Summary:

They were not princesses. This was not a fairytale. And this was never meant to happen to them. The Thompson Sisters had only ever had each other, so what happens when they meet their prince charming? R&R please.

Pairings: Kid/Liz (If you squint in later chapters)

Disclaimer: Trust me, if I owned Soul Eater, I wouldn't be writing this.

Chapter One

Once Upon A Time

Liz and Patty Thompson were about as far from ladylike as the streets of Brooklyn they called home were from Buckingham Palace. They weren't polite or courteous; they didn't step daintily or act with finesse. It didn't pay if you were a snob on these streets, you could still get yourself raped or robbed just as easily as anyone else. So they chose to focus instead not on etiquette, but on survival.

Liz valued the power to transform into a weapon much higher than she would've valued manners or the skill to waltz. The sisters weren't the prissy little princes and princesses that they stole from, who had money enough to spare in a stick up. By birth, that life had been beyond reach indefinitely. Instead they'd stolen everything they had. Lived a life of crime that meant no one dared cross their path. And the more she thought about it, Liz decided she was more suited to the role of the dragon or the evil witch within a fairytale.

Not that she'd tell Patty that. She chose to romanticize their life, telling her sister that if they were untouchable, that they were the queens of their own world. It was bitter lies, all fake sweetness, and despite her sister sunny disposition, Liz still hung under a grey cloud of misery. She couldn't face telling that innocent face that they wouldn't be alive if they weren't weapons, and that even though they were they could be dead tomorrow. Their life was a game of cat and mouse, and even if they were the kitties with the sharpest claws, hounds still lurked behind every turn. This life was no fairytale. The alleys no castle. The concrete jungle of the backstreets no magical land.

Eat or be eaten. Sink or swim. Survive and thrive, or end up six feet under with no mourner to your name. That was their reality, not some enchanted kingdom. And Liz had learned to live with that, and even shaped herself to suit.

She remembers telling Patty about Cinderella, about how her life was miserable, but the prince came and swept her off her feet. Despite being practically a slave, she was still beautiful on the inside, and so she won in the end. Liz hated the story herself. Because she knew that wasn't what the real world was like. No prince had come for them yet, and none ever would. Even though Patty was beautiful both inside and out, this was no fairytale, and there would be no happy ending. But she'd tell any story if it would help Patty sleep easier in the cold alleys in which they spent their lives.

Night was the worst for Liz. It was cold and dark, and while she let her sister dream, she had to watch for anybody who'd foolishly try to take advantage of them. They'd had to train each other to spring into weapon form the second they'd woken up. Even though, because of the dangers lurking behind the dumpsters and the decaying buildings, Liz barely slept a wink. Substances kept her eyes open, common and fairly harmless in the great scheme of things. Mostly cannabis, but if the going got tough she resort to much harder drugs. That was when she hated herself, because while she'd let herself become sucked into the filth of Brooklyn, she wanted her sister to end up nothing like she was.

Patty still had a hope. She was young and tough, not letting anything sink too far into her skin and laughing off everything. Liz had fallen victim to the underworld much easier. It seeped into her soul, dragging her into a way of life she had never wanted to be apart of. When they had first been abandoned (by their whore of a mother, the heartless cow) they only mugged 'just to get by, until big sis' found a job'. But now, it wasn't so they could find another life, it was so they could keep living the one they had. The Thompson Sisters were feared, exercising power over the others in this unforgiving city who were hard on luck. Liz loved that authority, that even though they were trash to everyone higher than they were, those prissy snobs were still scared of them. If nothing else, that was what she enjoyed. Despite being rich, with a place to rest their heads, they were scared of them. She relished that feeling of power.

It was sick, it was twisted, but for a while, it was manageable. They were weapons after all, and it gave them enough to stay alive, and even thrive in a pathetic, unlawful way. But every time they added another crime to their growing list of offenses, Liz secretly prayed. To a god she didn't believe in and one that wouldn't listen anyway, because she was going to hell. She pleaded that even though she was a sinner of the lowest variety, Patty was clean. And that their punishments should rest entirely on her own shoulders. Wishful thinking, but like she led Patty to believe in fairytales, she believed in that prayer. She didn't know which was more ridiculous.

It had started out normally. A kid slightly younger than themselves, but clearly rolling in money nevertheless. He was an easy target for their food money for the day; if they were lucky, even enough for a night in a Motel. Patty warped into a gun and Liz had walked calmly, in a practiced fashion towards their new target. Frankly, even from afar she could see he was a bit odd looking, and definitely not from around Brooklyn. He walked too confidently, held his head too high. As she stalked closer she could see he was almost completely black and white, and his tailored suit matched symmetrically, save for the weird white stripes on half his head. He was certainly striking. But money was money, and they needed cash now. Odd looking or not.

Liz was close enough to see his eyes now, and he'd noticed her. She could have listened to her gut feeling, and turned back while she still could, but she was determined. Even though nervousness had knotted through her stomach, and she was far too uneasy for a standard mugging. Something was different about this boy, like he wasn't even from this world, let alone from Brooklyn. But the Thompson Sisters never backed down.

His eyes stood out the most from his practically monochrome form. Sharp, analytical, and a jarring shade of golden. They held too much knowledge, like he was aware of something that was right over her head. No one had looked at the Devils of Brooklyn like that, ever. And when his lips turned to a smile, despite it being seemingly friendly, it sent shivers down her spine. He was quite literally black and white in appearance, but it didn't take a genius to gather that there was something much more to this kid. And even though Liz was possibly the sharpest when it came to street smarts, she had barely attended school for a year in total.

He stopped, hands in his pockets, with a completely straight face. Most people they'd approached were terrified at this point. He was too calm, too collected. It felt like he was staring right through them. Beneath their skin and into their souls. She heard that their were ones who could do that, from the academy. The one for all the privileged kids. Where, as weapons, they could have been in a year or two. Like hell they would be though. Especially not if the students were like this.

Liz took a long, drawn puff on her joint (she'd never let Patty lay a finger on her drugs. 'Hypocritical bitch' she'd scolded herself) to sooth her now frayed nerves. But she wasn't backing down. The smoke calmed her, boosting the buzz she was getting off of it. Dragging her that little bit farther into being the kind of person she hated. Nah, this boy was full of it. They were the Devils of Brooklyn for crying out loud, they could handle a runt like this.

The pair was face to face now. Those eyes were even more piercing up close. Was he a weapon too? She didn't think so, he would've transformed by now. But she didn't find the stories about looking into souls so ridiculous anymore.

He still wasn't scared. She should change that. Liz shoved him in the left shoulder, hard, but he seemed to just turn against the wall where the movement directed him rather than have been thrown there. And he still looked unfazed. Damn kid. Liz thrust Patty under his chin, laying her other hand on the wall beside his head and snarling. "Give us everything ya' got and we don't blow your brains out." Simple and to the point. This shouldn't take too long.

He raised an eyebrow. There was no fear, and he almost looked bored. How dare him! There was no one in Brooklyn who wasn't scared of the Thompson Sisters! He glanced down at Patty, whose face flashed in the glinting metal, sticking her tongue out. The raspberry she blew at him sounded metallic from the gun. Smiling, like he had his own little private joke, he looked back at Liz. "So you are the Devils of Brooklyn. It's a pleasure to meet you." He said their title with a hint of sarcasm. Not with the fear they were used to hearing it associated with.

She shoved the barrel harder against his throat. Didn't even flinch. This boy was getting to her now. "Listen here brat." She started, coating her voice with as much malice as she could. "It ain't your 'pleasure' to meet us two in an alley. You clearly know us, which is super, because I don't have to explain what will happen if you don't give us your cash." Liz blew smoke in his face, a thick smog of cheap drugs. His expression contorted to one of disgust. It was only a rare moment of victory however, as it quickly moved back to rich self confidence. "That's a filthy habit you have."

Alright, now she was angry. "Just who do you think you are, stripes!?" She narrowed her eyes and growled. To her surprise, he winced slightly at the stripes comment. But he kept a level voice, still sounding completely disinterested in her threats. "I'm a Shinigami. And I have come here to-" He was cut off mid sentence, however, as a long, clawed finger caught his weight and dragged him from her.

Liz could have sworn that despite the huge, leering monster now slashing his tongue at him, the boy had rolled his eyes in an annoyance as he was swept away. And suddenly, as she backed away to see the size of that thing, whatever the hell it was, she realized that kid was about as scary as a puppy in comparison.

She stood, frozen in place, and screamed.