Does it still count if I posted it somewhere on the day I was supposed to? Here's a resbang. Is it my resbang? Yes. Are the caracters mine? No. Why are you asking me? I would not make a fake account to disguise my tue identity asthe creaor of these characters. Don't ask me anymore questions.

Nonsense aside, I do wish to thank the mods and my art squad, amanda and sig, who are supremely and uniquely talented.

Crytid

"If you aren't going to make any friends, you'd better get a dog."

Wes was the entire continental US away, but Soul could feel the brotherly concern radiating from the phone. They've had this conversation every day for the past six months, and it's gotten more and more depressing each day. It wasn't like Soul was actively avoiding the pursuit of happiness, but every other friend he'd had in his life he either made when he was five or drunk, and he's pretty sure you couldn't just ask someone if they wanted to be friends outside of those situations.

And all of those friends live on the same side of the US as Wes – the far one. None of them moved to the Seattle area for work to work for a up-and-coming record company. Admittedly, it's an oddly specific situation, but Soul wouldn't lie about the fact none of them did it.

"Fine," Soul sighed loudly over the phone, enough that his brother could definitely hear it. "I'll get a dog, if I find one I like."

"That's what you said about making friends, little brother."

And that was the story of how Soul ended up at the front desk of the local (relatively speaking) no kill animal shelter, trying to get a tiny blonde worker to look up from her huge textbook. He'd already dinged the bell like four times, with measured thirty second intervals. What's the next step? He was wracking his brains over here – did he yank out one her dubstep blasting earphones? Reach over a tap her gently on the shoulder? Wave a hand in front of her face? He didn't know, but he's already been standing here like a dumbass for two minutes and it was only getting worse the more time passes.

He tried coughing a couple of times. Loud, hacking coughs.

It did nothing.

He steeled himself, down to his gut, reached over and tapped her shoulder. She started and jumped back, falling into a self-defence pose. Her expression betrayed no fear, no mercy, only cold hard determination to whup him. This girl could kick his ass. He raised his hands in surrender, one day he would get beaten up by a tiny girl, but today was not that day.

"Oh, sorry!" She cringed, and put her tiny, dangerous fists away. "You scared me."

"Does that happen often?"

"Oh, all the time," she shrugged like it was no big deal. "How can I help you?"

"My brother thinks I should get a dog."

"Do you want a dog?" she asked, squinting suspiciously. He supposed that was fair. You couldn't just go about giving away dogs to people who didn't really want dogs.

Soul didn't answer that for a second.

"He knows me better than I know myself."

Way to start and finish a DMC with the cute girl manning the animal shelter. Way too make it way too personal and weird in a single sentence. Great job, Soul. That was really endearing.

He stopped freaking out about it when he saw the dogs, and starts freaking out about something else entirely. Namely, the dogs. There's so many of them and he wants them all. They're all the right dog.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" The cute girl asked, and Soul made a go of reading her name tag, but it might as well be a twisted strand of spaghetti for all he could read it. She reached through the bars to scratch the ears of the biggest dog Soul had ever seen. Despite his huge size, he's also the droopiest dog Soul has ever seen. It's almost like looking at a liquid puddle of dog.

"Not sure," Soul squatted down for a closer look at Big AF Dog, who growled low in his throat at the proximity.

With Soul's luck, the poor sap would've melted within an hour of bringing him home. And judging by the way he was licking that girl's fingers and thumping his tail in a steady rhythm against the gate, he was perfectly happy. Also, he had growled when Soul tried to go in for a closer look.

Okay. Not that one.

One dog down, about a hundred to go.

Puppies.

So many puppies.

And he was just. On the ground. In a happy pile of puppies, squirming around, walking like lizards, bouncing off each other. There were so many of them, wriggling into and over his lap.

"How do you not spend your whole time in here?" Soul lifted a puppy to inspect its little fat puppy belly. "Look at this. He's so small."

"I know."

"I don't think you understand. There has never been a puppy this small in the entire world," Soul insisted, offering the girl the puppy. "He is the smallest."

"There's literally six puppies in here that are smaller than him."

"Impossible," Soul was overcome with disbelief. He shook his head. There was no way. The girl laughed at him, gently lifting an even smaller puppy than the one Soul was holding as evidence.

"Oh."

She nodded, smiling softly as the puppy wriggled free and waddled away.

Soul's eyes caught on a puppy, which while not the smallest, was still pretty small. She was stumbling around, nosing her way slowly around the room, without interacting with any of the other puppies. A puppy without any friends? Soul could relate. He reached over and grabbed her, adjusting his grip to lift her over to his lap.

"Poor baby," the girl said. "She's blind."

"What type of dog is she?" The puppy started snuffling at his fingers, licking them and trying to bat at them when he wriggled them.

"In here? She could be anything," she gestured, and he reluctantly handed the puppy over for inspection. "Probably a husky mix? I have no idea."

"I think that's my puppy."

The girl smiled at him, and it almost hid the dark circles under her eyes.

Of course, you couldn't just bring home a puppy. It had to be weaned first, and Soul marked off on his calendar the day he would be able to bring his puppy home, and waited.

Impatiently, while making a list of possible puppy names. It was a tough choice, and there were a lot of iconic ladies he could name his puppy after.

And it wasn't even his home, really. It was his great aunt's. He just lived there.

His great aunt wasn't dead, and even she hadn't even stepped inside the house in five years, but Soul would be in big trouble if she found out that he moved her extensive collection of smiling ceramic children. He wasn't even allowed to take out the stair-lift. Soul didn't want to blame anyone for his relative solitude, but how was anyone supposed to have a few friends over to their great-aunt's museum home?

Like you weren't supposed to hope your relatives died but Great Auntie Meredith was a hundred and three and she had lived in a nursing home for the last decade.

Admittedly, the stair lift was pretty good at carrying heavy baskets of laundry up the stairs.

LIST OF NAMES FOR BLIND PUPPY:

Stevie (Wonder. Self Explanatory. (they're both blind.))

Arya (She's badass. (also, was blind for a while there.))

Beyoncé (Insult? Compliment? How does Beyoncé feel about being my dog's namesake.)

Shakira (She was a giraffe in that one film. She's probably okay with this.)

Leslie (Knope AND Jones)

Lin (It may have swept the Tonies? Tonys? but Hamilton could always use more accolades.)

Rock Lee?

"Alright Soul," It was the same girl, hair slung in low pigtails this time, but the same dead dark bags under her bright green eyes. "Here she is!"

She was bigger than Soul remembered, but then he realised she was bigger. She was a puppy. She had growing to do. She was going to be big and strong.

"What's her name?"

"I'm not sure yet – but I think I might call her Shakira."

"Like the-"

"Oh, you know I am on tonight, my hips don't lie and I am starting to feel it's right-" Soul cleared his throat and blushed, looking away. "Yeah. That Shakira."

"You have such a wonderful voice!" the girl leaned right over the counter, to hear him better, "If I could sing like that do you think I'd be studying Veterinary?"

"I'm not studying Veterinary," Soul cringed.

"Oh. I kind of forgot that there are people in this world who don't go to veterinary college," she shook her head to clear it. "I live in a world where everyone is studying to be a vet. Can you tell me what it's like outside? Do they still have pumpkin spice lattes?"

"It's January."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You missed pumpkin spice season."

Soul put Shakira (the name was already sticking dammit) into the cat carrier he'd found under his great- aunt's stairs. She'd outgrow it eventually, but hopefully not before he got her home.

"Okay, she has all her shots, and you already paid the adoption fee and brought the license," the girl behind the desk check these off on her fingers. "And she got chipped earlier today – don't worry, it's covered in the adoption fee – so I'm just going to log on and register you as her owner on the microchip server."

"You hear that Shakira, I'm going to be able to find you wherever you go? There's no escape," Soul poked his fingers through the bars and Shakira started gnawing on them. Affectionately, but those teeth were sharp.

"That's not how a microchip works," the girl squinted at him. "You know that, right?"

"Yes, but why don't you tell me, just so I know that you know," Soul grinned toothily, which was something he normally avoided and scratched the back of his neck ruefully.

"Oh, and If you have any more questions my number is on the bottom there – don't hesitate to call me okay!"

Shakira was doing fine, she was packing away the puppy chow, and doing her best not to leave little gifts everywhere. As dogs went, she was great. A perfect puppy.

He couldn't ask for a better dog, really.

And all that meant that there was no reason to call the number scrawled on the bottom of the comprehensive list of 'How To Keep A Puppy Alive And Well'. She probably gave that number to everyone who needed help, printing 'Maka (from the animal shelter)' in her neat 'I take notes that other people can actually read' handwriting. It didn't mean anything.

But at least that solved the whole problem with the name, which was a definite plus.

Yeah, okay, having a cumulative couple of hours of conversation with a girl and neglecting to find out her name was Not Cool, but like. Too much time had passed. How was he supposed to have brought it up?

Thankfully, she solved the whole problem before Soul even thought about freaking out about it.

Like, he was sure it was a little early to project an idealized version of humanity on her but damn she wasn't making it easy. One more small act of kindness and she was definitely going up on that pedestal he had around here somewhere.

Just sayin'.

"Hey Maka? It's, uh, Soul?" He cringed, and was tempted to hang up and ignore the inevitable 'oh I think we got disconnected' call.

"Oh, I remember you! You adopted that adorable little blind puppy!"

Shakira was adorable. And blind. Even if she wasn't so little anymore.

"Yeah, uh, Shakira. Anyway…"

"Yes?" Maka prompted. "Is she okay?"

"She's great- do you, uh, know how to train a dog to get into a chair?"

Maka Albarn:

Where do you live, by the way?

Soul Evans:

do u have a car ill draw you a map

but basically

get real lost

then get more lost

then even loster than that

and then

my house will emerge from the fog like a bad idea in a fairytale

According to everything Soul knew about dogs, and the literary masterpiece, Holes, carrying Shakira upstairs everyday so that she could sleep on the foot of his bed like a hairy hot-water bottle, was supposed to be something he could do indefinitely, as long as he did it every day. And he had done it every day. But today was the day, and it was a day that had come much sooner than he expected, that he could not carry Shakira up the stairs.

Maybe dogs grow faster than pigs, who knew?

Not Soul for damn sure. Maybe the veterinary student. Please god the veterinary student.

Soul had grown remarkable dependant on his dog shaped hot-water bottle. Shakira needed to be able to get up the stairs and she couldn't walk up them. She just couldn't do it. She could barely manage the single step up into the house from the garden and he had to gently encourage her for at least five minutes before she endeavoured upon the step.

The actual stairs had like. Twenty times as many steps.

The doorbell rang, and Shakira sprinted for cover.

She was not a great guard dog.

She had other talents.

The doorbell rang again, and Soul could hear Shakira digging herself further into the gap between the sofa and the wall. He should go answer that.

"Soul?" Maka said. "Oh hi! I thought for a minute I had the wrong house."

"Nope. This is me," Soul stepped back to let her in. "Make yourself at home."

Soul was used to the elderly woman nature of his home. In fact, it had really grown on him as an aesthetic. But from an outside perspective, he could see why it might cause someone's eyes to widen and for them to stutter a little bit before saying: "You have a lovely home!"

"I'm housesitting?" Soul tried, awkwardly, trying to block as many smiling ceramic children from view as possible with his body. "Sort of."

"Sort of? How are you sort of house sitting?" She looked incredulous, like she couldn't believe someone might only be 'sort of house sitting'. "Where's the puppy?"

Soul decided to answer the easier question, because he was afraid that his grand-aunt might bust through the door any minute and demand her vacate the premises so that she can die at home in peace and comfort.

"Hiding – can I get you a drink? Water? Yellow pack Cola? Water?" Soul said. He didn't have a lot of options, but at least he was trying to be a good host. That had to count for something.

Right?

"No, I'm alright… seriously though, where's the puppy?"

"So you want me to train-"

"To help me train."

"To help you train this dog to get into this stairlift, because you can't carry her up the stairs anymore?" Maka said. "Soul. She's not even that big."

"She's really wriggly," Soul sighed. "And she tries to lick my face and… it's just a… I just can't do it anymore. I'm afraid I'm going to drop her."

Maka nodded, but didn't look up from the dog she was petting.

"Why don't you just lift her into the chair?"

Walking a blind dog was a slow process. According to Maka – who had not-so subtly googled it before answering firmly-because Shakira didn't get any visual stimulation it was important to let her sniff anything she wanted to sniff. Within reason. Exceptions include; stranger's crotches, other people's food, trash that she might eat.

And people kept doing this thing where they brought their dogs up to like… interact with Shakira, which would probably be fine if she didn't freak every time someone did it and try sprinting to hide behind his legs and stayed there, shaking. She just… she was shy. Really fucking shy.

It took ten minutes to calm her down enough to go again, normally.

She didn't like other dogs, and that was just fine with Soul.

He didn't like other people, he was in no position to judge anyone for their inability to socialize like a normal member of their respective species.

So he needed to walk her when no one else would be walking their dogs.

What was chronic insomnia for, if not for walking your dog at three in the A.M?

Very strange people come out at three A.M.

Do not, repeat, do not make eye contact.

Just walk your dog and listen to your demos.

Seriously, do not engage with anyone who is out in the woods at three A.M. on a regular basis.

Especially do not interact with anyone out for a walk in the cemetery at three in morning.

Your dog will not protect you from the edgy teenagers.

Shakira spent a lot of the day sleeping – not that he blamed her. She was only a baby, and she had lots of growing still to do. Probably.

He wasn't sure how big she was supposed to get, that was the trouble with dogs that 'probably have some husky in them'. But she was packing away the puppy food, and growing like there was no tomorrow.

Soul would love her no matter how big she grew, but this little old lady house was not built for Clifford the big red dog. There were just too many breakables.

"Oh, hi Soul!" Maka always sounded so chipper, even though she had literally fallen asleep on the desk in the pound when Soul went by to buy dog food. More than once.

"Hey, it's um… nevermind- shit-" Soul fumbled to catch a falling ceramic, barely saving it with the tips of his fingers.

"Are you having trouble with Shakira?"

"No she's perfect… I was wondering if you wanted to come over and help me pack up all my great aunt's ceramics'n'stuff, this weekend."

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss!"

"She's not dead yet."

"Oh, sorry, I mean, ah – Sure thing!"

Soul hung up before he could say anything else stupid or vaguely incriminating.

Soul had a stack of newspapers, a couple of large plastic boxes from Walmart and Shakira was settled comfortable on the fancy green velvet couch he wasn't supposed to put his feet up on in the parlour he was supposed to receive guests in probably.

You win some, you lose some.

The doorbell rang, and Shakira, as had become customary, bounded off the couch and sprinted to hide in the backroom until Soul gave the all clear.

Soul didn't know why she bothered – the only people who came to the door were either Maka, or delivery people. No one coming to the door was out for his dog. Yet there she was, hiding in the utility room, under as much of Soul's laundry as possible.

When Soul opened the door, he was greeted by a sackful of packing peanuts – and Maka's muffled voice.

"Hey Soul!"

"Hey Packing Peanut Fairy," Soul nodded, "Want me to take those?"

Maka heaved the sack into his arms in lieu of a response and jogged back out to her car to grab something else – Soul dumped the packing peanuts beside his stack of Walmart containers, and Maka met him at the door with another sackful.

"Where did you even get all of these?"

"I have my sources – but you didn't get them from me."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, no, seriously I was not supposed to take these."

"She really likes you, you know."

Maka looked down at the Shakira, who was resting her head on her head, tongue lolling and leaving a damp patch in Maka's jeans.

"I figured – you said she's pretty shy around other people?"

"Yeah," Soul nodded a little too quickly, "and other dogs too."

"Huh."

Maka looked thoughtfully down at the dog in her lap and scratched behind her ears.

Soul held the ladder while Maka carried the Walmart containers- filled with ceramic knickknacks, newspaper and packing peanuts – up into the attic for storage, where they would gather dust until his great aunt either died or moved back in.

Eh, whatever would be, would be, but for the minute Soul was faced with an awful lot of empty display cabinets.

"You don't collect like, anime figurines or something?"

"Nope," Soul popped the 'p'. "Any other ideas?"

"Start collecting anime figurines or something?" Maka shrugged, helping him fold the ladder back up into the attic. "Or those bobbly head things that are, like. Terrifying."

"Why do you know so much about- you're a nerd," Soul gasped. "Do you collect anime figurines?"

"Pfft, no," Maka blushed, talking fast. "They're too expensive and I don't have enough space."

"You nerd!"

"What kind of people did you think become veterinarians?"

There was a sign posted on the corkboard in the library for 'Doggy Obedience School', the kind of sign someone made in Word with bad clipart and the text poorly aligned, but Soul took a number anyway.

Shakira (and Soul) could probably use a professional's help when it came to obedience and training. He wasn't sure how to train a regular dog, never mind a blind one, but hopefully whoever was running the course was better at training dogs than they were at making posters on Word.

'Cause they were like, really bad at that.

DOGGY OBEDIENCE SCHOOL

Can't deal with a badly behaved dog?

Whether you're a first time dog owner or you've had more dogs than you can count, we could all use a little help from time to time!

Contact 555-555-555 for our professional help.

Places are limited, so make sure you book now to secure a spot on our next 5 week course.

Everyone else at the school was staring at Soul and Shakira, who was hiding behind his legs from all the other dogs. Maka waved from the park bench she had stationed herself at. Apparently, this was too good of an opportunity to miss out on.

"We'll show her, right? Won't we Shakira?"

Shakira shoved her nose into the bend of Soul's knee, causing him to stumble slightly, before reaching around to scratch behind her ears comfortingly.

"Okay – I think – first of all, why don't we all –"

The small pink haired person, was drowned out by the voice of the much larger, and far more intimidating man with the X-shaped scar across his face. He leaned heavily on them, addressing the amassed crowd.

Seven people, and an equal amount of dogs, by Soul's count.

"I'm Rac, and this little wimp is Chrona," Rac said. "Now why don't ya step up an' tell us about yer mutt?"

Two people turned and left, delicate sensibilities offended.

Five people, five dogs.

"Pussies," Rac probably intended to mutter that, but it sounded an awful lot like he was yelling after them.

"Rac, you can't, it's rude to-"

"Shut yerself. You," Rac pointed at an elderly man with an terrier, who jumped at the address. "Tell us about yer dog."

"A husky-shepherd? An' yer sure that's what they said at the pound?"

"Yep," Soul looked down at Shakira.

"An' she's blind?" Rac squinted at Soul like he couldn't believe anyone would be dumb enough to adopt a completely blind dog.

"Rac, Rac-" Chrona started tugging on Rac's shirt, vying desperately for his attention.

"Chrona, wouldya shut yer-" Rac groaned, rolling his eyes. "What?"

"Rac, that looks like a wolf – I don't know how to deal with that."

"Shut yer gob – what kind of nonsense? If that's a wolf, then I'm the Queen of Sheba."

To: 'Professor Stein'

From: 'Maka Albarn'

Subject: Animal Identification

Hi Professor!

Maka Albarn here – I take your Rare Species class – and I have a request, if it's not too much trouble.

I was hoping you could spare a minute to tell me whether or not the animal in the attached photo is a wolfdog hybrid? It came into the pound I work at and we're just not sure what it is. I said she might be a one, but that seems so unlikely.

Any information you can offer would be really helpful!

Regards,

Maka Albarn.

ATTACHED (1): IMG165468

To: 'Maka Albarn'

From: 'Professor Stein'

Subject: Re: Animal Identification.

yup thats a wolf

"Do you think we could y'know – release her back into the wild?" Soul didn't want to bring that up, but he also felt as a responsible pet owner, he had to consider the realities of this fairly absurd situation.

"That's how you make man eating animals," Maka said, without looking up from the stack of books she'd taken from the college library.

"Okay. Definitely don't do that then," Soul was trawling the internet for resources on raising his pet wolf. "Wait. Can I even keep her as a pet? Legally? What's going to happen to her if it's against the law?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Google it?"

"Maka if I go to jail because you couldn't recognise a wolf cub when you saw one-"

The wolf, Canis lupus, has been classified as an endangered species by the Fish and Wildlife Commission. Private ownership of a wolf requires proof of legal acquisition, health certificate, proper holding facilities. Wolf Hybrids are not classified as wildlife and therefore do not fall within the regulatory authority of the Department of Fish and Wildlife. This does not mean that local jurisdictions may not regulate or prohibit the possession of these animals. Additionally, other state or local agencies may have regulations that apply to the importation or possession of wolves or wolf hybrids.

"When we started hanging out I thought I would get all sorts of 'my friend is a veterinary student' perks," Soul grumbled, hunched over his desktop.

"I have plenty of perks," Maka muttered, before jabbing her finger at the screen. "That's the one! It's for people who buy wolf hybrids."

"Hey, hey, be careful!" Soul swatted her hand away, "Holy shit Maka, you didn't tell me it'd cost a hundred dollars!" Soul said, the mouse hovering over the 'add to cart' button .

"I didn't know!" Maka cringed. "It's alright, I'm sure there's another way to find out-"

"Don't worry about it – and while I'm here..."

Mars Veterinary Wisdom Panel 4.0 Breed Identification DNA Test Kit was added to cart!

Wolfdogs A-Z: Behavior, Training & More (Wolf Hybrids) by Nicole Wilde was added to cart!

All the Loving Wolves: Living and Learning With Wolf Hybrids by Jody King and Michael Belshaw was added to cart!

Living with Wolfdogs: An Everyday Guide to a Lifetime Companionship, Second Edition (Wolf Hybrid Education) by Nicole Wilde was added to cart!

Above Reproach: A Guide for Wolf Hybrid Owners by Dorothy Prendergast was added to cart!

Dino Wolf was added to cart!

That was a lot of chain link fence. Really, more than Soul ever thought he'd need in his life. Of course, Soul had never really thought about needing chain link fence before in his life. Like, ever. He could honestly say that the thought had never occurred to him.

Yet here they were, trying to install eight foot chain link fence all around the property line – which wasn't all that small and there was a wooded area.

"Alright – that's everything we need to make sure she doesn't escape," Maka nodded, checking off her list. Shakira didn't stop licking at the allegedly indestructible chew toy, trying to get the peanut butter out of the hollow core Soul had spooned it into.

"Yeah, she's a real flight risk," Soul said. "She can't even climb the stairs."

"I know that, but we still have to make sure we have this up. It's the law – but even still, what if she gets out? She could be shot or hit by a car or-" Maka looked around at the open edges of the property. "There's literally nothing keeping her in here. Why hasn't she-?" Maka gestured helplessly.

"Best guess?" Soul offered, glancing down at Shakira. "There's no peanut butter in the wilderness."

Maka wasn't answering. His hands were shaking.

No. That was just his phone vibrating. It was a text.

Maka Albarn:

I can't answer right now

I'm in class.

Soul Evans:

duck maka theres an envelope from the thing

Maka Albarn:

WAIT what open it open it now

Soul Evans:

i cant im too nervous

Maka Albarn:

I NEED TO KNOW.

Soul Evans:

fine

im opening it now

im doing it real ducking slow to ramp up the tension

reaaaallll slow

Maka Albarn:

I swear to god I'm going to fuck you up if you don't text me the results immediately.

Soul Evans:

0

shakira is 0 percent a dog

u ducked that one up really badly

i cant believe they let u into vet school

Maka Albarn:

Shut up.

Soul should probably tell his brother the truth about Shakira, but like it was one thing to be the family fuck-up by just because generally unimpressive and failing to meet a series of impossible standards, and it was another thing to be the member of the family that managed to fuck up adopting a pet dog this badly.

This never would have happened if he'd bought a dog from a reputable breeder, but no. He had to be all conscientious in his choices and adopt a dog that might've otherwise spent her whole life in an animal shelter.

Still, there was nothing like a lovingly handwritten letter to break shocking news gently to your family – especially when it might get lost or take a while to arrive. It would be like telling him, but also, it wouldn't be his fault if he didn't actually end up telling him.

So he raided Edie's fanciest stationary set and wrote a letter on a charmingly old fashioned floral set.

Or maybe just old. It smelt a little mouldy.

Wes,

Do you remember when we were kids, and you were obsessed with horses? You're still obsessed with horses because you're like, the highest of brows or whatever. So Mom was like 'I'll get you a horse Wes' and she got you Marble, the fanciest motherfucker that ever trotted.

He was a jerk, I don't care what you say.

Anyway, I complained to Mom, because if you'll recall I was going through a phase of my own. Remember? I was obsessed with wolves? And I was pissed because Mom wouldn't get me a pet wolf?

Yeah, well, nine year old Soul would think that today Soul is living the dream.

Soul.

P.S. if that was like, super vague, I got a pet wolf. She's blind and she's called Shakira and she's perfect.

Soul's phone was ringing, and he struggled to extract it from his pocket in time to answer it. It was Maka, and he took a few deep breathe in order to calm himself.

"Soul do you know anyone with a pickup truck?"

"What? Maka – you know I don't? I don't know anyone in Seattle," Soul was baffled. "I'm not even sure what my work colleagues' names are."

"You have a job?"

"What-? Yes. Of course I have a job," Soul held the phone away from his face for a second to squint at it sceptically. Not that Maka could see, but it was the thought that counted. "What did you think I did all day?"

"Listen to music? Sleep? Hang out with your wolf?"

"Nevermind – why do you want a pickup truck?"

"I found a free bathtub. I'm standing in it right now," Maka said. "So no one else takes it, but I need a pickup truck on the scene stat."

"Why? What is happening-? Maka, why do you even need a bathtub?"

"Sorry - I need to try calling someone else. I'll talk to you later though?"

She hung up before he could answer. Soul accidentally googled pick-up truck prices before he could stop himself.

When Soul said he worked for a record label, and given his background and family legacy in music, most people assumed he worked as a musician, a producer, a low level grunt trying to work his way through the rank, something intrinsically linked with the music industry.

Soul was an inhouse graphic designer.

And if sometimes, during lunch, he went into the empty recording studio and played a song or two on the very inviting piano that lived there, who was to know any better? It's not like he was using his job as in to make music.

His fingers just got a little itchy from time to time.

Soul had forgotten about the bath tub as much as any human could forget that they had failed in a cute girl's hour of need. That was until his phone buzzed and flashed, disrupting his flow.

Maka Albarn:

Let us in.

Soul had a vague sense of foreboding, like he was about to be filled with regret. He ignored it, and hit the wall mounted gate opener anyway. His feelings had by and large proven themselves to be treacherous things.

He leaned casually against the door-frame and watched a blue pickup truck roll up his driveway. He could hear the late nineties rap blasting through the rolled down windows. Louder still, he could hear Maka and another male voice yelling the lyrics. They'd better be gifted in other areas, that was all he was saying.

Maka vaulted out the window before the truck stopped moving, in too much of a hurry to think about things like her personal safety and Soul's nerves. She skidded to a stop in front of him.

"I got the bathtub!" She said, bouncing up on her toes. "It's in the truck."

"I can see that," Soul said, too baffled to maintain his 'casually cool' pose in the doorway. "Why is it here though? I already have a bathtub."

"It's not for you - it's for Shakira."

"Maks, stop flirting an' get yo' skinny ass over here and lift!"

"One second Black Star!" She yelled back over her shoulder. "Where do you want us to put it?"

"Put what?" Soul said.

She was already helping a short blue haired man lift an ugly mint green bath off the back of the pick up. At this point, Soul decided that he'd better just roll with the whole bath situation and figure out a place to put it.

In the end, Soul's opinion on the bath didn't count for anything, because it need to be connected to his water supply. Maka smacked him when he admitted that he had no idea where his water even was and Black Star dug a metal detector out of his truck.

By the time the bath was finally set down, Shakira had mustered up enough courage to try and fit in Soul's lap while Black Star was fitting with the bath a something he called a ball cock and float valve. Soul recognised the device from inside his toilet cistern, but still had no idea what was happening. When he asked, it turned out Black Star had stolen it from the toilet that was being discarded alongside the bath.

To top it all off, Black Star kept squinting at Soul suspiciously, which was not doing wonders for Soul's nerves.

"Alright," Maka said, dusting off her hands and looking at the pair of them. "I'm going to buy a few beers - Soul, gimme your wallet."

"It's on the kitchen counter-" Soul replied automatically. "Wait, why am I paying for the beer?"

"You haven't contributed anything else," she pointed out, and Black Star snorted from inside the bath. "Besides, we had to turn off the water and you don't have anything in your fridge."

Soul couldn't really argue with that, and she grabbed Black Star's keys from the jacket he'd abandoned beside the bath. Shakira's ears perked at the sound of Maka crossing the wooden porch to go through the house, but she calmed down when Soul scratched behind her ears absently.

"Not one scratch Albarn!" He yelled after her, not looking away from his work.

"Oh, like you'd be able to tell!"

On the other side of the house, Soul could hear the truck rumbling to life. Shakira pawed at his hand where he had stopped petting her for like, a second.

Once the coast was clear and the truck had driven off, Black Star sat up quickly, and pointed his wrench at Soul seriously.

"Listen dude, if you hurt her-," he burst out laughing, and it took a minute before he was able to speak again. "Who am I kidding? She's going to stomp all over your heart. Commiserations bro, commiserations."

"I got the beer - and pizza!" Maka called, arriving out to the back porch laden down with goodies for everyone. From the sounds that had come from the kitchen and the time she had been gone, Soul could hazard a guess that she'd also done a full grocery shop. America needed to get with chip and pin, pronto.

She had the pizzas carefully balanced with the beer, and she offers Shakira her as of yet indestructible chew toy, packed with enough peanut butter to keep her away from the tempting smell of pepperoni. Shakira got off Soul's lap in order to gnaw at it away from any possible threats to the peanut butter.

Maka folded her legs down to sit on the ground and trust one of the pizzas in Black Star's direction like it offended her. Soul flipped open the pizza box and turned to grab a beer but-

"Do you have a bottle opener?"

"Oh, I got it," Maka took the bottle and... Opened the cap off with her hand?

Soul grabbed the bottle to check that it wasn't a twist off before asking the only question that came to mind: "What the fuck?"

"Huh?" Maka glanced back over. "I used my Mama's wedding ring - all it's good for these days."

She flashed the ring at him, from where she wore it on her right hand. Black Star made frantic gestures to cease the line of inquiry behind Maka. Soul ignored him and asked her to show him how it was done, handing her another bottle.

"Alright, you just bend your finger over the cap, hook the ring under the lip and..." The lid came off into her hand. "Pop!"

"How did you learn how-"

"My Papa showed me, he said no one should go to college without knowing how to open a bottle without an opener, so he dug the ring out for me." She shrugged like it was no big deal, but Soul doubted his parents even knew how to open a bottle of beer. His mom was pretty quick with a corkscrew though.

Maka admired the ring from where it sat on her finger.

"Oh, and one more thing, it has to be a hard metal, like steel or platinum." She tapped the ring with her thumbnail. "It won't work otherwise."

"Bro, cause I'm sensing you to be about fifteen steps behind, I'm going to hit you with some serious exposition," Black Star said, nodding at Maka to crack him open a bottle. "Maks carries a platinum bottle opener on her person at all times 'cause her dad wanted her to make friends. An'cause he wanted them frat bros to think she was hella off the market."

Maka punched Black Star, not all that lightly, and opened a beer from him anyway.

"Cheers."

When Soul woke up the next morning - somewhere closer to afternoon, actually - he was just a touch hungover, and he had about fifty missed calls from Wes.

He sniffed cautiously at the glass of water he'd left on his bedside table last night. Drunk Soul had a strange habit of leaving a glass of vodka for next day Soul, but Tipsy Soul could be relied upon not to do that, apparently. He could've left some aspirins, but hey, baby steps.

Shakira sat up, her tail thumping against Soul's legs - she'd been up just as late as he had. She plodded across the treacherous landscape of Souls bed to nose at his face, scraping her tongue across his face a handful of times and demanding attention.

When faced with a wolf and a very full container of liquid, there is one incredibly likely outcome.

It was going to spill, and spill it did. All over Soul's bedsheets. He sagged a little, and reached up to scratch Shakira behind her ears fondly, while he tried to maneuver away from the rapidly spreading puddle in the middle of his bed. She was a good pup really. She just didn't know her own strength sometimes.

He edged out of the bed, and turned on his phone to listen to his voicemails while he stripped the bed.

You have 13 new messages.

Beep.

"Soul, it's Wes. Tell me the letter is a joke. Tell me it's a joke. Please. It's a joke right?"

Beep.

"Soul, mom is gonna freak. Soul. I'm gonna freak."

Beep.

"SOUL I AM FREAKING OUT. HOW COULD YOU ACCIDENTLY ADOPT A WOLF. Fuck. Answer your goddamn phone, Soul."

Beep.

"-pickuppickuppickuppickupp… Soul you mothertrucker god fucking dammit- Soul that was not the kind of news you deliver via letter."

Beep.

"That should not be the kind of news you deliver ever."

Beep.

"I can't believe we're related sometimes."

Beep.

"Soul, is this for real? Like, seriously? This isn't a joke right? This shit is for real?"

Beep.

"Shouldn't you give her to like a professional to rehabilitate? So she can be like, released back into the wild?"

Beep.

"Is this even legal?"

Beep.

"Did you tell Aunt Edie about this, how does she feel about a wolf living in her house? Well, actually she's fine with you living there, so I guess a wolf can't actually be that much worse."

Beep.

"I can't believe you named her Shakira. There were at least- If you ever have children, someone else should be in charge of naming them. Shakira. God."

Beep.

"A wolf is for life, not just for Christmas Soul. You know that right?"

Beep.

"Pics or it didn't happen, little brother."

Beep.

You have no new messages.

Soul took a picture of Shakira tangled in the sheets he'd just piled on the floor. She was chewing a hole in his pillowcase, but it wasn't one of the fancy ones for the top layer of bed, so he'd just patch it later. Or, more likely, toss it and replace it with a similar cream coloured pillowcase

He liked taking photos of her, but he'd been avoiding posting them on his social media ever since the whole "that's a wolf" debacle first came to fruition. He'd ever gone as far as deleting the photos of her that were up there already.

They were still on his phone.

He wasn't ashamed or anything, but he was afraid of PETA, and getting a bucket of red paint poured over him. Or whatever it was PETA did to exotic animal owners. Probably burned down their house and set the animals free to like, starve in the wild and kill people.

He sent it to Wes, then went about trying to stretch the slightly too small fitted sheet over his mattress.

Soul smiled at the clerk uncomfortably, trying to look like a respectable and responsible wolf owner. She mostly looked tired, and like everything she was dealing with was above her pay-grade. Still, he had his plastic folder of everything the website said he needed to get a license to keep Shakira.

Well, evidence of everything the website said he needed.

The clerk blinked at the stack of photocopied documents that Soul - alright, Maka - had organized into a colour coded system.

The clerk flicked through the sheaf quickly, then scooted down on her wheelie chair to wedge it in an overflowing pigeon hole marked 'Someone Else's Problem'. Upon returning, she slid a document receipt to his side of the plexiglass and waved him away.

"That's it?"

"Have a nice day."

Unknown Number:

wolfwalker

bro is this u bro

please say it aint so bro

ur crushing my dreams

Wolfwalker

The Wolfwalker is a demon accompanied by a hellhound that has been spotted walking in the Seattle area in the middle of the night.

This article is a stub. You can help Crytidz Wikia by expanding it.

Soul Evans:

did u give black star my number?

Maka Albarn:

No.

You did that all by yourself.

Unknown Number saved as Black Star.

Black Star:

Tell me the truth bro

r u the wolfwalker

Soul Evans:

probably

Visit Great Aunt Edie day was the weirdest day of Soul's month, mostly because he wasn't sure if she didn't know who he was because of the dementia or because of the fact that he had no recollection of meeting her before he moved out here. He wasn't even really sure she was his great aunt.

He had a lot of relatives that were very loosely monikered. She was someone's great aunt, and that meant she was his great aunt.

But still, he figured it was better this way, you didn't have to know someone to play go fish with them and a handful of other residents (and sometimes small stakes poker, if the nurses weren't looking).

The wikia article- stub - weighed on his shoulders in a way he could never have imagined. There was no doubt that it was him, he could tell by the three hundred dollar headphones that his brother had hot glued some lovingly handcrafted devil horns onto.

Okay, it was only an artist's impression, but still, he could see exactly what might cause the confusion. Strange looking man, with scary dog, seen walking around Seattle at night. May or may not have devil horns, depending on what headphones went go best with his outfit.

At least his halloween costume next year was checked off the list.

Soul did not consider himself an egotistical person, but he kind of thought that when he finally got a wiki page of his own, it would ya'know. Be about him. Have some stuff on it.

At least be more than a stub, for god's sake.

He needed to amp up his night walking skills if he wanted to get a bigger article. He added the article to his google alerts and dug out his glasses - the ones without antiglare and the barely there wire rims. He got them free with his contact subscription, and they looked like it.

It occurred to Soul while he was walking his usual route(through the cemetery), that he could just edit the wikia article - stub - himself. It was the kind of defeatist idea that occurs to a person when they are walking their pet wolf at three in the A.M. and really wishing that they'd brought their ski jacket.

It was cold out here.

Anyway, how hard would it be to edit the wikia page himself? Not very hard at all, if he knew anything about wikia pages. Hell, Black Star would probably do it for him, seeing as it looked like he had some credibility in the world of cryptids.

But that would be cheating.

Alright, no editing the wikipedia.

And no telling Black Star to edit the wikipedia page.

But tomorrow he was bringing his jacket. It was fucking freezing out here.

Soul was the first person to admit to being generally inept when it came to small home repair, so when it came time to, he figured he'd better leave the installation of the dog door to the professionals.

Well, to Black Star, self proclaimed Handi-God.

Hence, Black Star and Maka were in his house again, at least they were here under the guise of work, as opposed to the last couple of times, when they just decided to show up and hang out. Mostly with his wolf, but a little bit with his aswell.

Although Black Star had fixed the Soul's leaky tap the last time he was here. Unprompted, but appreciated. In fact, every time Black Star came over, he could count on some small repair being made - usually when they were a little drunk and now that he thought about maybe he should get someone to look at those sober.

When they broke.

Now though, he was going to hand Black Star whatever tools he asked for, like some kind of dog-door scrub nurse, while Maka heckled them from where she was supposed to be writing an essay for one of her classes.

"Can't anyone in this fucking building play the fucking piano?"

For most people, this would be considered a Big Break. Soul didn't want a big break, he just wanted to keep designing t-shirt logos and posters and stylizing typography for album sleeves. So he kept quiet.

"Soul can play."

Kilik, you piece of shit.

"Can you?"

Soul shrugged, hoping they'd move on to greener, more enthusiastic pastures.

"Great! Robbie got drunk last night and put his fist through a window."

And just like that, Soul found himself in a recording studio that wasn't deserted for a change. He'd better get a bonus for this. He wasn't paid enough to face his demons.

Soul had been lenient when it came to giving out or remembering the house phone number, but it did come in a bundle with the wifi, and it was cheaper to have it than not. However, at least when the number flashed across his phone screen, he vaguely recognised it.

Well.

It flashed under the headline "Aunt Edie's Landline".

It was pretty fucked up, if you asked Soul, to answer a phone call from a number that was supposed to be yours, and you weren't the one doing the ringing.

"Soul Evans speaking," Soul started, cautiously, "Who, may I ask, is call-"

"Bruh, your telephone voice is whack - do you always answer the phone like that?"

"What are you doing in my house Black Star?" Soul asked. "How did you even get in?"

"Dude, you gave Maka a thing to open the gate."

"And you thought you would just take it?" Soul was baffled.

"You really think I would do that bro? You've wounded me bro. Real deep. I dunno if your friendship can recover-" He was cut of by the sound of a scuffle.

"He absolutely would do that," Maka said, having evidently emerged victorious from the battle for the receiver. "He didn't this time, but it is not outside the realms of possibility."

"Oh," Soul said. "Hey Maka."

"Hi Soul!"

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you and Black Star in my house?" Soul asked. "Like. If it's not too much trouble?"

"Oh, right well we got you a dog, and I'm moving in," Maka said. "Although if it makes you feel better, I got a dog and we're moving in."

Soul hung up.

Befriending, or rather, being befriended by Maka and Black Star was something akin to learning to roll with the punches, both literally and figuratively. They had very different ways of showing affection than he did.

He wasn't sure his upper arm was every going to be the same again, to be honest.

Still, when he pulled in to park beside Black Star's truck, it occurred to him that he should make sure that he wasn't being indoctrinated to some kind of very inefficient, mid-nineties hip-hop worshipping cult. Especially since he could see Black Star on the roof, repairing the exact buckled shingle that had been leaking water into the upstairs bathroom.

That's what cults did. They made you feel warm and welcome and they solved all your problems then they stole your money and your organs. Probably.

Maka climbed out the living room window to greet him, in too much of a hurry to walk the five or so yards to the front door and exit that way.

"Sorry about this, down Herc-" what must've been Maka's dog, but looked an awful lot like a small horse whose skin hung in heavy folds, climbed through the window after her, and transitioned into a more liquid form of dog at her feet, growling at Soul- "Professor Stein held me back after class today, Shakira needs a friend, basically."

"I'm her friend!" Soul said. "Am I not good enough or something?"

"No," Maka said. "You're not. So I adopted Herc, the biggest dog we have-"

"Who doesn't like me?"

"He doesn't like men in general, don't take it personally," She said, rubbing her toe over Herc's spine to reassure him. Soul recognised him now, Herc was the first dog that Soul'd met in the shelter. "It happens when we get dogs from homes with… with domestic abuse histories."

Soul squatted in front of 'Herc' who was still growling, and made soothing noises in the back of his throat. He held out his hand, palm out for Herc to sniff at cautiously. Both of them looked up at Maka, at least until Soul got bowled over by Shakira.

This was a common enough occurrence that it didn't even phase their conversation, which continued with Shakira sitting on Soul's chest and scraping her raspy tongue over Soul's face. He was going to get beard burn if he wasn't careful, and it wouldn't even be the first time.

"Anyway, my lease is up and my roommate is moving in with his boyfriend, for whatever dumb reason," she raised her voice, and Soul got the distinct impression that she was aiming this at a third party.

"We're in love, Maks, and it's a natural progression of the relationship, so you can suck it," Black Star's voice drifted from the roof. "'Sides, you introduced us."

Soul rolled out from under Shakira and went inside to google how much he should charge for rent and how to tell if he was in a cult. They'd be bickering until they got bored or hungry.

"I didn't introduce you - you broke in and I wasn't home!"

"Tomayto, tomato."

It turned out that living with Maka wasn't that much different from not living with her. Sure there was an extra dog, but she'd spent a lot of time hanging around anyway, with or without Black Star.

The only real difference was that more friends started drifting into his life - mostly they were visiting Maka, Shakira or Hercules, but he nodded at them when they came through. Sometimes he even offered them coffee.

His mom would find his hosting skills abysmal but it's not like he can bring any more shame to the family name than he already has.

There was Kidd, Black Star's boyfriend and Maka's former roommate.

"What are you doing?"

"Clearing out your pantry - this tin of peaches went out of date five years ago!" He waved the offending tin in Soul's direction.

"Where's Black Star?"

"He noticed a window that was painted shut, you know how he gets."

Oh yeah. Those two were perfect for each other.

"Alright, as long as you're having fun."

Two sisters who ran a social media make-up guru empire, with the occasional venture into their unnerving and incredible sharpshooting prowess. They had their own cosmetics line, Demon Pistol, and insisted on bringing it over to make-over Maka.

Liz and Patti, the Thompson sisters.

Maka normally didn't fight them on the make-overs, seeming somewhat resigned to them as a consequence of acquaintance.

Although, they often fought over the best approach to style their guinea pig.

"Look up."

"Look down."

"No, I think the Immoral Coral lip could be fun!"

Soul didn't have anything better to do, so he sat down next to them.

"I'll have what she's having," he said, cocking his head in Maka's direction. The sister's looked at each other, and something passed between them, before Liz descended on him. "Make me beautiful."

"You're already beautiful," Liz said automatically, like it was a well rehearsed line. "But babe, you are gonna be a knockout."

This look is modelled on the gorgeous SoulEater who only had a mild allergic reaction to #maccomestics pro longwear fluidline! #oops #stilllookscutethough

"Hey, little brother."

Facetimeing with his brother was an increasingly regular event, and one that was rife with danger. His mother could be hovering right over Wes's shoulder, ready to demand to talk to Soul. Why hadn't he called her and his father? Didn't he know they worried? All the rain in Seattle was making him look washed out, didn't he know?

But Wes mostly wanted to see Maka, Shakira, and Hercules.

And Soul too, sure. Don't forget him.

"Hey, big brother," Soul drawled. "The animals are asleep in the laundry room, and Maka's got a shift at the pound."

Wes didn't try to conceal his disappointment or if he did, he did a terrible job in Soul's humble opinion.

"Awh, you know I don't only call you to see them, right?" Wes said. "Sometimes I want to see your ugly mug too."

"Sorry if my face offends your delicate sensibilities, but it runs in the family."

"Ouch," Wes said, like the barb was objectively, if not personally, hurtful. "Whose been teaching you to stand your ground?"

"What?" Soul shook his head. "Is there a reason for the call? Other than to see the dogs and my housemate?"

"When do I get to meet them, anyway, Soul?"

"So, I'll take that as 'why would I ever call to speak to you, my only brother, whom I love', then, hmm?"

Soul hung up.

"Soul! I'm home!" Maka dumped armfuls of brown paper bags onto the counter. "I brought Indian, and I'm really sorry-"

"YAHOO!"

"-But, I also brought Black Star."

Black Star wasn't the only friend she brought, but he was the loudest, and the most likely to commit guerilla home improvements, which Soul had mixed feelings about when he was trying to sleep. And Kid was eyeing up something that wasn't organised to his liking already, even though Soul was sure that he hadn't made drastic changes to anything in open view since he'd been here last.

"Okay, who else needs a beer?" Soul offered. "Liz? Patti?"

"Sure," Liz said absently, scrolling through something on her phone. "I could use a drink or fifteen."

"I'll get plates!" Patti said, springing forward.

"Do you know where they are?" Soul said, but the only answer he got was the clatter of dishware. "Of course you do."

He popped the cap off a beer for himself and Liz, offering her one of the craft beers from his secret stash that everyone knew about. Apparently him and Liz were the only ones with any kind of refined palette, since he was pretty sure that Black Star's drink of choice was turpentine, or something equally hard.

Patti started setting the enormous dining table that Edie insisted was for family gatherings, even though Soul could not recall any of his family ever gathering here.

Soul started unpacking the food, reading out the orders from the box lids and handing them around to anyone who made grabby motions in response.

Before dinner started, Soul had hoped that he might be able salvage some leftover Indian for his lunch tomorrow, but by the time the dust had cleared the plates were so clean it was like there'd never been any food there in the first place.

Soul felt heavy, and and not just because Shakira was resting her head on his thigh, drooling a considerable damp circle into his jeans. He was full and a little bit sleepy, and looking around, he could tell he wasn't the only one.

Patti was sleepily tracing shapes onto the tablecloth, her eyes glazed over as she dreamed distant dreams. Liz was squinting at the empty bottles lined up in front of her, struggling to read the labels. Black Star and Kidd were huddled over one or other of their phones, snorting intermittently and Maka was lying on the floor, cooing gently at Hercules.

Black Star's phone buzzed loudly, the beep from Kim Possible ringing loudly in the still, sleepy air.

"Soul!" Black Star flung the phone at him, and Soul scrambled to catch it. "Read!"

Tsubaki Nakatsukasa:

Cryptid Catalogue is coming to see Seattle if you wanna fight Noah

He's coming to disprove the wolf walker

Like we all don't know that's just a guy who likes to walk his dog

He only ever goes after the easy debunks the prick

"Soul, bro, you made it, bro!"

Please, please R&R. It gives me life and also I have somehow intrinsically linked poitive feedback on things I create to my self worth. Just so we're clear.