Author: Ayaia of the Moon
Fandom: Soul Eater: there are kids, there are weapons, and there are kid/weapons! Go!
Taunt: My fandom has characters who are way cooler than you. And they're, like, twelve.
There'd been words said in the beginning of orientation that they would have to pick partners. One meister went so far as to loudly proclaim his intentions from the rooftop of the school, but no one seemed to pay him any attention. So boring.
Soul had worn a suit, at his mother's insistence, and didn't really make a move to do anything as his fellow freshmen started to mingle, deciding if they'd be compatible. Maybe meisters had a way to tell off the bat if their souls would match? He didn't think so, though, with the large number of the 'compatibility' being determined by flirting, as the guys desperately wanted to live in private housing with a female roommate for their own perverted reasons. Or maybe they just didn't want to live in male housing.
He pulled at his tie. The suit was his concert formal. The one he wore to concerts, the one he wore in concerts. If he was gonna be a disappointment, he might as well do it in concert formals.
Soul was the first in his family to ever exhibit the demon weapon gene. And he was glad for it. All he had to do now was partner with a meister—someone really cool, of course—and find out if he could do more than turn his stupid arm into a blade. Do more than take out his agressions on the beautiful grand piano at his family's estate. He habitually played to blow off steam—it seemed that those emotions brought out the latent weapon gene, too, and it's rather difficult to play the piano when your arm turns into a giant scimitar.
The group had moved on with the tour, some moving in pairs, now, having decided to partner up. They saw the cafeteria, the classrooms, the library—the building was like a maze, and as they descended further into the belly of the school, the more confusing the turns got. They took a break, and the mingling started up again. He sighed. It wouldn't do to just wait until the last meister needed a weapon. How uncool would that be?
An announcement was made that there would be a demonstration given, and Soul looked up to pay attention despite himself. A few older students came in, smartly dressed in the school uniform, stating their names for the class. A boy and girl. They were only a few years older than he was. The girl turned out to be the weapon, and he watched keenly as she transformed – she could do her whole body at once. Not like him. He'd done a leg, once. And his arms a few times. Never managed to transform his whole body at once. Not before he'd come.
He wondered if any of the other weapons were worrying, now, as the girl (now a fencing sword) was effortlessly twirled by her meister. Their connection was so strong he didn't even need to move a muscle and could still direct her movements.
He saw a few people muttering to each other—maybe weapons? Worried, like he was, that they weren't prepared enough?
If he wasn't a cool enough weapon, would they send him home?
They demonstration finished, and he clapped with the rest of the group, though his heart had sunk to his stomach. No way he'd ever be that cool. He couldn't even find a decent meister.
He half-heartedly looked at the placards pinned to everyone's clothes, but then he felt all creepy like he was staring at girls' boobs. So he just leaned against the wall until the group started moving again. They stopped kind of where they'd started, by the humongously long flight of stairs at the front of the school, and looking around, he could see an auditorium. He grinned.
He had faded into the background all day, which was fine with him—no one noticed when he slipped away. He found it ironic when he managed to keep such a low profile. He was really weird-looking. A shock of white hair mixed with his eerie red eyes.
He sat at the piano on stage without thinking. He had the satisfying thought that he didn't have to care about practicing anymore, if he didn't want to. He had a different destiny now than to continually undershine his famous parents or his famous brother.
"I don't know if anyone's supposed to be in here."
Startled, Soul turned and saw a girl—blonde hair with pigtails. And an expression like she was pretending to have authority but wasn't actually sure.
He turned back around. "If we're not, they'll say something when they find us," he said noncommittally. He ghosted his fingers over the keys. Played a simple song without actually making a sound. He kept messing up a chord when his fingers didn't remember the keys. He was out of practice. Wes would give him hell for messing up a practice piece he knew so well. He grinned. Played the bad chord aloud, on purpose. Screw Wes. He moved a hand to his tie, wanting to loosen it.
"Were you gonna play?"
He turned, surprised. That girl was still here? "Sorry, what was that?" he asked politely. Maybe she was lost? Though he didn't know how he'd be able to help.
"Play something! For me!" She smiled, and he felt annoyed.
Soul turned away from her, back to the piano. "Sure," he found himself saying, letting his fingers settle on the keys. "This is the kind of person I am. Don't say I didn't warn you."
He played. It wasn't anything he'd have played with Wes or his mother in the room. It wasn't something that would be approved to play in concert. Because it was weird. Disconcerting. But also consistent, steady, and he didn't miss a single note. Not a single sour chord. Because when he just played for himself, and didn't demand perfection, he just went where his fingers wanted. And if the chord progression was unexpected, or unconventional, he let it happen. It could be said that Soul didn't play the piano—the piano kind of played him.
It wasn't to say he didn't sort of want to creep this girl out. He was using his music as a weapon and he knew it. He half expected her to interrupt him, or leave. But he didn't turn around to check if she was going. He just played.
He stopped on a chilling, discordant combination, and turned around expectantly.
She was smiling. Still smiling. "I love hearing you play."
Soul grinned uncertainly. "So you liked it?"
She laughed lightly. "I liked it. I don't understand why you came here though. To this school. You're obviously –"
He shut the lid over the keys, interrupting her. "I wanted to get away from that. If I became a Death Scythe, I could be fine on my own."
"I…want to find a weapon better than my father. And become stronger than my mother. That's why I came here," she said by way of explanation. "We could…Do you want to be partners? I know that's kind of weird. We just met." She held out her hand nonetheless. "But I'll definitely make you into a really strong weapon."
He took her hand, almost instinctively. He felt, and he couldn't have said why, that she would be good at being his partner. She wouldn't demand perfection from him any more than the piano did. But she could bring the perfection out, just as surely as the instrument did.
She could make him great.
"Looking forward to it," he said by way of answer. And he meant it.
"I'm Maka. Maka Albarn."