Soul Mix
Poisoned Scarlet

Jam 10: Paralyzer by Finger Eleven

"Well, I'm not paralyzed but I seem to be struck by you..."

The flashing strobe lights are blotching your eyesight as you stand awkwardly to the side, holding a martini glass that Liz had forcibly shoved in your hand nearly half an hour ago.

You have yet to take a drink of it because you aren't the type of girl to drown her anxiety with alcohol, and you have never been the type to drink in the first place. You tell yourself you actually need to use the neurons that would be inevitably lost to the poisonous effects of alcohol.

Black Star and Soul are up on the DJ tower, overlooking the entire club scene, with giant headphones on their heads as they rip out remixes and electronic sounds that make your toes curl in anticipation.

You have heard nearly all of the synthesized sounds they have been dishing out (because you are a huge fan of trance fusion, techno and electro) and although you are amused that Soul seems to have a permanent scowl on his face (obviously still convinced trance, techno, and electro don't even count as music), you can't calm your racing heart or upset stomach.

You have never been to a club before.

You're nineteen but you're unused to such a crowded, sweltering, loud place with colorful flashes of light blinding you and a heady cloud of sex and alcohol suffocating you. Every one of your friends has told you to loosen up, to chill out, to relax, but it's hard when all your life you have been safely confined to the pages of your books and the four walls of your room. Although, a particularly nasty comment from Soul convinced you to at least pretend like you're enjoying yourself, going as far as tapping your shoe on the floor or nodding your head to the electric beats.

An energetic track bursts from the speakers and you find yourself swaying your body a little, actually enjoying this song, and tapping your recently painted purple nails against the glass in your hand. You close your eyes and breathe in, trying to calm your heart; trying to calm your racing thoughts, the anxiety clouding your mind. You try to adjust to the scenery, try to blend with the bobbing mass that sways around you, and, before you know it, you have abandoned the glass on the bar table behind you with no intention on returning back to it. Instead, you get drunk off the pounding energy.

You know how to dance this – hell, out of every one of your friends, you know how to dance this the best because you listen to this on a daily basis. You actually like it, unlike them.

Jump-style, gliding, shuffling... you know it all – it's what helps you get by when you're in battle, curiously.

Your body moves in accordance with the beats, the bass reverberating through your body and leaving you breathless.

A grin has spread on your lips.

This music really pumps you up, exhilarates you, and makes you want to break free from your inhibitions. And now that you have released yourself from societal restraints, nothing can stop you.

Someone has pressed a glow stick in your hand and your eyes fly open, watching a heavily-pierced man biting on the filter of a cigarette wink at you and thrash his head to the sudden scream of the edit.

You smile, cracking the stick and letting it burn to life in her hand.

You twirl it around your fingers with practiced ease, feeling suddenly free from the pressures of normal life in the hot mass of bodies. Maybe your friends were right: maybe you did need this. Your hair has lost some of its bounce because of the sweat but you could care less, as you jump with the rest, laugh with the rest, and twist and twirl and try out those moves Justin Law had taught you a long time ago.

Shuffling, he said, is both a helpful skill on the battlefield and on the dance floor. He had been impressed by your effortless gliding when he saw you training with Soul Eater in the training field, and he had taught you how to dance well, as you part the crowd that has gathered around you in cheers and hoots.

A girl jumps in beside you and mimics you pretty well, her laughter loud. "Hey, you!" She calls, excited. She's grinning. "You're really good!"

"Thanks! You, too!" You answer, somewhat awkwardly. The compliment isn't enough to make you stumble, however, and to avoid the girls admiring gaze, you lose yourself in the intense beats of the current remix by closing your eyes.

You wonder if this is how Soul loses himself in his jazz, and you are even more encouraged to understand the abstract concept of music.

The sounds abruptly change, to something wild and crazy, and now you're jumping to the hard beat and laughing with that girl who complimented you; totally taking the spotlight in your little area as other people jump in with you, unbeknownst to yourself, and synchronize with your erratic but hypnotizing movements.

It's an amazing sight, honestly. From the bar, Liz watches with raised brows. She downs her shot of vodka and glances at the DJ tower, smirking when she finds Soul watching his meister with wide eyes. Black Star grumbles about Maka being an 'attention-hog'. He scowls and smacks Soul on his head when he ignores him in favor of watching his meister, causing Liz to laugh and turn her attention back to you.

In the mass of wild party-goers, your eyes flutter open and automatically fix on the dark red ones that are coming closer and closer to you and igniting a fire to burn pleasantly within you. The song has switched to something more leisure and calm and the sounds seduce you into a lazy sway.

Your eyes slide close again, allowing the beats and bass to race through your body and entrance you in the way trance fusion always has.

The bass throbs in your head.

Your body glides through the massive crowd.

Your breaths are erratic, labored, and you can feel beads of sweat trickle down the side of your neck.

Its so hot in this room now, how could you have not noticed it before?

A hand touches your arm, another brushes your waist, but you already know who it is without having to open your eyes.

"I didn't know you could dance."

Your eyes open and you turn to look at Soul, who is grinning lopsidedly in that way that makes you so needy but confused. "Justin Law taught me." You tell him, swaying with him in the small spot of space you have while being barricaded by other dancing bodies. "He's a fan of trance fusion, you know."

"What? No way!"

"What do you think he's listening to all the time?" You softly snort and dare to lean against his chest. His hands gain confidence: they rest on the curve of your waist, the curves you have finally, finally, been able to gain after so many years. "Trance fusion is a good way to coordinate movement. It improves concentration, too."

"It's still a bunch of noise to me."

You rest your head against his shoulder, content with just swaying side to side gently despite the pounding track that Black Star has just unleashed.

"Well, I like it..." You crack an eye open, noticing that the lights have now become a delirious clash of purple, blue and red.

You think it's pretty but disconcerting.

And maybe that's the whole idea...

"Black Star's jealous." Soul whispers in your ear, making shivers crawl up your arms. His voice is so smooth and velvety; the perfect tenor to make you tremble with want, make you impatiently pant although you blame it on the intense heat that threatens to suffocate you both. "You were taking the spotlight with those cool moves."

"I... was?"

He snorts. "You didn't notice? You practically split the crowd in two!"

You face becomes flushed and you can only utter a small, "Oh", as you recall bits and pieces of hollers and whistles that you mistakenly thought were for the edit being played, not you; never you, because you are Maka Albarn and Maka Albarn doesn't get cheered at or hollered at so energetically - especially not at club scenes.

"I... think I finally understand." You whisper, knowing he has not heard you by the way he doesn't respond.

And you're fine with that because you want to keep this realization to yourself for a little longer.

You press yourself against him despite the heat; resting your head on his shoulder while his arms snake around your waist.

You eat the attention up because Soul has been such a tease these past few weeks and you're brimming with frustration and confusion. You have no idea what this means, not yet, but you'll figure it out, you think, and when you do, Soul will be sorely sorry for trying to rile you up so badly.

This is no waltz but in those moments you think you wouldn't care less if it were swing booming from the stereo, as you lead him in the only genre music he's ignorant and clumsy to: the music that has given you a broader insight to the sounds of the jazz he adores...

A/N: I'm convinced I will be creating ANOTHER Soul Eater collection, but this one will be filled with all of the SoMa story ideas that will never, ever, be completed for various reasons. Most will be... well, actually, instead of just posting up the first chapter of every one of them (goes to show you just how many of them I've created...) I'll take out interesting scenes and just dump them into that collection. That, or I get struck with another idea and do that one instead. I'm not sure yet. I sort of want to create a collection involving all of the Soul Eater characters, but I haven't had enough ideas to execute it.

AND YES, I am thoroughly convinced Maka knows how to shuffle because, come on, she listens to TRANCE! She's got to know some moves!

I hope you all enjoyed this collection! :D

Side Note: Soul Bond has been updated with the second chapter! Check it out if you're interested.