After the events of the evening (which mostly consisted of hosing things down and thrashing Soul with large, hard back books) Maka settles down in her room, trying to enjoy the peace and quiet that she knows can't last all that long.
"NO!" she screams, launching the pristine new book across the room, her breath hissing out through the gaps in her perfect teeth. Soul hears her scream and rushes quickly into her room, dropping his popcorn all over the floor in the process.
"WHAT? WHAT IS IT MAKA?" he yells, breathless at her door. Not hearing a response, he puts his abrupt exhaustion behind him and glances up at Maka, who has scurried from her neatly made bed, into the corner. He sighs. More of Crona's poetry?
Wait. No. He notices a book on the floor by the wall and, ignoring his partner's rocking on the balls of her feet, he bends down to pick it up. Inspecting it brings him to believe it's nothing but the sequel to that book his shell-shocked partner had been sniffing recently. But why would she throw this?
"NO SOUL!" Maka screeches as she lunges at his back, seizing the demon-book and throwing it out of her open window.
"Woah… Chill Maka… It's just a book."
"NO IT'S NOT! HOW WOULD YOU KNOW? YOU WOULDN'T!" she cries, throwing her meek, teary form at her weapon partner and roommate.
Clutching her sobbing, shaky body, Soul sighs.
"If the book's that bad don't read it-"
"WHAT?! NO!" the feisty meister shouts, leaning away from the still-shocked, snowy haired scythe, who sits, a single brow raised, trying to comprehend what's happening as she throws herself out of the apartment to go and fetch the book. In the pouring rain. In the middle of the night.
"How can you be so smart and so stupid at the same time?" Soul asks nobody in particular as he watches Maka through the window of her brightly lit bedroom. So much for hot popcorn and a nice horror movie.
Kidd's evening wasn't going much better. After leaving the library and returning home, it dawned upon him that the crease he created in the note that he left for Maka may not have been precisely in the middle. It wasn't that she'd mind. Quite the opposite in fact, Kidd was fairly sure that Maka couldn't give a damn that he'd folded the piece of personalized stationary (Which was an exact square because they have 4 lines of symmetry, which is two more than a regular old rectangle, but not quite as many as a nonagon. Or an octagon, which has 8. Come to think of it, eight is an amazing number, Kidd's favourite in fact, so why on Earth he refused an octagon shaped piece of paper will never be known) inaccurately. But it was eating Kidd alive.
"What kind of Grim Reaper am I when I can't even fold a square of paper in a perfect half? I didn't even take the time to make sure it was crisp and neat either, or that I packed all her books away in ascending order by number of pages. Oh. Oh no… This is just like the time Patty got drunk and locked me in a cupboard so she could paint sevens all over the walls. Just with less wheelbarrows." His fit is interrupted by an abrupt overwhelming feeling of being watched. I am many things Kidd thinks to himself, pulling his stiff body off of the kitchen floor, paranoid is not one of them. Standing and brushing himself off, he glances under his eyelids out the window, where he swore he had before felt a presence
Kidd rolls his eyes. Another paranoid moment. With increasing stress comes increasing irritability and apparently hallucinations.
Standing on his tip toes and leaning against the sink, he looks out the window with his hands by his face to block out the inner light and to ensure there had been nobody with excellent hiding skills. There hadn't. With his excellent vision inherited from being a Reaper, nobody would be undetectable in the not quite dark of half seven in the desert.
Once satisfied, Kidd decides to make a start on dinner, intent on making spagbol for one. As he rummages around in the cupboard for pots and pans, Kidd remembers the crushed look on his weapons' faces as he told them it it was over. He begins to wonder what the two of them would do now they are free. He hoped they wouldn't end up back in jail.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more Kidd felt guilty about their dismissal. He could have kept quiet and not told his father about their brawl.
He could have stood up to his father and defended them. Or he could have punished them some other way.
Kidd stops what he is doing and places the large pot down on the kitchen side. His demeanor is now sad when faced with the stark reality of being alone. It's easy he realised, to act like you're not lonely when you're in a crowd of others who care for you. And staring into those big green eyes...
Being alone now, about to cook a meal for one in a pot that usually cooked for three has a grounding effect and soon Kidd begins to gnaw on his bottom lip in thought.
Kidd cooks dinner in a daze, more scheming and plotting on ways to get back his weapons than paying attention to the appliance of the various herbs and spices. It's just as well his hands know what to do and the Reaper metabolism will take anything. Kidd could eat rocks and survive.
Not that he'd particularly want to.
Kidd owed a lot to his Reaper heritage. He ponders the superhuman benefits of sharing genes with a god: he can see with a hundred times more depth than humans, and he swore much further and faster, his mind accepting and reacting to stimulus quicker; the entirety of the Death family have a phenomenally long life span and age slower than humans, Kidd himself having been through more years than he guessed all his classmates combined; the lines of Sanzu that appear on direct descendants of Death or the god at the time marks the soul and infuses it with an unnatural power that makes Kishin everywhere shudder and Reapers are just that little bit more powerful despite their small muscle mass.
All in all making the young Reaper a formidable opponent and a force to be reckoned with.
Though you wouldn't think it, watching him eat his spaghetti alone.