Annie made oatmeal for herself and Father, who was still snoring in his bedroom next to hers when she awoke with a sunrise. Unlike him, she couldn't loosen up even after a long date and a sleepless night, her mind being occupied by the job already. She needed to be a good employee in his pub, taking care of the reports and other paperwork that Father could entrust to her. She had to be a good daughter who was deserving of the love and care she received from the man who rescued her when she was a baby. She was grateful, regardless of the true reason for her continued existence in this world. When he had the opportunity to raise an unwanted male heir, he chose to have a daughter. It was a rare occasion when the existence of a woman was given priority. She knew she was more than special to him.
The innkeeper's daughter arrived at the pub earlier than usual, just in time for the dayshift cooks to serve the first portions of breakfast. At this time of day, the tavern was rarely crowded with customers. If there were only a few, they would mostly be travellers renting the room for the night, but the bar counter was now occupied by several men, maybe a dozen or more. The majority of people were forced to stand because all of the chairs, including those from the other tables, had been taken. Annie was perplexed at first, but when she heard the sound of a soft guitar melody, she realised who had drawn so many men into the tavern - Pieck Finger. A lady in her twenties, happily engaged to the navy soldier Porco Galliard, who usually dragged his ass there on his off-shifts to have a few glasses of bourbon, or sometimes an entire bottle. Speaking of the chief's fiance, Reiner even gave her the nickname "charming siren" because of her Spanish ancestry, red and slightly revealing wardrobe and the angelic voice that could drag any man after her.
Just behind the counter, Reiner was reading a piece of handwritten paper with a wax stamp on its upper part. One of the watchmen seemed to have brought one of the copies of today's pamphlet, containing the hottest news for the locals.
"... According to the homicide detective Wald Richter, the victim was a quartermaster of the Denmark-Norway fleet 'Marleyan kriger', making him the fifth victim of this Norwegian formation, visiting Heilgeistkloster street. As maintained in physiological research, the victim was torn to pieces using claws and teeth, though the official cause of death is drowning…" the blond stopped reading and reached up with his eyes at the innkeeper's daughter who had her path cleared by obedient guests and even one seat freed reluctantly. He just bobbed his head as a greeting gesture to his coworker and continued reading. On the other hand, Pieck's smile welcomed the lady next to her and let her fingers strum the guitar's strings. Hearing about such news, it was pretty much impossible to guess right anymore whenever the guys came here for the pamphlet or to stare at Pieck. Maybe both. "... Refusing to confirm this crime as an attack of a shark due to the victims being last seen far from the water and the planned timing, the constables will have the right to inspect citizens which are on the suspect list..."
"Inspect? How? Check to see if you have shark teeth?" One man slammed his fists into the counter, almost knocking another sleepy old coot off his chair and sending every possible person in this room to the nastiest places, worse than hell. Fortunately, that old man didn't start a fight, or else this place would be a shithole from the start of the day.
"Yeah, sounds like they're bringing back something like the witch-hunt thing that we just got rid of recently." Reiner talked as if the conflict didn't happen. But his eyes were definitely alarming the troublemakers about not tolerating any sorts of misbehaving in Leonharts' territory. "...According to Wald Richter's orders, the search for possible suspects will take place in Stralsund without warning - the rightful watchmen will be granted permission to halt people from work and inspect the residents' homes. If the criminal is still not found and the serial crimes are not stopped, a strict curfew will be imposed, and any social gathering places, including theatres, churches, and taverns, will be prohibited from opening their doors to guests."
It seemed that the last sentence was like a spark in the dry grass - the men started shouting and cursing, blaming whatever they could on. On the government, on the devil, on the victims of the mysterious crimes, as if it was their fault for this governmental mess to happen. They were outrageous, to be clear, but none of the bartenders could tell whether the drunks were more upset about the church or the tavern being closed down.
Out of all the people in the tavern, the innkeeper's daughter was quiet, her face didn't flinch at all, but her mind was bursting in flames. The guests would be missing on their drinks, which was a major tragedy for some alcoholics, but the curfew would set the danger to her father's business - their only source of a proper income. If the serial killer was that wily, it would take her away from the peaceful life she had always desired. And that meant Father would be deprived of a calm and secure life, which she feared even more than her own. Just seeing him on the couch with a bottle of bourbon and his hands in his receding hairline would cause her to lose all the mental strength she had worked so hard to develop over the years. Damn Midnattmorder.
"Annie, are you all right?" She heard a soft Bertholdt's voice speaking to her, its quietness overpowering the screams of the others around her. Annie looked up and clenched her jaw, but she didn't respond. And he didn't question her again - the young woman's painful expression said thousands of words. "Does your father know about it already?.."
"No, I doubt it," Annie responded, snapping back to reality from her painful thoughts. She couldn't hide her frustration any longer. "If this occurs, he'll be unable to pay the salaries while the curfew remains in effect. If all of this Midnattmorder nonsense is determining my and Father's future, I'd rather just go find him myself." She looked up at the tall bartender in front of her, then at the others. Everyone appeared to be devastated by the lack of alcohol. Only two people were paying attention to the innkeeper's daughter: her usually quiet coworker and the woman with a guitar. She wasn't playing it anymore.
"Hey, don't grieve about it too much." Pieck rested her guitar on her lap and leaned in close to Annie. Even when she addressed the girl directly, her followers (those drunkards who had been sober for an hour or two before starting drinking in the middle of the day) looked in her direction. "Pock's on duty to catch that killer, he and his men will fish it out. Marcel's going to scout these streets. If so-called Midnattmorder is so desperate to hunt down your customers, he'll need to face the Galliards."
"Yeah, Galliards will show that fucker that he's not invited in Stralsund!'' the men cheered, completely lulled by Pieck's soft words.
"If you'll get bored by that navy boy, I can take you in, just so you know." one of them exclaimed loudly.
"Better pay me a visit with that guitar of yours," winked another.
"Or, you know, you could stay at my place during the lockdown nights."
"Boys, if Pock finds out, he'll make you all Midnattmorder's dinner. He's vicious, and you're no exception, Carlo." Pieck chuckled and shook her head, her hands nevertheless strummed the guitar strings once again. Annie was always impressed by the ravenhead's calm demeanour in these situations. If she were in Pieck's shoes, she would lose her cool in an instant. Maybe because of that, Pieck was more successful than her.
"All right, if you're not going to buy anything today, get out." Annie stood up and pushed the chair backwards with her hand, scratching the already worn out floor. She'd had enough with them all. Being polite was out of the question, knowing that her and her father's only source of income was in a possible collapse and that the taxes would not pay themselves.
"Oh, someone is salty today. You know, Leonhart, if you stopped threatening us all the time, a man or two might try to ask for your hand." The man standing closest to the wall exclaimed.
"It had already been done." Reiner blurted out. He was the only one with his eyes still on the pamphlet (and Annie - on him) - everyone else had moved on to the tallest bartender, assuming it was him who dared to ask out the Leonhart. "Reliable sources - Hitch spilled the beans yesterday. However, the brave boy wasn't Hoover." Seeing as the blonde girl remained quiet and his tall friend by his side did not object, he added, "She said they ran somewhere for a date alone. At least we know it's not a serial killer - Ann is still alive and well, and grumpy as ever."
The guests turned to look at Annie, expecting to see some beans spilled, forgetting the real reason they chose to slack off their jobs to stay in the tavern. So, who was that enigmatic young man pursuing the cold innkeeper's daughter? But to their disappointment, the woman shot a glare and didn't even try to gossip.
" Okay, last chance, you buy something or get out of there." She picked up a wet cloth from behind the counter and started approaching one man at an alarming pace. He, on the other hand, raised both of his hands in defense and stepped back.
"Fine fine, just give me a beer and leave me alone, you crazy woman!"
Annie lowered the cloth and smacked it on top of the counter before approaching the nearest barrel with a wooden cup in her hand.
" That's more like it."
If Annie's presence made the drunktards tremble, Father's arrival made even the most filthy-mouthed rebels keep their tongues shut and try not to display their apprehension. And now he's there, brushing aside the squabbles and bawling that were taking place in the middle of the day at this pub. Except for the charming siren, who welcomed the pub's owner with a gleam while strumming her guitar, the patrons and bartenders were quiet. The tiny lump in his daughter's throat was growing as his cane matched every second of his steps. She could tell by Mr. Leonhart's heavy yet confident steps, that he wasn't in the greatest of moods.
"You better explain to me what's all this fuss about," he walked to the counter and eyed every person who was the nearest. His eyes focused on one person, who appeared to be writing monthly reports and counting the levy. "Annie?"
Annie gripped the quill pen even more tightly in her sweating arm. It had been a long time since she could audibly hear her heart pounding at such a high rate. She peeked at Pieck, then at the nearby clients who had been sitting there since the beginning of the work day, and last at the two bartenders, who were both gazing at her in the same manner. Was he aware of the uproar about the date or Midnattmorder? If one of the witnesses of both subjects will speak up about the first case, she's doomed. If Father found out about it already in some way, it's game over. And if-
"It's to do with the serial killer, sir. Wald intends to inspect some people and impose a curfew if he can't catch the killer on time." Bertholdt spoke up with a firm voice, which contrasted with his usual tremulous self. He casted a glance at the petite woman, who returned his gaze. All the determination vanished with just one look. But for his luck, the older man didn't question him further.
"Bloody hell, he better not be escalating that far." through the corner of her eye, Annie could see Father approaching and stopping by her side. "At first they raised the warehouse fees and now they want to start a curfew? And he's fine with pushing the middle class to poverty? No, that addlepate won't be a control freak whenever he decides to." He placed his tricorne on the table and took the paperwork from his daughter. Annie clenched her lips and stared at the blank space on the table, seeing the man's stare from the corner of her eye. If she could know what was going through his head right now... "Annie, you already did more than enough. I'll finish this paperwork, you focus on the customers."
With a firm tap on Annie's shoulder, the guy took his tricorne, brushed the invisible dust from the side of it, and backed away from the quiet customers and bartenders lingering around the counter. Annie covertly watched him go behind the staff room doors, and so when he did, she turned to her coworker. She had a lot of unanswered questions and needed to know a lot of things. He was known to desire to court her, to have her, but even now, when he had the opportunity to prevent any intruders from getting close to his ambition by spilling the beans to the innkeeper, he chose not to.
"Bertholdt, why?"
The quiet guy, on the other hand, simply treated her with the same secrecy he sometimes displayed, flashing her a sorrowful smile before heading to the stored bottles to fetch the clients their usuals. That smile wasn't the response she was looking for. It wasn't enough. Now it was him who was looking away, while Annie was staring at his back. Bertholdt, why?
If it wasn't enough to settle her heart from building more panic in her chest, seeing the wonderboy with the cape on his shoulders later in the day convinced her that the expression about the heart jumping out of someone's lips could happen, literally.
((A/N Hey there. I feel not so well and I'm sorry for a short, slow paced chapter. It's a filler chapter for something I planned out to do later. To think of it, I wanted to discontinue this story, but some people inspired me with kindness and something clicked in my head, making me have several ideas for a few chapters ahead. I'm very thankful for people who're bringing up some light, I really appreciate it.
There will be more Armin in the next chapter, just so you wait. I'll fix this chapter later and try to bring out more content soon. See you later, folks!))