IV. Contrast
"Spirit," the Reaper said, sounding oddly subdued. "Can I ask you about your daughter?"
"Of course!" the Death Scythe beamed, digging into his jacket pocket for the latest pictures; he never carried ones more than a week old. There was a silly grin on his face as he began pointing out Maka's new outfit, but faltered when he realized his companion wasn't participating. "Sir?"
"Does Maka ever seem odd to you?" Shinigami questioned.
Spirit looked affronted. "Maka is perfect in every way!" he defended. "Everything from her pigtails to her adorable toes!" A beat, and then he cautiously added, "Why? Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure," hedged the death god. "Kid does some strange things. Little things," he added hurriedly. "They're not really significant. I was just wondering about them."
The weapon looked thoughtful. "What kind of things?"
Shinigami bounced in place, thinking. "He counts a lot. Everything, actually. He likes things to have round numbers. And he's very... neat. He doesn't like when things aren't neat, it upsets him." He felt like he was missing something very crucial, but elusive. It felt wrong to say that Kid was often in tears, for despite being the god of death, he was afraid that people would think of him as a bad parent, incapable of raising his son. And if someone were to try and take Kid away... Shinigami scowled behind his mask. They had better hope for a long life, for Death will be waiting with a grudge.
But Spirit was chuckling. "So he's got an A-type personality. That's nothing to be concerned about. It might be a little strange if he started cleaning up after you, but I can't see how it'd be problematic."
Shinigami wanted to be reassured, but he felt like the problem ran deeper than that. It was like he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something there. Yet he gave a little chuckle and bobbed his head at Spirit. "You're probably right," he said. "I'm sure Kid is just fine. He's a good boy."