Ding-dong, dead-dong!
The school bell inevitably shrieked its monotonous bonging. Lethargic students filled the empty hallways, relishing at the mere fact of escaping their utterly boring classes. Friends were easily reacquainted. Books were immediately disposed in their lockers. Classrooms were deserted.
The afternoon light nimbly made its way inside the hallway, blinding a group of students who were lingering near their lockers. A whitehead, angry-looking he was, was trying to jam open his locker but no amount of excessive force would let him do it. His partner delivered a mastered eye roll, hit his hip with hers, and took the initiative to open his good-for-nothing locker. The hinges were probably rusted.
The locker door cooperated, swinging opening with ease, but flooding the ashy-blond one with hundreds of multi-colored envelopes. "What the–?" She muttered under her breath before the avalanche took it away. The girls in their tiny group were shell-shocked while the boys were informed of the inevitable.
"Are those, dare I say it, anonymous love letters?" It was. The sole pure Japanese in their group helped Maka up while heaving the fresh air she can engulf. "My, my. What do we have here?" The tallest picked up a letter and started to nosily read. Her sister giggled at the disarrayed stack of letters and suddenly jumped in it, clearly imagining it as a pile of gathered autumn leaves.
"Someone's been popular." His partner sniffled a snicker. He rolled his ruby eyes, like red marbles circling aimlessly on the floor. "Well, duh. I'm the last Death Scythe." He retorted with great pride. "Narcissistic." His partner counterattacked. She went astray from the little catastrophe and opened her own locker down. It easily gave way.
She was not expecting something to suddenly avalanche her to death or nothing too dismal but there it was, a piece of white paper falling on her black boots. She picked it up with bubbling anticipation. "Someone's rising up from the bottom of the food chain." The elder Thompson sister snidely stated, which she gave no acknowledgement to.
Maka opened it with great precision, not wanting to accidentally rip the sole mail she got. It was short and simple yet somehow, it gave a gazillion butterflies fluttering in her empty stomach.
"Thank you so much for the coffee. The message helped me dearly. I miss you. –D.T.K."
The initials immediately struck her. The last sentence made her heart pound so hard, it wants to escape out of her ribs. You, it said, not the group. It made her whole body bubble in pristine euphoria. Everyone wants to see him again, not her. She needs to see him so badly.
She should have stayed when she delivered his coffee. She should have.
No time for that.
She grabbed her partner's calloused hand, making him exclaim in surprise before abruptly sprinting towards the location of the noisy cafeteria. She knows that they are selling highly-caffeinated drinks in there. "Hey, Maka! Wait up!" Her blue-headed ninja friend shouted behind her back.
"Last one's a total loser." That does it. Loser was just a midget kind of insult, but to Black Star, it means you're not strong enough to be considered as someone who will surpass god kind of insult.
"Oh, Maka. It. Is. On."
Dear readers, whether anonymous or not,
Hello everyone! I'm sorry for the sudden disappearance. This chapter was supposed to be posted during Christmas as a gift for all of you, but I hope you accept late arrivals.
I know you had assumptions about this being a filler chapter, but no. I don't do filler chapters unless highly necessary, which is all the time, for me. This chapter represents the development of some of the characters, especially Soul, who immediately turned popular since he was the youngest weapon to be turned into a Death Scythe, and the last one if I may add.
Anyway, I hope you liked it. For suggestions, reprimands, innocent comments, leave it in the review box. I look forward to reading it. No sending of flames, of course.
Question of the day: Meister or weapon? If you chose the latter, what kind are you? If you chose the former, who would be your weapon?
Sincerely, Star.