry marking places, but it seemed that there was enough half-finished correspondence that it might need its own filing system.

Maka was perched on a ladder reading what must have been the umpteenth draft of a love poem to "fairest Erika" some Evans relative had stuffed among volumes of a small encyclopedia of animals and their traits, when a voice near her ankle startled her. Kicking off the ladder and miraculously not landing a soft leather shoe in the face of a startled Mr. Evans, Maka landed in a tense crouch with fierce eyes trained on her erstwhile attacker.

Once his mouth eased out of its 'O' of surprise, he gave her a rueful smile. "That's a fancy trick, Albarn."

"I grew up with a friend, like a brother really, who taught me I needed to stay on my toes in any given situation or face the painful consequences." Maka accepted the praise while taking in the disheveled appearance of the younger Evans after his long nap. It was as if someone had taken Wes Evans and rolled him down a hill. He gave off a distinctively ungentlemanly air of casual association.

"Sounds exciting." There were those teeth again, but whatever mercurial forces drove his mood had him regarding her in a friendly manner in this moment. "What's that? Writing letters instead of working?"

His tone implied a bad joke, but Maka's spine stiffened at the thought that she would be anything less than diligent at her paid task. "Not unless I suddenly started signing my correspondence 'your ever loyal Free' with great gobs of ink everywhere." Compelled to provide evidence, her stiff arm thrust the paper at Evans who casually plucked it from her with a smile that wasn't leaving his face. While reading the poem that smirk crinkled in disgust.

"Good 'ol Uncle Fredrick. Not much of a poet, but he tried."

"If you want to see drafts one through fifteen they're behind me in that stack." Maka gestured over, while she tried not to flinch in annoyance as Evans dropped the paper where he stood and wandered over to where she was sorting the library. Their sleeves whispered against one another as he passed and she took a sudden breath at his proximity, reminding herself that perhaps as a rich eccentric artist he didn't understand social propriety and the concept of personal space.

"This is all the same poem. Good lord, he really didn't understand the idea of revision…" Evans regarded Maka, who had picked up the loose paper and was coming over to place it with its brethren. "You might as well toss them in the fireplace and add a little warmth to this hell."

"Mr. Evans!" His language was mild compared to what she had frequently overheard in her father's conversations with his friends when they were drinking well past her bedtime as a young girl. But there was value in pretending as if she were innocent of such knowledge, it's what clients expected wasn't it?

"Ms. Albarn!" His tone mocked her. "Funny how you can read so many books and still be scandalized by a word." Showing off those teeth once more, he tore the stack of poem drafts in two and let them drift to the floor before stuffing hands in his pockets and slouching his way out of the library. He paused at the door only briefly while Maka seethed a bit at him rightly pointing out her mock outrage was ridiculous. "You can address me as Soul; Mr. Evans isn't my preference."

He was around the corner before she could draw breath to respond.