Operation Pied Piper
Part Two
The blonde haired boy from the train, the large leather-bound book held tight to his chest, stepped forwards.
The clipboard was waved at him angrily. "Armin Arlert?!" the man demanded again.
"Yes, sir." The boy said, his voice almost a high squeak.
"SPEAK UP, BOY!"
"YES, SIR!" the boy's back straightened, his chin high, his eyes staring forwards. His lips quivered ever so slightly but his gaze didn't waver as the man stepped closer to him. A calloused hand grabbed the tag that hung at the boy's neck and, after a quick glance, dropped it like a hot stone.
"You've been placed under the care of Erwin Smith," the dark sunken eyes were studying the thin blonde with a look of disdain. He motioned with a sharp jab of his index finger to the end of the platform. "There's a carriage waiting for you. Take it and get rid."
The boy – Armin – seemed to hesitate, looking back at the two he had been with on the train with a lost expression. Historia saw the two twitch as their friend turned to them, shifting uneasily, but unwilling to step forwards in fear of the roaring rage that they would suffer.
"GO!" the man shouted, his face close to Armin's.
The blonde flinched, spinning on his heel, retrieving his suitcase from where it rested against the wall, and rushed to the end of the platform, jumping down large steps until all Historia could see was the boy's fair crown as he disappeared around the corner.
Another loud tap on the clipboard attracted Historia's attention back to the uniformed man. The eyes that scanned the lists of names were bloodshot and his stance was rigid.
"NACK TEAZ!" the voice boomed. This time a boy with short dark hair stepped forwards. From the twitch of his eyebrow and his wide eyes, Historia could tell the imposing man scared him but, just as Armin had, he stared forwards and spoke with a clear loud voice, "Yes, sir!"
A few more names were called, each expected to step forwards and declare "Yes, sir" aloud, the man grabbing the tags at their necks and then throwing them away after checking their names. Thomas Wagner. Millius Zermusky. Mina Carolina.
Historia's jaw shifted to the side. Some names didn't sound exactly British. She'd heard that people had been moved across from Europe, away from the destruction and death of the battlefields, but she never expected to see them here.
When there were her and ten others remaining by the wall, the man paused. He tore away the top sheet of paper and pushed it underneath another. She watched as his finger moved down the next list of names.
He took a deep breath and opened his mouth. How doesn't he get a sore throat? "JEAN KIRSCHSTEIN!"
Historia's jaw shifted again. That name definitely wasn't English.
Looking around her, she saw that she wasn't the only one that had noticed. The green eyed boy from the train, friend to Armin, was openly glaring at the nervous boy who moved forwards. She had seen the green eyed boy's mouth twist when each suspiciously sounding name was called, the anger in his enraged glare growing.
"Yes, sir!" his voice was clear and lacked any sign of an accent.
The man eyed the luggage tag. "You're packing up with the Bossards. I wouldn't expect a carriage waiting for you."
Jean nodded, glancing apprehensively towards the end of the platform. The suitcase at his side looked beaten, as if it had travelled a long way with little care, and he heaved it up with a grimace.
The girl with the scarf grabbed the green eyed boy's wrist as he stepped after Jean, pulling him back against the wall. The touch seemed to calm him down and he let a breath escape through clenched teeth, the tension in his shoulders relaxing.
"EREN JAEGER, MIKASA ACKERMAN!"
Historia blinked in surprise as the green eyed boy and the scarf-wearing girl stepped forwards, simultaneously calling out, "Yes, sir!" Their names were as foreign sounding as the others that the boy had glared at with such hatred. Especially 'Jaeger'.
"Seems Levi and Miss Ral are taking you," the man said while studying their tags. "Lucky bastards."
Eren looked up sharply but then quickly shifted his gaze to the side, reaching for his case, moving down the platform, Mikasa walking at his side, her lips moving but her words too quiet for Historia to hear.
The man suddenly growled at his clipboard. He rapidly fired out a list of names, some responded with a "yes, sir" from the line of children, other names answered with a seconds pause.
Historia panicked slightly as she heard her name – her fake name – and stumbled out her reply, blushing yet no one even spared her a moment's notice.
"Whose name didn't I call out?!" the man demanded from the children.
A long arm rose up in the air at the end of the line. Historia lifted her head but couldn't see who the person was. She leaned forwards for a better look, inwardly cursing her short stature for the umpteenth time.
A tall, gangly girl stood at the very end of the line of children, towering over those around her. Her skin was tanned, her cheeks and nose patterned with freckles. Her dark hair was loose and messy, hanging low around her face and trailing over her shoulders. She wore trousers, unlike any of the other girl who wore dresses or skirts, and a dark grey shirt, the cuffs rolled up to her elbows, the top few buttons undone to reveal her collarbone. Her expression was empty, her sharp gaze watching the man approach her, her brown eyes guarded.
The girl straightened from her leaning position against the wall as the man stood in front of her. It was then that Historia noticed the absence of a suitcase by the girl's side. But what struck Historia more was that the girl wore no luggage tag around her throat.
Who…?
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" the man shoved his face close to the girl's, his eyes wide and bulging from their blackened sockets.
The girl didn't even flinch. "Ymir, sir."
"Ymir, is it?!" He pointed an accusing finger at the girl. "And where's your tag, Ymir?!"
The girl steadily let out a sigh. "I lost it, sir."
The man spluttered. "LOST IT?"
The girl nodded. "Yes, sir."
The man's jaw jerked dangerously to the side, the sound of his teeth sliding harshly against each other making Historia wince.
"No time for this! Let's just hope you can get a place with a look like that." The man grumbled, his roaring voice still shaking at a low tone. He returned to stand before the line. "The rest of you are to wait in the town hall. NOW GO."
The line started moving towards the end of the platform, some of the evacuees sharing worried looks. None of them knew where the town hall was.
"HEY! You little shits! Town hall is the big building at the end of the road!" the man motioned high with his clipboard. Then with a snap of his boots clicking together, the man spun away and marched in the opposite direction, jumping off at the other end of the platform.
When Historia reached the steep stairs at the end of the platform, she heard voices. Arguing voices. And she'd heard enough of them to recognize the tone.
Pressed against the station wall, his feet hanging above the grassy ground, was Jean, his face twisted as he shouted something at Eren, whose hand was gripping tightly onto the boy's shirt collar, lifting him high.
"You German!" Eren spat.
"What the hell!" Jean retorted. "Your name is as German as mine, you asshole."
"I'm not German!"
"Well, neither am I. Now get off me!"
Eren's lips pulled into a thin line, his green eyes glowing with rage, when a gentle hand touched his wrist.
"Mikasa?" he asked the girl beside him, his voice unsure yet still full of anger.
"Let him go, Eren," the girl quietly said. "You're just causing trouble."
After a moment's hesitation, Eren pulled away from Jean, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. And Jean hit the floor as such.
With a curse, the boy spat onto the ground, saliva splaying across the grass. Eren made a disgusted face but turned away, following Mikasa down the gravelled road.
But Jean wasn't finished.
He pushed himself up off the ground, stomping towards Eren, and dragged him back by his shoulder.
"WHAT THE HELL?" Eren yelled, his eyes wide as Jean's fist pulled back and hit him square on the chin.
Before Jean could launch himself forwards once more, Mikasa stood between them, her black eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
Jean froze.
"What a joke…" a voice sneered behind Historia.
Historia startled slightly, turning her head to find the source of the voice.
She was met with the sight of the tall gangly girl from before. She stood behind Historia, one foot raised up on the last step leading down from the platform. Her left hand was buried in her trouser pocket, her right clasped around the back of her neck, her elbow raised in the air at an angle.
Historia couldn't help but take a step back.
The movement brought the girl's gaze down to focus on her. Her eyes were a deep brown, swirling and unfathomable. At this distance Historia could easily see the dust and dirt that coated the girl's clothing and skin. The rolled up cuff at her raised elbow appeared to be stained with dried blood and her ankle-high boots were scuffed and caked in age-old mud. She looked older than any of the other children, her arms toned and her body slender. She looked past the age to be considered a child that needed to be evacuated. An eerie atmosphere seemed to cloak itself around the tall figure, her shadow silently whispering things that should never be known.
The girl scared her.
Historia swallowed. What was her name again? Y…Ymir?
Ymir raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused at Historia's stunned silence and blatant stare. "Got a problem?"
Historia shook her head violently.
"Right." Ymir shrugged, moving away. Historia watched the girl split away from the crowd of children, her stride long and determined as she made her way down the road.
Historia returned her attention to the people around her. The scuffle between Eren and Jean appeared to have ended. Mikasa and Eren were back to leaning against the station wall, Jean standing on the opposite side of the road. Eren was sporting a red swelling on his chin and Mikasa was studying it with concern.
The small crowd started to move up the road, following in the footsteps of Ymir but at a much slower and uncertain pace.
Historia joined their advance but halted with the rest when they saw someone approaching.
A man was nearing them from the top of the road, his steps tense and sure, rapidly reaching them and though he was at a distance, they could all feel the man's presence and they instinctively shrank back.
What kind of town is this?!
Historia once again pushed down the lonely feeling of abandonment and waited.