hey guys! i participated in the @soulmakazine2018 with @ahshesgone and this is my entry! please see HERE for ash’s i n c r e d i b l e art; she was the best friend and inspiration for this, and i’m so thankful for her influence on this piece.
i hope you enjoy!
“Pass the salad, wouldja?”
Forks and knives clink on Tsubaki’s finest china while everyone tucks into the mountains of food before you. It is the biannual Spartoi dinner, an event that had grown organically once the mental scars from the battle on the moon made themselves known. You started coming because you thought humans needed companionship during rough times, but you are no longer certain you know anything about them at all.
Ox is chewing with his mouth open to your left. A gob of something lands on your arm with an impact soft as a fly and just as pestilent, drawing all of your focus to that small spot near the crook of your elbow. You can almost feel the saliva eating into the fabric, sinking closer and closer to your skin and then what will you do, then how will you keep the contamination from spreading through your skin through your veins inside your mind --
“Dude, the salad. Or do you need that in writing, too?”
Black*Star’s sneer splits your focus. His right eye is a nauseating blend of pallid yellow and deep purple, and there are many more small scrapes along his chin as if he had been knocked onto the pavement. Given the jobs he takes these days, he likely had been.
You tell yourself that Ox’s spit will not actually rot you from the inside out, and pass the bowl overflowing with vegetables Tsubaki must have picked from her garden. He takes it from you and doesn’t care that his fingertips slam into yours, doesn’t care that dead skin cells from the both of you are now in free fall, becoming dust.
“Would anyone like more to drink?” Tsubaki asks from the head of the table, a carafe of red wine in hand.
“Please,” says Maka from her right, and Soul shifts beside you.
“Same here,” Kilik adds, one arm around Black*Star and the other around his wine glass.
Yours is empty. It appears your father was right about your humanity, or rather, your distance from it. Alcohol does not affect you as it does your peers, sleep has only ever been a choice, and the smile lines you see at the edges of Tsubaki’s mouth will never crease your face. You are a visitor in their world, an observer and an escort. You do not need to fit in, though you wonder why you share their feelings. Loneliness seems unbecoming for a god.
(rest under the cut, or on AO3)
“She never used to drink,” Soul mutters to himself, as if saying it out loud will shed new light on why that is.
You remain quiet. It has never been your place to judge the souls of man (Leave living to the living, Black*Star once told you, sprawled out to watch the setting sun while his face burned with the glow of it), but there is something about being an observer that leaves you empty. Perhaps like them you are still growing, and in another hundred centuries this malaise will be a hazy dream.
“So Death, got any big gigs coming up? Maybe a plague or a natural disaster we should know about?” Liz is leaning back in her chair, nails lacquered daggers, looking at you with eyes that bring you back to the cold Manhattan night you met.
“Sissy, his name isn’t Death, it’s Kid. Death the Kid,” Patti says, worry lines creasing her forehead.
“Death is what he deals in, sounds fine to me,” Liz replies. She arches a perfectly sculpted brow at you and says, “Well? What’s up and coming in the underworld?”
“He’s not an oracle,” Soul snaps, sitting up. His anger filters into you through the lowkey resonance neither of you can escape at this proximity, and you try to diffuse some calm to him. It only seems to tighten the snarling coil in his soul.
“Aww, defending your new soulmate?” Liz purrs, leaning in. The tablecloth bunches in Soul’s fist. “Thought you’d be surly forever now that you’re not attached to Maka’s hip.”
Thoughts pour into your mind as his soul ruptures into yours, he’s too angry too out of control too why did Maka leave, I was trying to be her friend, what about that night beneath the harvest moon when she put her hand on my heart that afternoon picking strawberries when she took a bite and her lips glowed like stained glass that morning she was humming in the kitchen with flour in her hair that moment when --
You cut the thoughts with the sharpest knife your mind can muster and grab his hand. You’re okay, this is fine, you’re okay, you tell him, projecting a calm you hope he sinks into. You know he wants nothing more than to lose himself in your combined souls, feather out the edges until he no longer has to be himself. There was a time you had thought you wanted that, too, but after many tear-soaked practice sessions it became clear that you would never be Maka and he would never make you any more human.
Soul exhales through his nose. Maka is still determinedly in conversation with Tsubaki farther up the table, her face turned sharply away. Soul glances at her and then fixes Liz with a smoldering stare. “What about you, now that you don’t have the prestige of being Death’s weapon? Guess you’ll need to find a new sugar daddy.”
Kilik snorts and Black*Star grins. “Attaboy, don’t let her talk to you like that,” he says, purpled skin crinkling around his bruised eyes.
Harvar sighs and tips back in his chair until the front legs lift. “Are you both really going to be like this? We hardly have to see each other any more, does it kill you to act civil for a few hours twice a year?”
Liz snorts and starts talking to Patti about the high-rise penthouse suite she spent the night in a few weeks ago. Next to you, the tension drains out of Soul, and he slumps over his still-full plate. “I hate these things,” he mutters, moving a piece of broccoli around with the tip of his steak knife. “It’s been years since we’ve had anything to say to each other.”
“Speak for yourself,” says Black*Star in tones of mock offense. “I for one love to spend time with people who sit around judging or just plain ignoring each other.”
Maka stiffens and narrows her eyes. “You have something to say to me?” she asks, voice low and somewhat hoarse, like it was the day she requested a personal day to move away from Soul.
“Not everything’s about you, princess,” Black*Star replies. “In fact, I’d go so far as to say most things are not about you. So go on, get back to whatever little conversation you were having to avoid looking your former teammates in the face, Miss I’m-Too-Good-For-Y’all.”
“Now now, let’s be nicer to each other,” Tsubaki says with a nervous hand on her throat.
“Oh come on, we all know she’s not that great anyway,” Ox says from the other end of the table. A faint flush appears in Maka’s cheeks, and you feel the growl building in Soul’s throat echo in yours from the force of his emotion.
“Funny for you to say, Dr.-- oh wait, that’s right, you never could finish your dissertation, could you?” Maka says with a smile more suited for Medusa.
“Oh, real original, go for what has been common knowledge for over a year now; nobody cares,” Ox says, but the hand gripping his steak knife trembles.
“Yeah, get a room already, you nerds obviously need a hatefuck to clear the air,” Liz adds with a jagged smile at Soul.
“Guys, please,” Patti says, hunching over in her chair. “Stop.”
“I dunno, I think we just need to stop having these pointless get-togethers.” Everyone turns to look at Kilik, who has scooted back in his chair like he is about to leave. “What are we playing at? Nobody here actually gives a shit. We fought together when we were kids, but guess what? We were kids! We saw a lot of shit! And now we’re expected to play nice with the actors in our nightmares? No thanks.”
“Nightmares? A little dramatic, don’t you think?” Harvar says, giving his untouched wine a bored swirl.
“Yeah, well, you know, some of us saw a liiiiitle more bloodshed than others,” Black*Star says, teeth glittering. You have to quell the urge to go put a hand on his shoulder.
“Cry traumatized all you want, I’m just saying either deal with it or shut up,” Harvar replies with a shrug.
“I’m going to bring out the roast,” Tsubaki says a little too loudly, and shuffles back into the kitchen.
The reminder that they are guests in her home seems to dampen the mounting aggression. You take a bite of mashed potatoes and wonder if the act of eating is, for you, the same as throwing it away. Does the small enjoyment it brings make it worth the energy the plant used to convert sunlight to sugars, the human effort in feeding and tending the land, the water pulled from faraway aquifers, the fossil fuels burned to transport it to you, Tsubaki’s time in preparing it? You will live either way. The energy for life should not be wasted on a death god.
Tsubaki returns with a beautiful beef roast that she carves on a side table. When the platter piled high with meat comes to you, you pass it straight to Soul and tell yourself that someone worthier of it will now get to benefit.
“Would you pass the green beans, Harvar?” Maka asks, ignoring the disgusted looks from Liz and Ox. Unease sours your stomach. You don’t remember them being this rude to each other.
“Not really in a passing mood, thanks,” he says, and takes a delicate bite of salad.
You see the old anger flash in Maka’s eyes and open your mouth to say -- something, anything to stop the imminent violence you can see unfolding as if you have choreographed it -- but then Soul stands up. He strides over and grabs the bowl of roasted green beans without acknowledging Harvar’s exaggerated scoff, and then takes the three steps to Maka.
You expect him to place the green beans down near her plate, but instead he waits. Seconds tick by as he stands at her shoulder, bowl proffered, and you don’t know what to make of the sudden stillness from Soul’s side of the bond.
Maka tilts her head back. You feel it when their eyes meet, a buzzing mosquito that has finally decided to land. “Thank you,” she says, and helps herself to a portion of green beans. Soul stands there a heartbeat longer, face full of the depth of emotion that makes you wish again that you were human, before returning the bowl and taking his seat.
Conversation resumes, but it is quieter somehow, less for show, as if seeing what had been the longest-standing partnership speak again made everyone realize that civility has always been a choice. You remember how much their teamwork had always meant to everyone, had meant to you. You frown. Perhaps Black*Star was wrong, and you have living yet to do. Perhaps that, too, is a choice.
What happened between you and Maka? you ask Soul, who is still toying with the food on his plate. It was never something you felt was your business, but now you see that your detachment from the lives of those around you was not because you were concerned about their feelings, but because you did not want to hurt when you carried their souls to the other side.
Far too much, he responds alongside images of all of you trying group resonance, Maka’s expression when she burned dinner, everyone making faces at Stein behind his back during class, Maka holding out her hand. We didn’t know how to be in love and in pain at the same time. I want to be able to talk to her again.
You look around the table at all these people you had fought and laughed and bled beside, and for the first time in almost five years think of yourself as part of the group instead of by nature separate. You have been a fool to believe you should not still care for the lives of your friends even if you will outlast them, because whether or not you're human doesn't matter when you're brave enough to try.
So you sit up straighter and ask with a directness you haven’t allowed yourself in so long, “What do you all want to do with your lives?”
The question is met with abrupt silence. Everyone turns to look at you with varying degrees of surprise and indifference, which you can’t really blame them for. You don’t remember the last time you addressed them all like this, as a friend instead of Lord Death.
“What are you, our high school guidance counselor?” Black*Star says.
“Yeah, not to be rude to the boss that hasn’t given a shit about us in however long, but why are you asking now?” adds Liz, ruffling Patty’s hair.
“I want us to act like friends again,” says Tsubaki. The worry and uncertainty that had clouded her eyes before is gone, and in its place is a fiery determination you last saw before the battle on the moon. “I want to stop waking up worrying one or more of you has gone and gotten yourself killed —“ a glance at Black*Star, who is fully attentive for once “— and then I want to teach the children of Death City that they are important and loved and will never have to throw away their lives for a conflict their parents or parent’s parents started.” A tear is running down her nose by the time she stops speaking, but her voice does not waver.
“I wanna become a botanist,” Patty says with conviction, wiggling out from under her sister’s hand. “I wanna document all the native flora around here and see what kinda cool stuff they might do for medicine or agriculture and whatnot.”
Liz looks momentarily taken aback. “I didn’t know that.”
“You never asked,” Patty replies, and looks away.
“I want to run for Congress,” Maka says, meeting everyone’s eyes. “I am disgusted about how we were the primary line of defense against kishin for so long, that others couldn’t have been trained in our stead. There must me thousands of people out there with weapon genes who don’t know how to deal with it, and I want to make sure those who are out there know they can learn to control it.”
Soul sits up next to you. “I don’t really know what I want to do,” he says, looking steadily at Maka. I only know who I want to do it with.
The vitriol from earlier in the meal fades. You see tired faces, some nostalgic, others hurting, and a few, like Harvar’s, blank.
“I don’t know what I want to do either,” Harvar says into the silence that followed Soul’s admission. “Nothing at all. What does that leave me?”
You see Kilik nodding while Liz stares at her plate, eyes empty. You are afraid of what you’ll see when you lean forward enough to catch of glimpse of Black*Star’s face, but that’s okay, because you have decided to live.
“I think that leaves you with possibility,” you say, meeting Black*Star’s eyes. “Not knowing means there is room to discover.”
Ox snorts. “Easy for you to say, Lord Death,” he says, putting his hands on the table. “But for the rest of us mortals, we can’t just up and decide to do something and have it all magically work out.”
More nods around the table. Maka is chewing her lip, looking like she has remembered something she would rather forget, and Soul has slumped in his seat again. “You’re right,” you say. "Anything people do takes time, and effort, and there are no guarantees. But it seems to me that the first choice anyone has to make is whether they are willing to try."
“Does any of it really matter though?” Kilik says, fist balled on the table. “The choosing, the decisions, any of it? What does it matter if I work for this job or that one, wear this color shirt or another? At the end of the day, we’re just slowly rotting meat.”
“I thought so, too,” you tell him. “I thought that nothing I did would matter to you, because what does a death god know of how to live? But here we are, really talking to each other for the first time in so many years. I think,” you pause to look around again and see traces of the people you had known bleeding through like sections of old photographs, “I think that will be the key for us. We were told for so long what does and doesn’t matter. Now we have to choose that for ourselves.”
There is another silence, though it is one you cannot place. Tsubaki breaks it after a minute to usher everyone into the living room for dessert and coffee, so you sit on her sofa and imagine what it would be like to see everyone smiling again.
Maka approaches you with two black coffees. “That was a lot,” she says, handing you one. “I didn’t know you had so many feelings.”
“Neither did I,” you tell her, and take a sip. It is intensely bitter.
“It sounded nice, but --” she pauses and looks around the room. You follow her lead and notice that the same small groups are gathered like pockets of the same magnetic charge. You suppose it was too naive to expect anything else.
“Change takes time,” she says, glancing briefly in Soul’s direction. “Unless you force it. But that creates its own problems.” She sighs and takes a step back. “Thanks for saying something anyway. It was a nice reminder that things don’t have to be this way.” She leaves.
You watch her walk over to Soul and place a light hand on his arm. You feel through the bond a wave of surprise and anticipation before you seal it shut in your mind. It is not your place to witness whatever comes next from such an intimate vantage. You do, however, watch the shape of them, hips squared and arms uncrossed. Perhaps something positive will come of this reunion, after all.
Soul sidles over to you once Maka is back in conversation with Tsubaki. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, I guess.”
You nod. “Was it a productive conversation?”
“I think so,” he says, and clears his throat. “She said she was sorry about how she ended things, and that she wants to talk again. She, uh.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “She said she still has my old bomber jacket, the one I thought I lost.”
That reminds you of how Black*Star used to take your shinigami mask every time he came to see you and wear it half on, half off until he left. You think of the power in such gestures, and allow yourself to hope.
So you and Soul enjoy some of Tsubaki’s fruit tartlets while quiet conversation hums around you. Every now and then, you catch lingering glances from one group to another, a considering stare where before there would have been outright hostility.
You take another sip of coffee. For now, it is enough.
After some suggestions from contributors, I was wondering what people would think about selling a less-expensive version of the zine as a digital copy?
I do still have some costs that I am trying to recoup, because 1. the zine did even better than I thought! and b. we’re an even more international fandom than I thought! I think that’s awesome...but the USPS doesn’t. At least, not in a way that is going to get packages overseas any more easily.
Some people have mentioned wishing there was a digital download because the hard copy is expensive for them, too. So I was considering the sale of a digital version for maybe like $8, USD. The hard copies are already in progress so I can’t refund them, but anyone who already paid for a hard copy would get the digital one free, if they would like, in addition to the mailed copy.
So...thoughts? Does this seem fair? Unfair? Is there anyone out there who would benefit from it? Do keep in mind that most of the contributors will probably release their zine work online for free over the next few months, so what you’re paying for is pretty much the time it took to compile everything into an ebook, and the loose ends left over after physical copies went to print.
The zine is almost done, and we’re going to have two hundred pages (not including the art divider pages)!
I need an extra couple of days to finish getting it together before sending it to the printer. Maybe until October 3 or so? Again, most of the pieces are in place, but I need to finish everyone’s credit, and then there are a few images that I have to reconfigure on the desktop computer because they look funny in CMYK (don’t worry, if anything changes with your art, I will contact you). Then I will have to make a test .pdf, rearrange whatever goes wrong in there (something inevitably will), and make another test. I also want to double-check the cover design and get something decently pleasing together for the back cover and spine.
The important part is this: if you’re a contributor who hasn’t answered my email/messages asking for your social media links and where to send the zine to, please do so! And if you’ve sent in your contribution but haven’t heard a response from me, please let me know so that I can make sure I have all the needed information to send your copy of the zine!
I am just absurdly excited to share this with all of you! Thank you for your patience! I will post another update right before I finish, and a third when the zine is in the hands of the printers.
The books look great, I’m so excited! Shoutout to Mixam for a good job well done.
I’m waiting on one last ingredient for the zine packages, and then I’ll be ready to start the shipping waves. I’ve been able to start some of the packing labels, even.
Starting tomorrow, I’m going to start selling a few of the extra bonus items. More will probably become available later - assuming things go OK with package deliveries - but I can get a head start on some of those extra-extras the manufacturers sent that I noted in the long post a few days ago. (And...I can’t really go easy on shipping this time, you guys, I’m sorry xD)
And then on Tuesday or Wednesday, the E-book of the zine should become available. I’m done with the main layout revisions.
