Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater! I own my OC, Jamie Elliot!

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13. Triskaidekaphobia

Jamie's first week of DWMA was drawing to a close, and she strode up the cobblestone path to her house. It was tall and thin, and bright yellow. The a plastic molding of the boisterous sun hanging on the ivory door. The small front yard was fenced in with a bright white picket fence, and the grass was green and cut evenly.

Mark unlocked the door and Jamie flounced in, flopping down into a florescent green couch with one, mighty sigh. "Death Weapon Meister Academy, its so . . . So . . ." Mark rolled his eyes, "If you say boring, I will shoot you." Jamie shook her head, "Its nice actually, I like it."

Mark rose an eyebrow, "Really?" then a mischievous smile appeared, "How come?" Jamie's smile went mischievous as well, "They are all so fun to torture. Last one up is Soul!" Mark rolled his eyes again, and went into the kitchen to start dinner. His Meister harassed only boys, girls didn't get to be the subjects of her games.

Her "games." had stared when she had turned thirteen.

Mark and her had moved from orphanage to orphanage growing up, and the town they were in at that time, was far from savory. People mocked Jamie and Mark for their outlandish status, at lunch, they were always alone. Mark could handle it, but Jamie was fragile, unsure, and it broken her into very thin pieces.

One day, Jamie had eavesdropped on a conversation. She was in a bathroom stall, hiding out from class, when these two girls started talking. . .

"So one time, there was this snake in my backyard. . ."

"Eww! I hate snakes! Even just the hissing freaks me out."

That simple little weakness, and Jamie had a plan. So everyday since then, she'd torture those who picked on her with their own pet peeves, weaknesses, and flaws. Eventually the girls stopped, and the boys continued, acting as if they weren't afraid of her and all the games she played.

Ever since then, she's immediately been the bully.

And afraid of the number thirteen.

No one knew this besides her trusty shotgun, Mark.

"Hurry up with the ravioli, you green porcupine!"

A vein popped in Mark's head as he stirred the pasta in a large metal pot.

Yes, no one really knew Jamie.

That would change soon.

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We'll get back to the plot soon, I just felt explanation was required for Jamie's rather torturous attitude.