As usual, Shingeki no Kyojin does not belong to me.
Lazy author, trying to avoid having to mention a coin system... but in the end, I couldn't. So it goes as follows: 100 coppers to 1 silver, 100 silver to 1 gold, 100 gold to 1 ingot. Prior to the fall of Wall Maria, a small loaf of bread costs 2 to 3 coppers.
Constructive Criticism would be loved. (hint, hint, nudge, nudge)
Armin was pretty sure there was something fishy going on. The numbers weren't adding up. Despite the sudden influx of customers next door (most of which were also invited to take part in a certain suicidal operation), his older sisters next door barely made more than their usual amount. That said, both landlady and Boss (Armin had taken to calling him Boss, his older sisters called him Boss, so why not?) next door had been acting strange. While the landlady hadn't increased rent, she's also been demanding Eren to cook all the time. The Boss had also started coming over more frequently, leaving his employees to figure out their next customers. Armin got a part time job; he books clients next door. The fabric he bought with his wages turned into three warm cloaks and a new blanket. (The bed was getting too small for one old man and three growing children. Nowadays, they took turns sleeping on a second-hand couch.) There was an elegant design embroidered on the cloaks too. Mikasa had blushed when she said something about a family crest. Armin wondered when Mikasa had learned how to sew. Eren was just delighted that the designe was the same shade of green as the scouting legion.
A casual comment made by one of their neighbours caused a small expedition by three young preteens deep into the red light district. Armin was determined to find out why their rent seemed to keep increasing despite the amount of chores Eren kept doing. (Eren was seen sharpening his dagger one too many times. There was a set tightly shut jars deeply hidden in the corner that Armin and Mikasa had to swear not to touch. Three preteens in matching cloaks drew a lot of attention in the Rose's red light district. Not for the first time, Armin was grateful for the cloaks; the air was greasy and it stank of sweat and other unmentionable things. Armin would have been a lot more scared if it weren't for Mikasa casually snapping the wrist of a particularly rowdy drunkard. Another particular touchy feely hand got stabbed by Eren. They arrived at a particularly rowdy store. The smell of alcohol, blood and smoke was everywhere. Armin grimaced as he peered through the dirty windows. Their landlady and Boss was shown to an almost full table. Piles of wooden chips and paper lay on the table. Thus, Armin was introduced to a gambling parlour.
Once the two building owners were sufficiently high - I mean full, Eren corrected, the two wandered off into the streets with bulging purses. Eren scowled at the pig-like behaviour those two exhibited. Armin wanted to investigate. In Eren's experience, Armin's hunches tend to be right. There was no way in titan-infested lands that Eren would let his (frequently bullied) friend wander down dangerous streets alone. Judging by the dangerous gleam in Mikasa's eye, she thought the same.
The streets were disgusting. Eren smelled pot and alcohol around every corner and urine from alleys. Greedy beasts dressed in a variety of clothing hovered around the edges of their path. There were also some rather shabby looking kids following them too. Eren was pretty sure it was the same ones that were hovering around him for the past month or so. Mikasa's glare (under the hood of her cloak) was enough to deter most of the drunkards, but there was one particular instance where an opium addict (Eren recognized the signs, his landlady's been showing the same symptoms) lunged out towards him. Mikasa effectively stopped her. The addict was pretty once, but her hands had healed improperly and there was a noticeable limp which suggested she favoured one particular side. Eren gritted his teeth, but immediately changed his expression into a neutral one when Armin looked back at Mikasa and him. The next pig who touches one of them will get stabbed.
That gang was back again. They hover and follow Eren around like a flock of carrion crows. Mikasa had seen a few of them wandering down her street, but they usually avoid her and the marketplace. Mikasa adjusted her hood so it covered all of her hair and checked her pockets. All her knives (she had picked up plenty on her frequent market strolls) were there. Experience had taught her that slavers would follow them home - she had killed enough slavers in the alleys. Eren's assailant had muttered something about vengeance and a brother. Mikasa didn't care. This beautiful world was cruel. What Mikasa did care about was when another slaver - a sober, confident one strolled up towards Armin. She couldn't hear what Eren snarled at the man, but she did see the stranger stumbling back, cursing loudly as blood spurted from his hand. It was all the opening that the gang needed. Eren and Armin continued their way down the street. Mikasa looked back as she followed. Let's just say that there's one less mouth to feed.
Eren nodded a greeting at one of the shabbily dressed teens hanging around the parlour. They had met on one of Eren's frequent trips to the apothecary. (Eren had taken to slipping pain relief medicine in Grandpa Arlert's portion of dinner. If it wasn't for the fact that sleeping medicine was also addictive, Eren would do the same to Armin.) Eren had treated Antonio for a nasty burn a while back; the older boy worked in the bakery next door. Apparently, he was clumsy opening the oven door. Antonio's taken to hiding the burn with a hankerchief. Eren thought tying a hankerchief around a wrist was slightly impractical, but it wasn't his problem. Recently, Antonio's been introducing a few more of his friends to Eren. Most of them were older orphans too. It's not to say that he was on particularly good terms with them; Eren occasionally patches up a few injuries that wouldn't heal on its own and warn them off several dangerous streets. (Armin occasionally shares gossip from the girls next door.) It was a good thing they haven't bumped into Armin and Mikasa, it would rather inconvenient to fight (kill) them if they turn out to be enemies. Antonio seemed rather startled at Eren's appearance. His eyes trailed over Eren's new cloak, but Eren didn't have time to think about it. Armin was going inside.
The building smelled even worse than outside. Under all the human sweat and cheap perfume, there was an underlying smell of blood. Both the landlord and the landlady sat at one of the table near the back. Armin took a seat nearby as Eren and Mikasa flanked his sides. His employer seemed to be in good spirits. The bar was too loud to actually hear their words.
"You brats gonna play or what?" Armin snapped his attention back to his table. A man with three cups and a tiny bag of coins sat in front of them. He grinned at them, showing yellow, rotting teeth. Armin shivered under his hood. The man, perhaps sensing his fear, talked down towards them.
"It's a game." His voice sounds like it's trying to go up an octave, but failed miserably. "There are three cups here and bag. When the game starts I put the bag under one of these cups" he demonstrates, "and shuffle them around. Then you pick one of the cups, here, try it." Eren pointed at the cup in the middle. Under the cup was the bag. "See if you had been betting, the bag would have been yours. Want to try?
When three midgets slid into his customers' seats, the con-artist thought about scaring them off. However, the glimpse of blond hair peeking out under a hood, shining as brightly as a gold coin, had him rethinking. Judging by the length of the hair, the blond must be a girl. He hadn't been able to afford a girl for a long time. Well, it wasn't like anyone's going to play tonight, he's been around for several weeks; all the regulars must have seen his tricks. Guess he could go for one last victim... victims. Going by their heights, they must be children.
"You brats gonna play or what?" He asked. A glint of blue under the cloak teased the con-artist's libido. He smiled, attempting to give off a friendly feeling. The three subconsciously drew together. How cute. He explained the rules as quickly and simply as possible, still trying to play the kindly older brother. When he finished, the three drew in a huddle and had a whispered conversation. The con-artist smirked at their ignorance. They must be newly orphaned; none of the streetrats had the money to buy those matching cloaks. The design on cloak was quite original, if not amateurishly sewn on. The girl must have done it. When he wins it off their backs, he's going to have Blondie sew them all together and turn them into a stylish cloak for him. He drifted off into a daydream. Three blond girls at his sides, how lovely.
Armin took another quick glance towards their landlady. She and Boss had gone through another door, but it was open just a crack. If they left now, the creepy guy might attract too much attention to them. He pulled Mikasa and Eren near him and whispered frantically.
"Let's just play a few rounds and leave. It shouldn't matter if we win or lose. We can't attract too much attention here." Eren nodded, but Armin could see Mikasa frowning. "I don't think we could fight our way out. Not with the weapons we have."
Armin does have a point. Mikasa knows there is a trick in the game. She just couldn't figure it out. There's a brief moment where Eren seemed protest, before nodding. Knowing him, it would be something along the lines of how the pig won't let them go so easily. Mikasa agreed with Eren. Her hands patted Armin's pockets, checking to make sure that he had his knife on him. The older man, possibly a potential human trafficker, was staring at them with a dazed look on his face.
The first request came before the human pig even started playing. Eren clenched his fist under the table. What's the point in having hoods if everyone was going to see their faces? Armin certainly agreed with Eren's thoughts out loud. Betting a copper for a good look on their faces? Eren might not have been an orphan for long, but even he knows that this is a bad deal. It took a long second before Armin agreed, but not before negotiating one hood per loss.
It didn't take more than three hands before Armin lost. The creepy guy had that dazed look on his face again. Mikasa reached for her hood before Eren stopped her, citing her Oriental features as a reason the human pig would want to continue playing. He slowly, almost hesitantly pulled his hood off, glancing at the human pig before ducking his head.
If the con-artist wasn't horny before, he was now. Sure, the little brat might not be a cute blond, but there was an aura of innocence that hookers can only try to fake. The brat seemed to be on the verge of tears. Rather shy too, might be a pushover. Another couple of rounds passed before Blondie lost again. This time, she pulled her hood back. Her features weren't what he had expected, but he didn't expect to have her for long. Yet, another few rounds passed before Blondie lost again. No wonder they all wore a hood. Without it, the last brat would have been taken by traffickers before he could have gotten to them. Immediately after he had taken a good look, all three of them pulled their hoods up again. Blondie did make a good enough point about attracting unwanted attention. Enough conversation had passed that he might try asking for their names.
"I'm thirsty." The shy brat stuttered. It couldn't have come at a more convenient time. He offered to buy the three of them drinks. The shy brat gathered up a bit of Blondie's winnings before shuffling off. What an obedient kid. Definitely a pushover.
There's a certain ring in Eren's voice that Mikasa had only heard once, and that was when they met. Armin was about to protest when Mikasa interjected, effectively distracting the two.
"I'd like a turn." Eren trotted away, putting his hood back over his head. He couldn't have let the man bring them drinks, Eren had too much experience with slipping other people drugs. He took three cups of water and a glass of alcohol (it smelled just a bit different than the usual rubbing alcohol) and took it back to their table. They were playing for coppers now and Mikasa seemed to have lost a bit.
He grimaced at the taste of cheap wine. He hates sour things. "Sorry. Dad used to like this kind before he..." Green eyes looked hopefully in his direction. Was that a sniff? No way is he dealing with tears in the middle of public.
"It's fine." Another swig of cheap wine. There would be plenty of time to discipline the brat once he gets back to his rented room. "How long were you out on the streets? Big brother could give you some advice. Come a bit closer, we don't want everyone in this room to hear."
Conversation passed easily for the next hour or so, at least until Blondie hid a yawn behind a delicate hand. He wasn't satisfied with the amount of coppers he had won, how could he, when one of those brats were worth their weight in ingots? Two cold, sharp points pressed into his sides as Blondie promised one last game. Blondie betted all her coppers... which meant that he would have to match the bet. One cup covered a small bag of coins. He shuffled the cups in his most complicated patterns and as quickly as he could. When he finally stopped, two hands, both belonging to the two brats beside him slammed down on two cups. Blondie picked up the last cup. Underneath was the bag, which went into Blondie's cloak.
"Good night." Blondie smiled. It was not a nice innocent smile, but one that made shivers go down his spine. The room was spinning; his legs weren't working. The Oriental brat had cracked his cup, something that a good decade and a half of fights haven't done. Three cloaks swept out, green symbols fluttering with their movement. He trembled. How could he have thought those expressively green eyes as naive? Its owner could kill him and wouldn't lose any sleep over it.
Trembling, the con-artist reached into his pocket for his spare wallet. He deserve a drink and not the cheap whisky in his pocket. Those children couldn't have been human... The last time he had met someone remotely like those three was Silent Shadow several years ago, except that midget worked alone. He wondered what happened to Shadow. That foul-mouthed, black-haired thug was the kind that would live for a long time.
His spare wallet was gone. The con-artist groaned and chugged down the last of his whisky. It tasted a bit funny and he was more than a bit sleepy. Yeah, definitely the spawn of Shadow. Tomorrow morning, he is getting out of this town.