What do you do when you are born ugly?
The only real way of knowing is if you were ugly yourself, and even then, the ways of handling it are different for everyone.
Maka Albarn was born ugly.
She isn't the kind of person who would care about appearances, but having a face like hers is no easy task.
She hides the fact that her hair refuses to be styled by pulling it back into simple ponytails.
She hides her fat ankles by stuffing them into heavy boots.
She hides her plain face by keeping it tucked into a book whenever she isn't fighting.
And so she gets by. She is okay.
Even when her roommate makes an offhand remark about her breasts, even when it feels like a bucket of ice water has been upturned over her head, she can just smack him with her book and get over it.
But the cold water creeps down her neck, and her smile is forced, and nobody knows that with every insult, with every jeer, a little bit of her is eaten away.
Her grip is tight around her partner's handle, the rough steel pressing comfortingly back against her palm.
That's the thing about demon weapons—they can press back.
And she waits. She is no assassin, but she knows to wait. She knows to wait for the kishin soul she is hunting to turn from where it crouches over its meal, to see her standing there with a Death Scythe in her grasp.
She sees a glint of a yellow eye.
Showtime.
"Demon Nevada, the consuming of human souls is forbidden. As representatives of Death Weapon Meister Academy, we will take your soul!" Maka says. Her voice echoes against the walls of the valley.
The kishin below her flips something shiny around in its hand and lunges, swiping at Maka's legs. Maka knows to jump, and she swings a leg back, her heel catching the back of the demon's head.
Nevada somersaults forward and is up on her feet, lunging again. Maka attempts to block the shiny weapon, which glances over her scythe, cutting a slice across her nose.
"Damn!" Maka jumps back, her boots skidding across the cobblestones. Nevada stares at her, its head lolling against its chest.
She's carrying a box-cutter, Soul says.
"How do we attack her? She's pretty small, and her weapon is too; it's gonna be hard to block her attacks!"
Strike from above or below, and her sides. Avoid coming at her from the front. We can do this, Soul says. It'll be hard for us to block her attacks, but it'll be damn near impossible for her to block ours. Maka nods and leaps forward.
She jumps over Nevada's head, ignoring the searing pain that blooms across her shin, blinking through the blood that makes her vision red.
She turns in midair, kicking off of the back wall to give herself more momentum. The world is getting blurry, but she has stayed conscious through far worse! She swings.
She blade meets resistance, like hitting a hard shell. Then, it slides through the demon like butter. Maka skids to a halt and turns to see the demon explode into black ribbons, leaving a glowing red soul behind. Soul flips out of his scythe form, and grabs the egg in his right hand, giving Maka a thumbs-up with his left. He swallows the soul, making the usual gulping noise and relaxed sigh. Maka has to smile.
"Good job out there, Soul."
"Thanks. How many have we collected again?"
"Like you haven't been keeping track."
"Of course. I just like to hear you say it."
"We're nearing three hundred."
"Yesss!" Soul throws his fist into the air and pulls it down again, grinning like a crocodile. "That's what I like to hear!"
Maka smiles wider. She adjusts her collar, which is soaked in blood.
"Shit," she murmurs. Her head and leg throb.
"I second that. Let's get you to the academy," Soul says. Maka nods, and she thinks that she can feel her brain rattling around inside her skull.
The motorcycle peels away, her leg dripping blood in a red path behind them.
In the infirmary Maka feels uneasy. She has spent altogether too much time here for it to ever be considered more than a hospice.
The anesthetic Nygus gave her left a numbness that is fading into a dull burn. Maka feels the stitches, and she sighs at the thought of more scars littering her body.
They wouldn't do much to make her uglier.
Maybe if Nevada had shredded her face, she could have an excuse to bandage it up and nobody would have to see it.
Maybe the demon could have cut out her eyes with that box-cutter, and Maka wouldn't have to look at that pasty, skinny creature staring at her in the mirror every morning.
Nygus comes over to give her a bit more anesthetic. Maka lazily rolls her eyes up to look at her. Nygus keeps her face bandaged most of the time. Maka tries to scowl, but her face feels heavy. What anesthetic did Nygus given her?
Why does Nygus bandage her face? Maka had seen Nygus sans-bandages. She is beautiful. Maka doesn't have that luxury, and she doesn't even bandage her face. Why bandage a pretty face like that
It makes no sense
Such pretty
Her
Heavy head
Heavy