Schools liked to act like they cared about their students.
They didn't, but try explaining that and the loudest thing for miles would be some school counselor asking why it is that schools suck, and sweetheart, are you being bullied? Meanwhile five periods went by, and everything of educational value was lost. Finding that upsetting was considered grounds for another session a week later. Because wanting to talk about feelings was so normal.
Ymir had her doubts that anyone believed that. Including the counselor. What really mattered was that if she ran off and did something scandalous, no one could say the school hadn't put in the bare minimum token effort to prevent such behavior.
Looks were everything. With that checked off, the freedom to do whatever the hell you want rang.
Historia got that. One more infernally attractive factoid about her. Ymir was still working her way up to being whatever the hell, so hot cheerleader's current shtick mostly involved her phone— but damn if she didn't make the most of it. While a grand total of no one pointed out that the school goddess was about as interested in them and their anything as any real god had to be.
It was all about appearances. Historia's went way further than her skirt length, which was the multifold brand of luck that had people on the other side of the planet dying for the sake of balance.
Ymir knew all about appreciating a master at work. She spent most of her time being one.
So when the school set out neat, orderly guidelines about where their beloved sheeple were allowed to be during lunch hour, whatever. If they wanted to pretend they had a say in where the cool kids sat, Ymir was willing to work with it. All it took was finding the right prop.
Some people, like Porco's delinquent friend, went old school and paid in full for their gear. No one was going to mess with the kid who brought a knife to school when that kid was Annie. As long as good ol' cousin Levi wasn't around, she had a permanent hall pass with edges sharp enough to kill a man. Several, if the rumors had any truth to them.
Porco needed to hang around better influences.
Ymir, she went classic.
She tucked a manila folder under her arm and went right out the front gate.
Very official, very unlikely to get the cops called, and innocuous enough that the idiot in the suit didn't so much as glance up when she snapped a picture of him lighting up a cigarette on school grounds. All-star dad had some intense thoughts on what he'd do to them if they ever got their phones confiscated, so Pieck had charitably donated hers to the cause.
Ymir, primo messenger girl on a mission, didn't waste her time on the private eye spiel begging to be played out. One hour a day, she got to share a room with an undersexed goddess. She wasn't going to offer more of her precious seconds up to the altar for cheap drama. The planned set was bad enough.
Keeping the folder on obvious display, she walked across the parking lot.
The suit, peasant name Ralph (he wore a nametag; a collar must have had too much dignity), didn't catch on fast. He looked up eons too late to change his fate, Ymir sliding easily into his hazy view. His shiny silver lighter glinted in his hand like it knew it was never going out of style while Ralph scowled like he knew he couldn't say the same.
"School's that way, kid."
This was going to be a fucking treat.
"Smoking's really bad for your health," Ymir said, keeping up a smile for her new friend. She drew Pieck's phone with a flourish, flicking over to its latest digital addition. "Maybe not as bad as this, though."
Ralph's scowl added a pulsing vein or two, and a swell of panic. Ymir sat back on the beautifully waxed hood of the nearest car. His car. This guy had never had a bright idea in his life, thank fuck. Ymir made a show of craning her neck to examine the evidence. "Would you look at that. Right in front of the school sign. Way to earn that street cred."
Never let it be said that the Reiss family hired people who couldn't understand blackmail.
With what they got up to, that was probably one of the top things they looked for, even if they neglected things like enough common sense to avoid lawbreaking when they were on the clock.
Ralph looked like he was rediscovering the part of him that was okay with murder. "What," he asked, "do you want?"
Ymir grinned at her new bestie. "You're Historia Reiss's driver, right?"
If there was anything you learned from sharing a house with a jock and his helicopter brother, it was getting up at the crack of dawn for things that made no sense.
"Hey, Historia!"
Ymir was finally finding it in her to forgive them for that.
The early morning sun flattered Historia's figure just as well as the other times of day, perfecting her halo hair and bringing new light to the sheen of sweat cheerleading practice always gifted her with. All the shifting hours brought out were fifty new shades of gorgeous, and a touch of drowsiness to go with the death in her eyes.
All while she waited by the locker room instead of heading in. Because when Ymir said her name, she stopped. Easy peasy lemon fucking squeezy.
Like the smile Ymir felt stepping up with the butterflies. She kept a lid on it. There wasn't much she could do about a person being a walking aphrodisiac, but if she was going to return the favor, she couldn't go around with dopey hearts in her eyes. Major turnoffs like that were why Porco was still a virgin. She was on the charm and swag track, not the loser romantic track.
Dialing it up a notch, she winked at Historia and held out the fruits of her labor.
"Thought you could use a pick-me-up before school," she said. "A pretty girl like you should always have something to snack on."
One vending machine granola bar, as sponsored by Ralph. Cheap, probably not poison, and most importantly, something that Historia liked that wasn't her phone. Other options included watered down sports drinks and vitamin water. Ymir was now the proud owner of a list of acceptable flavors for every consumable Historia tolerated—along with the confirmation that servants were basically paid stalkers. Bunch of creeps.
Historia took the candy bar with a hesitation so slight it belonged in a casino. Points to Ralph.
"Do you blackmail people often?"
Fuck Ralph.
"It's more of a trading favors deal," Ymir said. She sprawled a hand on her hip. "I offer to cover for someone, they owe me, I let them know how to clear the debt." Nowhere in the process was procuring a new debt mentioned. That little thing the Reisses should seriously consider screening for was supposed to keep that from happening.
Schooling her expression like a boss a few pay grades behind the light of her life, she kept the next conversation piece relaxed. "He told you about it?"
Historia shrugged. "He thought you were trying to poison me."
She peeled back the wrapper and took a bite of granola.
Blue eyes left laser etchings in Ymir's pupils, and just what the fuck. What the fuck bound this person to a human form, and could she get its number next. Hell, she should have bargained with Ralph for Historia's from the start. Maybe her to-do list needed an upgrade from its one item generalization.
"Not," Ymir said, "my first plan for your body."
Historia bit off another piece. Ymir's shoes dug into a crack in the pavement. Blinking was slowly earning an urban legend tally. There really was something about those damn eyes. They weren't so bleary now. There was almost a spark looking back at her. Art appreciation wasn't a course Ymir had plans to bother with, but this moment was making it rain college credits.
"You could have asked," Historia said abruptly.
Ymir's eyebrows popped up. It took a herculean effort to remember that they were back to talking about the Ralph factor and keep her mouth from going full lewd. She should have gotten a drink while she was at the vending machine. "What, you? You take requests?"
Historia shrugged again, popping the last bit of the bar into her mouth. "Yours, maybe."
She turned around and walked into the locker room.
Ymir stood still.
For a while.
A heart-throbbing, transcendent while.