caughtinanetwork

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That's much better, but...

[So says a certain young man dressed in stark monochrome, dark hair interrupted by three parallel lines of white running along only one side of his head, as he regards what appears to be a colorful ball -- the sort of toy meant for felines to caper after, once catnip has been placed inside.

Residents of a certain villa may recognize their foyer.

It's looking significantly tidier, or rather like someone had artfully arranged but one side of it, and proceeded to arrange the other side in a spookily precise mirror image. Even various cat toys found scattered around the premises have been doled out to each corner of the foyer in a bilaterally symmetrical fashion.

Someone even went through the trouble of dusting and sweeping. It veritably sparkles. Death the Kid's hair is a little disheveled, in the way of one who had little choice but to let damp hair dry as it would.

Indeed, the young grim reaper had stood there in the plaza since yesterday afternoon waiting to drip-dry, unable to abide by the thought of moving around while his wet clothes insisted on sticking to him, horrifyingly askew. He has standards.]

What do I do? It's almost perfect, but I can't simply place this in one corner.

[This is sort of stressing him out.]

I'll just have to acquire another that matches this precisely! Residents of this house! Where is the nearest market?

[This, while addressing the starfish communicator held in the other hand, until the reaper's golden eyes dart a brief, distressed glance at his own creased (and still uncomfortably damp) suit.]

...No, I should first change into something suitable. But I can't just leave this unfinished!

[Ahh, he can't decide, what should he do? WHAT SHOULD HE DO??? At last, he decides to stow the catnip ball away, and black, crackling tendrils of skull-capped shadow spirits away the toy out of sight.]

First things first--where can I launder and dry my clothing? Don't delay in supplying in answer, this is essential, I'm filthy.

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Crona?

[Well, it's a reasonable question to ask, at least. She was concerned about Crona's state of mind when she saw them in Vatheon as well, but--

Oh hey, kitchen.]

He's been sticking to the corner of my room since he and Ragnarok got here...Kid, if you're thinking of what I'm thinking of let me tell you something--Crona's from a really early point in time it seems. From what he's telling me it's before Justin even went rogue.

[Naturally, Kid's gaze wanders the room the moment they enter it, and although he can already pick out a number of ways he could, ahem, improve upon its arrangement, all signs point to the fact that someone with a talent in the kitchen makes frequent use of the space.]

...That's hardly reassuring.

Aren't you worried history might merely repeat itself? We'll need to monitor Crona closely from now on.

[A moment later, and he anticlimactically adds:]

Where do these go?

[A flash of pain crosses her expression before she mutely points to a cabinet where Kid can set the items.]

Of course I am...

[And she's only going to worry about it every day from now on.]

But...Medusa isn't here. Back in our world, Crona killed Medusa and that led to his descent...maybe he'll have a chance here.

[Unless he's sent back home and brought back like that...]

Even if he does end up like that, I swore I would bring him back. I won't give up on that. [And she punches her fist into her open palm for emphasis.]

[He probably could have gotten to the point in a gentler manner, but a.) this is Maka, who can handle a lot more than a rough bit of reality, and b.) this is Kid, who can be blunt even in general. The sidelong glance he gives her is broken when he turns to the cabinet. He begins unloading the bag.

And a whole shelf of the cabinet. Is he seriously going to try to reorganize--yep, sure is.]

Don't go trying to do it all by yourself, Maka. Your determination is commendable, but we're here too. Use the resource you have in your friends.

[She could do one of two things. Or maybe both. She could laugh at that or she could cry.

Use the resource in your friends, huh?

Okay, maybe she's a little bitter about the fact that she hasn't seen her friends in a year.]

I've had to do many things by myself in the year that I've been in Vatheon, Kid. You'll have to be patient with me not wanting to rely on any of you again.

[But she can't dismiss them entirely. They don't know what she's been through. They don't have to know, either. She has no room to be the bitter shell of her former self that she's become anymore, it's burdensome.]

[The steady percussion of identical spice bottles being lined up in a precise (and color-coded) row accompanies the reaper's silent reception of her reply--until 'rely' has six of them toppling with a violent clatter.

Hand slipped.

Kid's quick to right them again, but doesn't glance at her. The featureless black of the back of his head -- interrupted by those three Sanzu Lines -- offers an unhelpfully inscrutable reaction.]

Of course, I suppose that's to be expected.

[End of the line, and there's still an unsightly bit of space left on the shelf. His fingers hesitate, and then he starts sliding bottles to the side, instead filling a new gap at the center with a square tin. There. Perfect. Next row, and he's at least making progress on emptying that bag.]

The last year must have been difficult. I'm sorry.

[It's then that she gives a short, bitter laugh. Him saying sorry when she's been afraid of saying his name for the months that he's been gone, when thinking of him gave her a sick feeling of self-loathing and sadness. She can't say anything, there can only be lies to protect her friends.]

It was all my own fault. Don't say sorry.

[A jar he intends on placing back in the cabinet is, instead, put back down on the counter; Kid turns around, visibly aggravated, under the veneer of stoicism.

He steps forward.

And maybe he just needs to make sure he's done so with both feet and that's why he's invading her personal space. Or maybe personal space is a concept he only reserves for himself.

Or maybe he's just particularly stubborn about this, but there it is, and there he is, all uncomfortably up in Maka's business, black and white and stern judgment all over.]

Oh? Then if that's the case, send us all back immediately.

Impossible, isn't it? Don't heap responsibility for circumstances outside of your control on yourself alone.

[But that's not enough, not when that smile is a thousand miles away.]

Wipe that unbecoming expression off your face. Or has a year only taught how to build walls to the Meister who once would shatter them and run straight through?

[Sure did just rebuke her like it's his goddamn place to. Ugh, dat reaper superiority.]

[Words. Words. She can't concentrate on them, the proximity is shutting down her thoughts and inciting the automatic reaction of giving him a hard shove.]

G-get away from me!

[There's a pounding of blood in her ears and a blurring of her vision and she can't speak she can't breathe stop it stop it stop it Maka can only put her face in her hands and shiver and hope he goes away why do people have to see her like this]

[Two shuffling steps backward are the expected result of being shoved away, and while that's a notable reaction, it's the rest that sheds light on a seed of doubt.

Oh.

Humans are complex, incredible beings, full of potential and baffling minutiae, but he can relate enough to know this sentiment when he sees it.]

You're afraid of me.

Why?

No!

[Lies. That's all she can do now.

But he can't live with that knowledge, not again, it would destroy him.]

Last year--

[Is she going to cry? No, she can't, stop it.]

Last year...have you read about the curses that happen yet...? One of the curses last year...drove quite a few people to insanity...one of them k-[swallowing her tears, just stop]--ki--

[God, she can't say it. Forgive her cowardice. All she can do is place her hands around her throat to indicate what happened, trembling as she stands completely exposed emotionally.]

[He has too few of the pieces to assemble into a conclusion, and can't determine if her fingers circling her throat is meant to be an illustrative gesture or if she's trying to indicate that she's too distressed to breathe.

It's not that Kid doesn't know what to do to comfort her -- he's observed his fellow Shibusen students with their bewildering array of different little gestures of friendly affection and sympathy.

It's more that he's pretty sure even a gentle pat on the shoulder would be ill received. Having to keep one's distance from a friend.

What a new and miserable experience.]

It wasn't just anyone. If it had, you wouldn't have embraced Crona in the plaza earlier. One of those who had succumbed to insanity... Maka--

Don't.

["Don't blame yourself".]

It was my fault. I should have run. I shouldn't have tried to reason with--

[The inconvenient thing about anxiety was how it shuts one's body down. She has to keep herself from bolting as well as cope with the new wave of nausea.]

I screwed up.

[Dying was only a natural end to someone that makes as many mistakes as her. A Meister that takes too many risks is useless.]

[Fear is mankind's gift to their own survival. Those who listened to their instincts survived even from the early days of civilization. Bravery was the strength that kept them moving forward in spite of their fear.

Maka is one of the most courageous people he knows, and it's difficult to see her like this.

Almost as difficult is accepting this kernel of doubt that is gradually being confirmed as fact.

A year ago, something terrible happened to Maka.

And he thinks he has an idea of which hands had committed the deed.]

[These curses, if they were strong enough to make him do such a thing...

And he wasn't strong enough to stop it, then these curses were more dangerous than that guide had suggested.

He had to remain vigilant, and cultivate a will that would not be broken by madness, even without Maka's anti-demon wavelength.]

Do you expect me to listen to that nonsense? To expect Maka to be anyone other than herself, and call it a mistake. Don't be ridiculous!

As a reaper, on whose shoulders do you think the responsibility lies? I've heard enough!

[GOSH GUYS KEEP YOUR VOICES DOWN.]

[Was he talking about bearing responsibility again?

Because all she's able to do is collapse onto him, unable to contain her sobbing and desire to just hug someone any longer.]

I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you. Please don't leave again.

[This escalated out of control. His Father's son, he shouldn't have lost his temper with her, and should not have pressed when he realized how upset she was--on the other hand, as a friend, he simply couldn't abide by what he'd glimpsed in her.

But all at once he has his arms full of sobbing Meister and is not sure what to do about it, except stiffly fold his arms around her back, like he was trying to hold against his chest a very delicate crystal sculpture.

He's ginger with her for more reasons than this being hella awkward.]

Maka. You have nothing to apologize for. But... more importantly--

[Maka, plz.]

[Okay, he might actually be twitching.]

Not to interrupt such a delicate moment, but--

[SOB HE CAN'T.]

You really should let go, I'm filthy.

Ugh--no you're not, you idiot, you're just covered with salt.

[She'll let go anyway, regard him for a moment or two. Then carefully, carefully brush a stray chunk of hair away from his eyes.]

We're about done with the groceries here. Why don't you go up and take a shower? I'll lay out some clothes for you on your bed.

[And she'll...you know, leave the door open so he realizes it's his room. And make sure to lay out the clothes neatly and centered on the bed along with a nice pair of shoes.]

[Covered with salt and it feels disgusting, Maka, absolutely disgust--oh, that's... embarrassingly kind, watching out for a friend's fringe.]

Yes, that's best. But, Maka.

[There's a stubborn set to the line of his mouth when he brings up both hands to cup her cheeks, and a professionally efficient sweep of his thumbs across the wet trails beneath her eyes. A curt nod.

Better.]

There's only so much ground to cover in a single conversation, and you've had a year to carry this. We'll talk again later.

Excuse me.

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