A Maka for All Seasons
By DarkAngel
Disclaimer: I don't own it. The amazing Atsushi Ohkubo does. (Guess who's totally fanwapping over the lastest chapter?)
Author's Notes: It's been a while since I've written anything. I need to get back into my groove. So, I do apologize in advance if this comes off as feeling a little awkward in places.
[15. Once More]
It went without saying that in the first few months at Shibusen, there were whole mountains worth of learning curves to overcome. Maka Albarn, with the super scythe meister mother and Death Scythe father, was no exception.
Shibusen's curriculum was considered advanced by any standard. This was because while it was a vocational school (and one run by Death himself, at that) it also had a duty to prepare its students for life in the real world outside of Shibusen. To that end, Maka and her fellow students took classes offered in standard schools nationwide: History, English, Math, Science, Languages, Physical Education.
And then there were classes that definitely weren't standard fare at other places. Soul Studies. Resonance: Theory & Application. Self-Defence and Combat. Maka for the most part didn't have trouble with many of her lessons. She had always been a bright student, and despite the intensity of pace at Shibusen, she was more than equal to keeping up.
Well, for the most part. As much as it frustrates her to admit this, she isn't really doing well in Self-Defence and Combat.
This is not due to any lack of skill on her part. She can defend herself just fine. But (and this is the really embarrassing part), she can't defend or attack with her weapon. Totally ironic, considering her Papa's a scythe.
She picks herself up off the floor for the umpteenth time that morning, biting back a groan as she feels a muscle in her back twinge.
"You're putting too much of your weight into your left foot when you move up to block," Soul observes as she rights herself and takes up her stance once more. "Concentrate on your body's overall balance."
Maka grits her teeth. Easy for him to say, observing from the sidelines. And she knows what she's supposed to do. It's just that her feet and the weight of the weapon in her hands keep getting in the way. She doesn't tell him this, opting to ignore him in favour of her sparring partner. "Again!"
The boy complies, twirling his spear with both hands before bringing it crashing down against Soul. Maka grunts as her legs work to keep her up against the strain. She can't give up. She won't give up. Not until she's taken one point in this session. The pressure becomes too much to bear, however, and Maka goes flying. This time she can't hold back the shriek as Soul is ripped from her hands. She lands none too gently with a hard thud, rolling across the floor and hitting the opposite wall.
"Maka!" Soul comes out of his transformation, rushing to her side. He comes to a kneel in front of her. "Idiot," he growls. "I keep telling you not to push yourself. Take a break, already."
"No." Maka shakes her head. He doesn't understand. It's easy enough for him to tell her take it easy, but she's got to do better than this. She's going to be the best scythe meister, and she's going to make her partner the best Death Scythe ever. She glares up at him. "I can still go." She tries to get back up, but Soul holds her down, his grip on her shoulder unyielding.
"You've been at this for over an hour now," he yells in her face. She winces as some spittle hits her cheek. "You aren't doing yourself any favours tiring yourself out like this! Take a break and try again later!"
Maka glares at him. "Just help me up," she says. Then, "That's an order, Soul."
Her partner blanches. She's never pulled rank on him like this. Although Shibusen treats every student equally for the most part, the fact of the matter is that in a weapon and meister partnership, the right of final decision rests with the meister. Soul knows this just as well as she does.
He doesn't care.
"Damn it, Maka, why are you doing this?" His voice has lowered but is no less angry, no less upset. Their partnership is in its first tentative weeks. Not once had he considered, when he agreed to be her partner, that she'd be so bullheaded and maddeningly stubborn. It just went to show that that line about first impressions being right was a bunch of claptrap. "What are you trying to prove?"
At his words, Maka's eyes narrow. Unfortunately for Soul, it's too early in their partnership for him to discern that this is a danger signal. "I'm not trying to prove anything."
"The hell you aren't." And suddenly he's letting her go, and Maka blinks a couple of times. With a sigh that's more like a violent expulsion of breath, he rubs at the back of his head. He's not looking at her. "Is this about your dad?"
For the second time in as many minutes, Maka's nerves are jarred. She opens her mouth to deny him, but stops just as the words are scrambling their way up her throat. Soul's looking at her now in a way that makes her very uncomfortable. It's as though he can see something that she herself isn't aware of. She bites back the urge to tell him to look somewhere else.
"Because you don't have to rush," Soul says, continuing on as though she wasn't just about to interrupt him. "I'll become a Death Scythe. And you'll be the cool Meister that gets me there." He grinned, a small but confident laugh full of teeth. "Am I right?"
She blinks. Weren't they just arguing a moment ago? Where's her anger? Her sense of righteousness? She has no idea. She only knows that it's not there anymore. And Soul is being reasonable. She looks at his grinning face. He sticks out a hand.
"Come on, Maka. Break time." There's a gleam in his eyes. "The next time, we'll beat that kid and his partner, hands down."
Maka grins and takes his hand. "That's a promise."
He tightens his grip on her fingers. "You know it."
They'll do it together. They'll overcome any curve balls Shibusen throws at them. They'll pass any test, beat any trial, and they'll learn to work together as a flawless team. And they'll succeed. Of this, Maka is absolutely certain.
Together, they can do anything.