Warning:this chapter contains mentions of prostitution, underage smoking (in some countries), domestic abuse, and neglect. I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin, and am using the franchise for a non-commercial work of fanfiction.
Her breath formed little puffs of what could have been cigarette smoke, if only she had thought to bring such relief as a pack of cancer-sticks with her. Of course, she had brought her phone, which was now just as useful to her as the high heels that tore away at her tired feet, but still. She hadn't been thinking straight, and she was pressed for time.
She was now walking the streets, pulling along a half-full, expensive suitcase, a stylish coat with no hood that didn't keep much of the cold out, four-inch heels and shorts. Everything was colourful, showy, supposed to attract unwanted attention. But as long as she looked sure of herself and kept walking, she will be all right. She knew that from experience.
The night had fallen quite some time ago, and the chill intensified. Her stomach was now rumbling and the vitrine in the bakery that she passed by was brightly illuminated. The pastries gleamed like cream-filled jewels under the warm artificial light, and were probably in the same price range as well, from the looks of things.
But she had no money. Her stomach might be growling, but nothing she could do could fill it. Maybe she could offer her phone up in exchange for a bagful of stale bread?.. It seemed like a good deal in the moment.
She pushed the doors open, and the little bell above her head tinkled way too merrily for her current state of mind. She hadn't realised that this was some sort of snack-bar as well as a traditional bread bakery, and a lot of teenagers in their posh uniforms and bourgeois men turned to stare at her as she walked in, pulling her suitcase along as she went.
Her style and social origins did indeed clash with the ones of the other clients, but she didn't let it bother her. Her objective was food, and she was fairly determined to get to it. When she reached the counter, a man walked up to meet her from the other side, blond hair that was darker at the roots all too obvious, and smile too wide for his narrow face.
"What can get in exchange for this?" she asked, sliding the electronic device in its bright casing across the counter.
The man looked at it for a second, then turned to a revolving display-panel.
"Look, babe, it's tempting, but I need to respect the rules, you see."
He had turned the display to one of the sides where bright red letters were spread across the surface, but she didn't even try to decipher them.
"It says that we don't serve low-income workers, tanned and/or coloured people, and most importantly not prostitutes. Sorry, chick, nothing here for you."
"I quit. I'm not a prostitute anymore. Now can I have a sandwich?"
He just shook his head and went back to cleaning the fingerprints off his glass. Her fury increased tenfold by her hunger, she stormed towards the door, stopped halfway by a boy who was maybe a year or two older than herself when she was about to pull down on the handle.
"I'll get you food if you want, honey, if you do me a little favour in return."
The blonde looked at him with eyes of ice, and the youngster visibly squirmed under her gaze, regretting his earlier words.
"Tell you what; I'll give you some advice, for free: don't mess with me. You'll regret it."
And she left, leaving the place silent in the wake of the terror she inspired.
Once out on the streets again though, she sighed and slumped a little against the wall of the building. The exhaustion was slowly eating away at her, and the idea that she was now homeless in this huge, cruel city was not going to reassure her one bit.
The streets were lined with nice, old-fashioned street lights, and not a single human figure could be seen straying outside the posh tea and clothes shops with warm-looking interiors and nice vitrines. Snow had been cleared from the pavements and the roads had been salted, so nothing adhered to it, but the flakes still fell thickly. Soon, they were coming down so heavily that the lights she so desired to share in the heat of blurred and couldn't have been seen for what they were…
Something touched her arm, something warm, and she snapped out of her torpor immediately. There was a man, impossibly tall and very lightly dressed for the weather, looking at her with a concerned look on his face.
"Y-you were sleeping. You'll die if you do that in this weather."
She tried her frigid stare on him, but he only blushed and looked away. And that was then she saw his feet.
"You're barefoot," she pointed out dumbly. Her thoughts were addled, her mind slowed by the deathly slumber she had been snapped out of.
He shuffled around, still embarrassed. "Um, maybe it's best if you go home…"
"I don't have one," she snapped drily, maybe a bit more than she should have.
"Oh."
Again, the shuffling. And was that sweat on his forehead? And…
"What's wrong with your neck?"
"Er… that doesn't matter. Tell you what, you can share the shelter I made for the night with me. It'll stop the snow from getting in, and it's against the wall with the bakery's furnace, so it's warm."
She smirked, amusement giddying her strangely. "And what do you want in exchange? If I was ready to sleep with someone tonight, I would have chosen the other daddy's boy that asked me earlier on, he was offering a better deal."
He went very red at the suggestion and spluttered a little bit before getting his words out.
"I-I-I don't want any of that! I just d-don't want to see people die of the cold! This way," he mumbled, going down an alley that she hadn't seen before, adding, barely audibly "I'm only seventeen, anyway."
She held a scoff back just in time, but despite her mocking, she admired his courage. It took guts for someone to offer help so easily, when they obviously didn't have much of their own. Especially with her being, well, her own grumpy self, she supposed.
The place wasn't particularly dirty; no crawling rats or sewage in this kind of neighbourhood, just neat trashcans and piles of miscellaneous rubbish. Further on, there was a small structure made out of crates and topped with a dustbin-lid roofing on which the snowflakes fell and had already formed a small blanket.
"Well, this is it. It isn't much, and…"
She didn't reply, simply crawled into the place. She illuminated the inside of the den with her phone, and found it to be surprisingly large and cosy. It became definitely more cramped though, when the boy followed suite and folded his large frame into the space.
"I used your suitcase to close the gap, if you don't mind."
She didn't, but she decided that it wasn't useful to tell him so. Slowly, feeling came back to her extremities, and finding the hot rock that was obviously the side of the furnace this guy had talked about, she kicked off her heels and put her socked feet on the stone. It was heavenly.
"If I may ask, erm… what is your name? And is that a mobile phone?"
She had not realised she had left the flashlight of the device on. After all, it might be better if she had something to see by; she couldn't exactly say that she knew this guy.
"Annie. And yes, it is. If you've got any food to spare, you can have it," she answered, offering the same deal than she had earlier on to the shopkeeper. No reason she should deny this person an opportunity to make some quick cash either. And he probably needed it more, anyway.
He waved his hands around in the half-light, not shaking his head to say no, strangely enough.
"N-No, I'm sorry. I haven't eaten in a few days, either. It's difficult to find food that hasn't had bleach poured over it here, so I've had to go without."
Again, that dark patch on the side of his neck. She got to her knees and leaned in closer, not minding the proximity, and holding the light up for a better look.
"Wh-wh-what… No, wait, please…"
Not noticing the hands raised in defense and glossy eyes, she grasped his chin and harshly twisted his head to one side. He cried out, but didn't fight when she looked over his wound.
"Someone tried to slit your throat."
There she was again, Captain Obvious.
"When did this happen?" she asked, and she could now feel the trembling that wracked through his entire frame.
"Three days ago."
"And if I understand correctly, you haven't eaten anything in that time, either."
"No."
She felt a little bad at that. She was complaining about not having had any food for the last few hours, and this kid had been in the same position for way longer than her, and had been hurt as well, to top it all off. Then, she remembered something else she had taken note of earlier on.
"Three days in the snow… without footwear?"
He swallowed thickly, and whispered a "Yes," visibly terrified.
She let go of him, and pulled her suitcase out from where it acted as a door, letting a whistling draft in that chilled their little pocket of warmth in seconds. Opening it, she tried to remember what she had thrown in, before being confronted with a large variety of flimsy underwear.
Right, that was to be expected.
"Here, take this, it'll help keep it covered up, at least. Oh, and here."
She threw him a large orange and white scarf, as well as a pair of plain white socks, that would maybe fit him if they were stretched far enough. He looked at her with wide eyes, and pulling out a sheet she had taken from one of the beds, she brought it over to cover them both. She then crawled back to the suitcase, shut it, and put it back in position.
"B-But…"
"You're welcome. And don't get any ideas, it's just for warmth."
She huddled in close to him, insisting even when he shrunk back. He stayed stiff until she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, minding his wounded neck. He finally melted into the hug, putting his own arms around her back, resting as comfortably as they could with a raging snowstorm, a solid pavement underneath them, and only a sheet to keep their warmth from escaping their entwined bodies.
Laws in this country should be more developed. We are as advanced as we will ever be, yet children still have no rights. Education is only ever attained by those who don't have the bad luck of having their family working in a factory or field, and at least 70% of the population is illiterate. We may have maximum employment, but at what cost? Only a small number of our people, the nobles, the shopkeepers, the army, are offered a life other than one of a mindless bull at the grindstone. This has to change.
-Speech written by Hange Zoe, high ranking Men at Arms officer, spoken at the conclusion of a silent protest in the streets of Trost
