Soul:Eater is the property of Atsushi Ookubo

A very Happy Christmas/Happy Holidays to all of my readers! I hope all of you have a happy and safe Holiday Season. In the spirit of giving, this is for you! This is Part 2 of 7, so we are making progress.

Chapter 2 – The First Dream

The Docks - Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Spring, 1417

When Soul awoke, he assumed that something had gone wrong. Perhaps Stein had been a bit too overeager in his diagnosis about the effects of the Flask of Dreams? But then the tang of the salt in the air registered, a foreign scent to his area of London. Curious, he opened his eyes.

They opened to witness a vista of color that simply did not exist in London. The grass around him was painfully green, and the dirt road that lay at his feet was an earthy brown that, if it did exist in London's current color palate of blue, black, and grey, would have to be miles under the cobbled roads of his home. In the distance there was a forest more sizable – and probably far more dangerous – than any in modern-day England. To his left, heralding the smell of salt was the sea, hemmed in by archaic looking structures (a dock, Soul supposed) that harbored 5 or 6 small boats.

Well. He supposed Stein was right after all. As per always.

He took a deep breath of fresh air – a luxury he hadn't entertained in...well, far too long, at any rate – and slowly let it out, thinking of what must come first. He wasn't sure how the dream was supposed to work. Ostensibly he had to find the lady, and then they had to find the magician. Or would the dream do it for them? And how was he to find either of them in a dream that was not his own?

"Sir? If you are quite finished breathing, perhaps we could begin to investigate Tovenaar's dream? We don't know how this works, and we don't want to take all night." Soul whipped around to find a decidedly unruffled Lady Albarn smirking at him, even as she too was taking in several deep breaths of her own. She was dressed, incongruously, as she had been in the shoppe: a white, empire-waisted morning dress with a sheer gray overlay, very much a fashion of the modern times. Soul took this to mean (hopefully) that no one could see them. Otherwise, they would have to be quite inventive as to why the lady was wearing a fashion that wouldn't be in vogue for another 400 years.

"Shall we?" Soul found himself extending a hand to the lady and wondered if this proved she was running him mad – he had never felt the urge to be chivalrous, even before his life and circumstances had altered so dramatically. That same remembrance almost caused him to jerk his hand back in reaction, however. A lady such as she wouldn't take the hand of a shop's assistant, a lowly man of trade, even in such removed circumstances as these. Now would come the sniff of rebuff, and the glare of disgust...

Yet when her gloved fingers wrapped securely around his own, and her bright eyes held not an ounce of revulsion in them, Soul realized two important things. One, he knew exactly where they were supposed to go next. Secondly, his rapidly-formed attraction to her was no longer to be denied.

Lord Solomon Evans – who had adopted the pseudonym Soul when his uncanny talents tore him irrevocably from his home and station - was in very great trouble indeed.

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A quarter turn of the hourglass later they had made their way down to the docks. They were still holding hands, as they were not sure they would still know where to go if they did not keep in physical contact with each other. It was this turn of events that had Maka quieter than usual, although the man at her side did not seem to notice. It seemed like he was a man of few words, and it also seemed as if their prolonged intimacy had no further effect on him than a mild hand cramp. Maka scowled to cover her blush. It was not so, for her! She could feel his strength in his hand, coupled with an odd sense of delicacy when she realized how long and slender his fingers were. Maka scowled further. She had never thought herself prey to the wild infatuations her father's actions encouraged, and here she was practically swooning over this man's hand! Maka sighed. Perhaps if she had married last year she wouldn't be here now...feeling so much for this unknown young man.

Yet now she was feeling something else, a tugging sensation that seemed to draw her eyes towards the center of the dock. There, bobbing heavily in the water was a ship filled with people that had not been there only moments before. For the first time since she fell asleep, Maka felt a jolt of fear. They were in someone else's dream. Anything could happen, and what could they do to stop it? Awaken?

"The woman. In the back. That's what he's focusing on-"

His hand in hers jerked, as if trying to pull her attention to what had captured his. Her eyes flew to what she now felt compelled to notice, and immediately fixed on the woman. She was young, barely older than herself, with long dark hair tied back in a no-nonsense braid. Her face was long and thin and expressive, and she clutched her bundle of belonging to herself like a lifeline. Without being told, Maka knew she was an immigrant – that everyone in the boat was an immigrant. She also knew...

"That's his wife, isn't it? She's lovely. I don't want to look away from her." It was true. There was something about her, some vitality and energy to her that made you want to keep her in your sights. Soul shot her an odd look, perhaps as if there was something more lovely and much closer by, but slowly nodded in agreement.

"This must be when they first met. Look, over on the docks. I think that's our man." He squeezed her hand again, and Maka tore her eyes from the woman. There was a gaggle of people on the docks, yet one man held himself apart...or perhaps the people around him, sensing or knowing his power, gave him wide berth. He was tall and thin, with red blonde hair that looked as if it had never been cut, and a slightly hooked nose. And, although neither Maka nor Soul had ever seen a picture of Rein Tovenaar in their lives, they knew he was indeed their man.

The boat had reached the dock, and the first few people began to clamber up. The woman directly in front of the wife-to-be suddenly stumbled, and a squalling bundle fell with a splash into the water. When it began to sink almost immediately, the mother screamed, and made as if to leap into the water after it, yet the men on the dock held her back. The only person left in the boat had no such hindrances. With only the barest of pauses she threw her own bundle to the floor, and dove into the water after the child, utterly ignoring the shock and consternation on the dock above her. When she emerged victorious a few moments later, only the woman showed any sign of thankfulness, sinking to her knees and sobbing as she clutched the coughing baby to her chest. Everyone else who had witnessed this woman's heroism back away from her, holding off their fingers to ward her away.

Maka burned with indignation. She knew what that sign was. "She saves that child and they fear her for a witch? Merely because she can swim?" Tears burned at her eyes and she ground them away with the hand that was not currently holding Soul's. "Was there never a more accepting time than our own?"

Soul did not remark on the oddness of her query, nor did he make a smart remark about the acceptance of a century that had not, on the whole, valued women any more than their present one did. He merely gripped her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and nodded at Tovenaar. "He doesn't seem to mind. Look."

Even as the woman was still treading water, cut off from the dock as no one would give her a hand up, Tovenaar strode through the gaggle of onlookers until he stood directly in front of the woman. For a long moment they merely looked at each other, her hair escaping from her braid and floating around her like a veil, and his blue eyes sparkling with the light reflected from the water. Yet just as the townspeople were beginning to pull at his robes, he smiled, and it was with all the warmth of the sun. His mouth moved, and although neither Soul nor Maka could hear his words, they knew he was thanking her for her bravery. His words silenced the clamor on the docks, and he bent down and reached out to her. Tentatively, clearly reluctant to trust in the unexpected help from a stranger, the woman waded over and put her hand in his.

Maka's felt a warmth spread throughout her body. Though it was only a dream, and not one of hers at that, she could feel the sense of wonder flood the woman as Tovenaar pulled her out of the water. Ellsbeth had never been treated with such respect, not even when her father had been alive, and no one had known of his peculiar abilities... The water was cold, but this man's hand was warm, and the happiness in his strange blue eyes was almost enough to make her smile when she had felt no inclination to do so for years-

"Maka!"

Maka was pulled out of her odd reverie by the urgency in Soul's voice. The shock of hearing her name upon his tongue was seconded by the consternation in his gaze. For a moment she could only stare back at him, wondering at the length of his eyelashes, even as his unusually colored eyes roved over her face. He really was exceptionally beautiful, odd as that sentiment might be when pointed toward a man. Additionally, she liked the way he said her name – informally yet with a touch of deliberation, and oh Heavens he was still staring at her, and her heart rate had increased to a dizzying speed.

"Are your wits addled, Lady? Or can you simply not tear your gaze away from mine?" The latter sentiment was pronounced with a satisfied smirk, and Maka's breath hitched in her throat. Mortification battled against her better judgement for only a moment before her free hand flew out, and with unexpected precision slammed down onto the top of Soul's head.

"Owww! Damnation, woman, why must you be so violent?"

"Not as violent as you are crude, you rapscallion!" To Maka's surprise, Soul's ire calmed much more quickly than it had during their episode in Stein's shoppe. Hers as well; he simply looked so innocent and befuddled as he ran his hand through his hair that her forgiveness was implicitly given. To be fair, she was staring at him like a lovesick maiden in her first season...

"I do apologize. I was lost in thought, and hadn't realized I was...committing an impropriety. Please forgive me."

"No, it is I who should apologize..." Soul rambled off like an adolescent, cursing his inability to put his thoughts into words. Why couldn't this woman just live up to his limiting expectations? More importantly, why couldn't he even stay angry with her for a reasonable amount of time? "You looked as if you were deep in thought. Was it anything...expressly pertinent?"

Maka's brows furrowed. Yes, she had been lost among her thoughts.. ostracization and her Father? And sthe woman was named Ellsbeth... She glanced over at the docks to see the crowds dispersing, and Tovenaar wrapping a shawl around Ellsbeth's shoulders. If Maka concentrated, she could still feel a faint echo of Ellsbeth's relief and caution. Now, how to explain all this to Soul?

"This may sound...odd, but when Tovenaar pulled Ell- the woman from the water, I thought I felt something...relief, and – and gratitude. I think it is what the woman feels. She has been...an outcast of sorts, and she was especially receptive to his kindness. Also I think her name is Ellsbeth." When Soul's guarded expression didn't change, Maka's thoughts took a turn for the worse. Oh heavens, he thought she was mad, didn't he? "I know it sounds unnatural, but perhaps it is peculiar to the dream...or perhaps it is a sympathetic reaction among women...or-"

"I think it more likely to be manifestation of the dream, but as I didn't feel anything, I cannot be sure. It sounds...not quite right for you to have an empathetic connection with someone you have never met simply because you are females."

Maka inadvertantly tightened her hold upon his hand in her excitement. There was no mockery in his response, and his face still held a guarded, albeit honest expression. He was taking her seriously, and putting forth thought into this...! "You believe me? You don't think I'm mad for experiencing such an event?"

His smile was crooked, with his sharp teeth peeking over the curve of his lower lip. Yet Maka had never found any man's smile so charming as this. "I work for Stein, my lady. There is very little that could surprise me at this juncture in time. If you could but see the customers we receive at the Shoppe...you would never fear for your sanity again."

Maka smiled thoughtfully at the dock, squeezing his hand once more. When he lightly pressed her hand in return and it garnered no notice, Soul took action. "At any rate, we are currently experiencing a dead man's dream...a dead alchemist's dream. If we are to free ourselves, we will need all the help offered...orthodox or no."

"Then perhaps...I could continue to offer assistance?"

Soul looked over at Maka, subtle confusion on his features. "In what way, my lady?"

Maka turned back from the dock, where the figures were slowly fading. In the way of dreams, this did not bother them – they knew that either the dream was transitioning or ending, and instinctively knew they would not be trapped here. Mist was beginning to gather at their ankles, and Maka swallowed her fear. He would know soon enough, especially if their dreams stayed connected much longer... "Perhaps this 'empathetic connection,' as you called it... is not so uncommon to me. Perhaps I- Soul?"

Maka was interrupted by the mist weaving between them. One moment Soul was standing next to her, looking at her with deep concern and the next there was a mottled grey expanse that Maka couldn't help but tumble into-

-and awaken.

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Lady Maka's private apartments – London, England

February 19th, 1801

Maka opened her eyes to the grey canopied ceiling of her bed and bit back an unladylike yell. She had been so close! Yet perhaps this was a blessing in disguise – although Soul was an intriguing man in many respects, and had treated her peculiarity with respect, there was not enough reason to believe he would continue to do so in real life. After all, he could simply think her uncanny ability to connect with the emotions and (sometimes) thoughts of others simply a construct of Tovenaar's dream. If he knew that she could do this in waking life as well...Maka pulled the covers up to her chin. He had intimated that she was not nearly as strange as many of Stein's customers. Yet she was willing to bet Stein's customers were not generally of the landed gentry!

"Maka? Maka! The concert begins in an hour! If you do not make haste, you will be late!" The door swung open to reveal Lady Kimberly Ford, Maka's chaperone and distant aunt. She paused to give her young ward a rueful smile before she playfully beat at the bed with her weapon a choice: a gold-gilded walking stick that was the terror of many mischievous boys when they wandered too close. Yet to Maka she was nothing but kind and supportive, and Maka had long grown to love the older woman. That she had made an unconventional match with a brilliant scientist working for the King on harnessing the power of electricity (Ox was of noble birth, but just) and was still happy and very much in love also garnered Maka's admiration. In fact, it had been she who had counseled Maka when Lord Wesley Evans had made the unexpected overture last autumn.

"Perhaps my dear girl is having second thoughts? The maestro is the one who once sought your hand...or is that why you still go to his concerts?" Lady Ford drew a dramatic sigh and spun the cane expertly. "Oh the love games the young play..."

Maka giggled as she slipped from the bed and joined her aunt at her wardrobe. "It's not like that, dearest Aunt. I go because he is my friend, and I support the music he and his friends make. Besides, I made my refusal quite clear, and he agreed with my reasons." She peered within the wardrobe and began rifling through the garments. "Green, do you think? Or perhaps grey?"

Lady Kimberly looked carefully at the young woman. She was happier than she had been in months, humming cheerfully (if tunelessly) as she selected her dress... Lady Kimberly was no fool, and knew the signs. Whether Lord Wesley Evans was the man or no, her bookish and imperceptive young niece had finally fallen in love. It warmed her heart to see Maka so pleasant and alive – she had taken Kami's death hard, and to see her come alive again was all that she could wish for.

Except for finding out the identity of the young rogue who had stolen Maka's heart. Perhaps she would pay a morning visit to her old friend Mrs. Blair, holder of all rumors and salacious tales in upper London...

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Once again I apologize for mucking up any titles/non-period wordage. I wrote this chapter half in the car, and half at an elderly relative's house and neither option has much in the way of internets. I am currently uploading this in the driveway of a closed McDonalds that forgot to turn off its wifi...so Merry Christmas Mickey D's :)

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In the spirit of Christmas, you pretty much have to leave a review. I am fairly certain there is a law on it *smiles winningly* Those reviews will help me to get chapter 3...or 4 up by New Years :)

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Merry Christmas!

-the_mythologist