The Ripper - City of Marrow
In the city of shadows, candles, and broken things, fires were prohibited. Even in the dead of winter, when glossy layers of ice clung to the stalactites and blankets of snow fell through the ruptures giving way to the surface, when men could die huddled in groups and grieving mothers smothered their children rather than watch them freeze, lighting an outdoor fire was punishable by death. Tinder was precious and strictly regulated even in the world above; and the topside government didn't care for squealing babes and suffering beggars enough to squander valuable resources. As it stood, even the inexhaustible dried cow pats were reluctantly sold, and driven at insane prices.
Kenny Ackerman scowled.
He'd bet his sharpest knife it was the Military Police themselves who lit this bonfire. Whoever had wasn't even trying to hide it, planting it smack in the middle of the plaza where anyone could stumble across it. He could even see a pair of MPs standing at the edge of the crumbling market, rubbing their gloved hands together, breathing hot air into their cupped palms, and making no move to do as they were instructed and stamp out the flames.
Of course, such a thing would be unwise. As an inkling of heat began to fill the massive cavern, many of the Underground inhabitants had emerged from the shadows, like tattered and filthy moths, and settled down before the makeshift brazier. Cloaked individuals and ragged families, whimpering children, thieves, whores, fugitives, assassins, and so on. Drunken men staggered out of the taverns to see what the commotion was outside and laughed and called out to their friends when they discovered the warm fire waiting for them. The barkeepers and serving girls soon followed to cater to them. Stray cats and mangy dogs stepped forward to warm their paws by the flames. Somewhere in the sparse crowd, an old musician's crooked fingers had warmed enough to play his fiddle, and a tune that was neither happy nor sad reverberated throughout the Underground. A pack of youngsters had gathered around this man who danced and played around an overturned hat on the ground. He was joined by a guitarist some time later, followed by a woman drumming an overturned barrel and ringing the tarnished bells on her fingers. Before long, a raucous gathering was echoing throughout the subterranean city.
If the Military Police wanted to put the fire out, it was probable they'd have a riot to deal with next.
Leaning his head back against the wall, Kenny closed his eyes. He'd forgotten how bitterly cold it could get down here. Since arriving in the Underground a month ago, he'd found himself wearing heavy coats and scarves indoors, even while he slept. He'd made his home in the hayloft of an abandoned stable from when humanity was hopeful about retreating below the surface to escape the titans. It was a nice enough place, he supposed. At least by Underground standards. The leftover straw had rotted away years ago, but the wooden stalls were miraculously still intact, and the stink of horses was long gone. He couldn't complain.
It was a secure place to stay at any rate, and one in his line of work could never argue with that.
At the sound of the warped floorboards creaking, he opened his eyes, one hand instinctively reaching for the knife concealed in his coat. It was probably nothing: a 'client' leaving for the night, one of the prostitutes coming to investigate the commotion outside, maybe the Proprietor had gotten off his drunken ass for once.
But as he trained his eyes on the light on the weathered porch cast from the open doorway, a tall shadow grew into the form of a woman and a shock of coal black hair caught his eye. The interloper was shorter than him by a head, had white skin as pale as the moon, she wore and ill-fitting, grey dress that was fraying at the hem. She observed the illegal bonfire with calm, blue eyes, blinking groggily and yawning, then glanced up at him.
"Hey."
She nodded, crossing her arms and rubbing small circles into her swollen belly. "Who started the fire?"
Kenny shrugged, holding his hands out palm side up. "No idea. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
The woman laughed quietly and asked in a low voice, "And how am I supposed to do that? Between this damnable cold, this unbelievable racket, and this impossible child, you may as well ask for the moon."
He grinned, allowing an indulgent chuckle, and wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders, quickly kissing her coal black hair. In response, his little sister sleepily tucked her head into the hollow of his neck and murmured softly to her unborn baby.
Her pregnancy seemed almost unreal to him. It didn't seem that long ago she was a baby herself, the tiny newborn cradled in their exhausted mother's arms. Even now, so many years later, he could remember his father lifting him up to see her little, red face all pinched up as though she were smelling something awful. He remembered her gripping his thumb in her tiny hand, holding her whenever Mother needed a rest, wiping breakfast off her face when she was sloppy, and he remembered the day she learned to walk. How she'd toddled her way up to him, before Mother or Father or anyone else, and threw her chubby arms around his neck, as if she'd known who would adore and protect her in the years to come.
She was too young to have a child, surely. Even if she was nearly a grown woman, she was still his baby sister. He pulled her closer, resting his jaw atop her dark hair. And all he had left.
Ever since their father was killed in an accident-or murdered, depending on the point of view-and their mother died of a winter chill, they'd meant everything to each other. It was a cold, cruel, and absurd world, where men betrayed each other and only the strongest survived. He'd learned that lesson long ago and nearly at the cost of his life. Kuchel had learned it the same day, the exact second before she fought back against the man trying to kill them and stabbed him to death with his own knife.
They used to be innocent.
They used to play together on the surface, chasing each other through the grasslands and forest surrounding Dulce Village, fishing in the river, tumbling down the snowy foothills in the winter. Had they stayed, they would've remained that way. Had they stayed, he probably would've been hired on as a farmhand when he was old enough. Kuchel's baby would probably be legitimate, the child of some nice topside fellow she married. Had they stayed, they would've been happy.
Had the king and his damned hunting dogs left them alone, they would've blissfully unaware of their family's bloody heritage.
But the king's men came, determined to exterminate the last of the Ackermans for reasons they didn't understand.
Two thousand gold sinas for him if captured. One thousand for his sister. A doubled price and citizenship in the Interior for just their heads. And that was before they became 'The Ripper.' He grimaced. Since then, the bounty for their deaths had been doubled and tripled over and over until it reached a point where he doubted the Crown would even be able to pay the price they offered.
Such fools.
Kuchel tugged at his coat and he found her watching him with a concerned glance, one hand still resting over the bulge in her dress. Gods, he was going to murder the son of a bitch who did that to her, he promised and kissed her forehead. "How long?"
She shrugged, holding her hands out palms up. "Talitha says any day now. You'll be here?"
"Why wouldn't I?" This wasn't the first time she'd asked. He took her hand in his.
By now, the gathering at the fire had acquired a singer whose haunting voice chilled hearts and echoed throughout the cavern, mournfully harmonizing with the thudding drum, the broken guitar, and the keening violin.
"Sad tune." He remarked.
Kuchel hummed in agreement.
-0-0-0-
Author's Notes: A series of one-shots featuring the residents and regulars of the Underground. I don't know how many chapters there will be for this one, but I'm shooting for a minimum of twenty.
A note on this one in particular, in the sixty-fifth and sixty-ninth chapters, I got the impression the violent and heartless Kenny the Ripper really did love his sister since he apparently 'was looking for her' when they met up in the Underground, and he was paying a visit when he found her dead. The title comes from 'City of Marrow' by SJ Tucker, which is an amazing song and I highly recommend listening to it at some point.
Let me know what you think, and if you liked it, be sure to check out my other Shingeki no Kyojin series Tavern Ventures.
Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin is owned by Hajime Isayama, City of Marrow is owned by SJ Tucker.