1st Palindrome: This is how it all begins. [OPEN]

[symmetrophile]

WHO: Death the Kid and YOU
WHAT: After having become something of a recluse for a few weeks, Kid has started more actively exploring the city and its outlying regions. Should anyone have a hankering to meet an honest-to-goodness god (or grim reaper) and survive the encounter relatively unscathed (unless you're Laharl), this is one's chance!
WHEN: Throughout the first week of September!
WHERE: Feasibly anywhere, but initially around the main city.
WARNINGS: None yet, but that may change.



Having an excess of feelings and a deficiency of the common sense to discuss them with anyone, Death the Kid spent a few days on a whole host of utterly pointless things meant to presumably make himself feel better. In other words, he had been both an irresponsible reaper and an unresponsive friend, not that admitting as much served to do more than make the ordinarily pessimistic and often neurotic young god feel even more sorry for himself.

You can only organize the cupboards by color so many times before you aggravate your flatmates and become personally quite bored.

So he took his personal cloud of gloom to the streets, occupying himself with meandering through the main city and on a few occasions, through the portal that led him to Everglade and in particular through the eerily familiar and even more eerily empty streets of Death City he had found there.

For a few weeks.

To say he lost track of time is a gross understatement, but should one happen upon the slight and sallow youth and his head of peculiar white stripes, he doesn't want for a desire for distraction.

Comments

[soundmind]

[With how often people had been referencing Everglade, of course Maka would inevitably come to see what the fuss is about regardless of being advised to be cautious about it in the same breath. Werewolves and the like don't bother her, never have and never will--it's the archway that she finds curiously familiar.

Obviously the best course of action is to go through it.

When she does, she sees exactly where Kid has been hiding the past few days, besides that when she arrives she senses his soul. The problem is the nauseating nostalgia that hits her as well...the looming building of the school, the strange organized chaos of the buildings all together. But Maka soldiers on anyway to find her friend, remembering that she has it in her mind to scold Kid profusely for staying quiet and then up and ditching them.

(She hates it when people leave, why do people always leave?)

Issues with being left behind aside, Maka covers this up with indignant anger and--when she finds Kid--she sends a book sailing into his head.]

YOU ASSHOLE!

[This is followed by her full-body tackling him to the ground.]

Why did you ditch us like that?! I told you I wouldn't tolerate secrets on this team!

[symmetrophile]

[He has been lost in thought, reminiscing perhaps on what everyday scenes had occurred at a certain coffee shop popular with students of the academy. The Thompson sisters had a part time job there, at one point, although to call what they did there 'respectable work' in more than mere appearance was doing the poor Master of the shop a disservice.

Babysitting his then-wayward Weapons or not, both he and the sisters learned as much here as they had in school.

So he doesn't really detect Maka's presence until she's nearly on him, and only when he stops smarting from the book that just ricocheted off his head, sending him staggering.

Her flying tackle finishes what she started. Kid hits the ground with his breath rushing out of him in an uncomfortable oof, head banging off the haphazardly set cobblestone.]

M...Maka?!

[Miraculous, how she was able to hit a god and have it hurt so damn much. This may or may not have everything to do with why he's so dumbfounded, unintelligently and ineloquently asking:]

What are you doing here?

[soundmind]

I was looking for you, idiot.

[And here, now he can't escape, can't brush things off, can't walk away or hold himself at a distance.

Straddling your friend is obviously the best way to go about this.

She's too irritated to realize that this is a slightly awkward position to be in, but even then she wouldn't care, there's absolutely nothing suggestive about her intent.]

Ugh. You even have to ask? When you go running off and leave us behind worrying to death about you. Freaking moron. You can't even begin to imagine how pissed I am at you right now.

[symmetrophile]

[Kid, look at your life, look at your choices.

Try to figure out that the reason so many girls in your life need to dopeslap you and haul your sorry skinny ass around is because you're an immature brat who hasn't got his shit together already.

That this might appear suggestive to anyone else doesn't even occur to Kid. This is, after all, the same reaper with an incredible comfort level with invading other people's privacy and personal space, while being mortally offended at breaches to his own.

He's just mortified, period.

To be on his back, fallen to something so simple as a thrown book and a tackle! And a little offended that it still hurts. How did this happen?! Spare him a few shreds of his dignity!]

I have a good idea...

[This, said with a wince, because WOW have we mentioned that his head hurts?!

He does have the sense to appear at least chastised, though, and there's a surprised meekness to his next query:]

You went looking for me? Even after I put you off?

[Gosh, he doesn't deserve that, he's the shittiest reaper that ever thought he could take up his father's place!]

[soundmind]

You even have to ask?

[She says it again, staring down at him with an expression of melancholy. In a perfect world, nobody would have to ask their friends why they show care in the way they do. But a perfect world doesn't exist, Kid's low self-worth and hers interferes with letting them see that.]

You're my friend. It doesn't matter if you hurt my feelings or whatever, you're more important to me than that. Way more.

[Stupid feelings getting in the way of her relationships are things she'd rather avoid since last time they led to grievous injury.]

I didn't put it across so well last time we talked, I guess, but I meant what I said, I'm here for you and I always will be, no matter what.

[symmetrophile]

[Kid, that's not where you nod mutely at someone.

Yes, he has to ask, because for all that he's grown up among humans, for all he's developed into a meister who is actually quite good at synchronizing with not just one but two distinctly different souls, he can become so mired in his own pessimistic outlook that he doesn't see what's right under his nose.

And he hasn't Patti's manic cheeriness or Liz's sisterly admonishments to haul him screeching indignantly out of the mire of his own gloomy thoughts.

Though try as he might, Maka is really difficult to give the brush off to or ignore, seeing as she is presently sitting on him.

She's here for him and meant that.]

I know.

[The way his expression scrunches up speaks of less certainty than those two words might imply, and his gaze cuts off to one side.]

Rather, you could do better. I'm... a poor replacement for what cannot be replaced.

[soundmind]

[Unfortunately, Maka has neither cheeriness nor sisterly admonishments.

What she has is straight up slapping her friend across the face.]

Shut up! Don't you ever say anything like that again!

[Now she's back to being furious, wow Maka, make up your mind.]

You are Lord Death. You are the leader of the new world. You are the one that's heralding peace between humans and non-humans. You did that, your father didn't. You're not a replacement, poor or otherwise, you're your own damned person and that's what your father believed too! That's what all of us believe!

[symmetrophile]

[It's several stunned moments, blinking back reflexive tears, before Kid recognizes the hot tingle on one cheek and the righteous fury in his friend's eyes as the results of receiving a ringing slap.]

But--

[It's true might have felt like honesty, but one more look at Maka's sharp expression told him that would likely result in another slap. And he's pretty sure she would not do him the courtesy of at least striking the other cheek.

Struck speechless, moisture leaking from the corners of his eyes and his otherwise pale face writ with surprise, Kid says nothing for long seconds.

Rolling in like a terribly tardy student under the damning gaze of a tested professor, the reaper recognized the belated awareness of just how much they cared. These people he grew up with.

He should have tried to communicate, rather than just wander away.

Such friendship deserves better.

Don't cry that is really embarrassing. HE'S NOT GOING TO CRY. Never you mind that his reddening face and watery eyes tell a different story HE'S TRYING, OKAY.]

Maka, I'm sorry.

[Wow please don't smack him again that actually hurts!]

[notsoholyspirit]

[Spirit, for all his poking around, didn't venture into the portal in Everglade at first. He'd poked his head through once or twice, but couldn't stomach the nerve to go through. It took him a few days of poking about to decide he should venture in. It took another day of wandering before he even approached the Academy.

But finally he does, and it's with a sense of morbid curiosity. It looked the same, but none of it felt the same. Which was to be expected, since it wasn't really Death City, it wasn't really the DWMA.

He'd been on his way to where the Death Room should be when he saw that the door to the rarely used headmaster's office was cracked just slightly. Instantly he knew who would be there. Who else would venture in?

Steeling himself, he opens the door and steps in, frowning.

Blue eyes notice mirrors draped in black cloth, and a chair slightly askew--because he was nothing if not an observant weapon and he had seen how the prior Lord Death kept his essentially decorative office. He sighed, loud enough to be heard, and glanced at the far wall, deliberately avoiding the form of the new grim reaper.]

You're kidding, right?

[The statement is sarcastic, but his tone is not. He takes a step forward into the office but goes no further, not unlike a student present to be scolded, and then stuffs his hands into his pockets.]

Everyone has been worried sick.

[If he's angry, there's no hint of it either in action or in his perpetually-laid bare soul in front of the reaper. Spirit is doing his absolute best to appear completely nonchalant, but flickering beneath the surface is a strong current of anxiety about the newly christened Lord Death.]

[symmetrophile]

[Black was quite appropriate.

Until he ran out of black sheets, in which case he switched to white. White, he had learned in the early years of his existence, entirely acceptable in cultures in the far reaches of his exalted father's domain in funerary rites. It was also extremely convenient.

Except when it meant there was one odd-covered mirror in a long hallway, which meant both it and (if this left an odd number) the offending extra frame must be removed.

Somewhere was a room full of mirrors haphazardly covered in an armful of sheets, apologetically locked up so Kid didn't have to acknowledge the horrendous mess he had made (and damned himself privately for anyway).

He had done all of this in the profound silence he filled only with the memory of the voices that had once rang through similar halls. So engrossed was he that at first he mistook Spirit's comment for a half-remembered exchange between the Deathscythe and Professor Stein, who was sure to drone blandly on about a vague threat of dissection any moment...

Except that he didn't, and all at once Kid is aware he is not alone.]

What right have you to be here?

[Wow sure, Kid, just disguise how ashamed you feel about ditching and instead go be misguidedly mad at the resident womanizing Deathscythe! Because that's totally helpful!]

[notsoholyspirit]

[Spirit frowned. He hadn't expected it to be easy to talk with Kid but he hadn't expected that either. If he's offended, he says nothing.

In fact, all his skills at smoothing over a situation kick into immediate high gear. Whether or not they will see success, well, that's another story.]

Technically, I work here.

Well. Sort of. I work down the hall, but that's beside the point.

[He lets his gaze drop to his shoes.] Look. I won't be any better at this with you than I am with Maka. I'm a shitty father, but that doesn't mean I don't ever want to act like one. And we're worried about you.

[For being an overly emotional basketcase, Spirit isn't good at expressing genuine emotion. He clears his throat.]

The precise answer is I'm worried about you and I infer that Maka and Soul are, if you plan on pressing the point.

[symmetrophile]

[Kid has yet to turn around, but that toss of his head is some of the old haughtiness of his youth, and with the fact that the lines of Sanzu remain disconnected around his head of black hair, for a moment he really does look the part.

He knows he should have said something, or at least returned before his absence stretched out longer than a day, but the longer he lingered the guiltier he felt, and in turn feeling guilty made him less inclined to go back and properly face the consequences.

Sulking is also unbecoming of a reaper. The truth is, he's embarrassed in more ways than he can count.]

Last I heard, you had taken up other employment.

[Oh yeah, he heard about Laharl! And as if ridiculously clinging to this instead of just apologizing wasn't silly enough, he's starting to launch himself into a self-righteous rebuke about it, too.]

In hindsight, I see my surprise was wasted. I should have expected you would go gallivanting off.

[This may or may not be a familiar refrain, though typically a different variation of it comes from the lips of a jilted lover, not a jealous god with self-esteem issues. Kid flicks a seemingly flippant gesture, followed by an abrupt motion to cross his arms.

It looks more like trying to fold in on himself than the imposing figure he intends.]

If you found it so mortifying to serve under your former employer's successor, the least you could have done is say something!

[One foot smacks down against the floor in a childish stomp of petulance.]

To hear of it from that uncouth brat instead..!

1 of 3

[notsoholyspirit]

[There is a solid thirty seconds of Spirit just staring as his face grows increasingly red, until it's a shade rather similar to his fiery hair. Because he is truly and honestly mortified at the entire situation for more than one reason, not the least of which being that it had happened at all.

The long pause is followed by another, but this time he's nervously running his fingers over his face. What is he supposed to say? He wasn't thinking. He can't help it. It just happened? All of these sound as unconvincing as they are unpleasantly familiar, and they die on his lips before he can even think of giving them voice.

So finally:]

That's what you thought?

[Spirit knows, somewhere, that he has to be the adult. It doesn't remove the remaining flush of embarassment from his cheeks.]

Dammnit, Kid. You know me better than that! I'm no less of a stupid idiot here than I am anywhere else!

[So much for being the adult.]

It was a mistake. A stupid one. Another one. Because, as you no doubt know, I'm really good at that!

[Stop rising to the bait! Even though he knows he's doing it, it doesn't stop him. He might be thinking about calming down, but that doesn't seem to be happening soon as he fidgets at the door to the office, half contemplating pacing and the rest of him thinking of bolting. This was a horrendous mistake.]

2 of 3

[notsoholyspirit]

Your father just asked me to keep an eye on you and make sure you're okay. I'm not exactly the best weapon or the best father or the best anything but I didn't want to...I promised before the battle on the moon that I would but I think he overestimated me. He knows how crappy a--

[The tirade stops abruptly. As far as promises went, there may have also been a promise to keep his big mouth shut. Clearly, that didn't happen. Still in the entrance, he lets his forehead fall against the doorjamb and lets out a shaky sigh, pressing his hands on his ears.]

3 of 3

[notsoholyspirit]

[He's silent again, until finally:]

Shit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Kid.

1/2

[symmetrophile]

You dare imply my father's taste is less than impeccable--?!

[Hey, don't ruin it, he's winding up for a truly epic diatribe about how offended he is at you and everything and himself especially because... we don't know, Kid is really great at chugging self-haterade.]

2/2

[symmetrophile]

He asked..?

[No, wait, you did it.

The magic is gone.

There's something about seeing the chosen partner of the father you idolize crumpling with defeat that really takes the wind out of even Kid's sails. Kid! Who could win awards for most pathetic and ridiculous pity parties thrown for onesself ever.

Least he could have done is give Kid time to do something he'll really regret, like flip a desk in his face!

Maybe if Black*Star was here, he might have anyway, just for old time's sake. It sure might have made him feel better.]

I hadn't heard. [Fingers, previously curled into fists at his sides, unfurl. He's not sure when exactly he had turned around to face Spirit, but he is now, dumbfounded.

There's a lot he hadn't heard about his father while he was on the moon with the others, fighting... not because no one had the heart to discuss it, just that he hadn't really given anyone the chance.

Some things he simply knew, somehow. That there was no languishing, just that one moment Lord Death was his father, and in the next, he simply wasn't anymore, and the power and responsibilities that were once his father's had been passed on to him.]

You made a contract.

[This last is an attempt to distract himself before the hot sting in his eyes can become something more mortifying, one last grievance to air.

What are you going to do about that so-called contract, Spirit?]

Re: 2/2

[notsoholyspirit]

It wasn't a contract. It was a handshake for crying out loud. A handshake that involved touching another weapon. [He shudders because of course that would be the thing about the entire situation that bothered him.] I don't think it can stand, since it was made under false pretenses.

[He stays with his head pressed against the door because it's easier than looking at his boss' son who he already seems to know he's failed. Because when has he not failed at a task laid before him? Honestly. Kid isn't the only one who is good at self-deprecation. ]

...of course you didn't hear about it. I was just supposed to do it.

[He is absently fidgeting with his tie as he leans back slightly to finally meet Kid's eyes, frowning.]

You're like...I don't know. A second kid to me, you know? Grew up around the same time as Maka and everything. He wanted to make sure you were okay and knew I sure as hell wasn't going anywhere. So I said I'd keep an eye on you.

[He chuckles but it is absolutely without mirth.]

Fat lot of good that's done, clearly.

[forever_prince]

[Along one of the paths in Everglade, what looked to be a young boy was sound asleep, propped up on a tree. However, this was no ordinary boy, as the scarf, blue hair, and antennae gave away.]

[He'll just be chillin'... completely unaware of the wanderer nearby.]

[symmetrophile]

[When the silent emptiness of the halls and winding side streets of the convincing copy of Death City provide more distress than solace are when Kid takes to the streets of Everglade proper. It's coincidence that has the first living being he encounters outside of those gates be the peculiar lad attempting a nap against a tree trunk.

Something about him is familiar, enough that this gives Kid reason enough to pause and observe more closely.

It didn't take long to realize this was the same person who had the despicable goal to turn this world into a chaotic realm he had called a Netherworld.

But why was he suddenly no longer female?

Sometimes, the only thing to do is ask.

But need it require nudging someone awake with your shoe? Really, Kid?]

[forever_prince]

[Considering that his vassals tend to wake him up with power tools applied directly to his back, or the occasional bomb, the foot does little but make him fidget and swat at the shoe.]

Cut it out... Flonne... just... another week... or two... zzzzzzzz...

[symmetrophile]

[One nudge is going to turn into a few more.

And then several. And, as Kid's mounting frustration reaches a crescendo, he winds back for a more serious kick...]

I'm not waiting a week!

[Hope your body is ready, Laharl, because the reaper's kicks can hurt like a bitch.

So rude, just let the demon sleep.]

[forever_prince]

[The force of the kick sent Laharl rolling a little. He'll then just sit up, open one eye half way, glare at Kid and lay back down.]

Jeeze... can't even get a decent nap in out here...

[symmetrophile]

You!

[There's an accusing finger pointed at Laharl, who, nap or no nap, already described the terms of breaking that so-called contract with Spirit. But didn't necessarily tell him when.

He's decided to call him out on that right now.]

Your appearance may have changed slightly, but you are that ill-behaved gnat who laid improper claim on my father's Deathscythe, I know it!

[forever_prince]

[Laharl's just going to wrap his scarf around him and roll onto his side facing away from Kid.]

Of course I am. Just because this place makes me look different for a while doesn't mean I'm not me.

[He says this as if it's a rather routine thing for him to spontaneously sprout boobs, but... truthfully? ...That's actually rather tame for a normal day in the Netherworld.]