Warning:this chapter contains mentions of prostitution, underage smoking (in some countries), mentions of drug and alcohol use, and a mugging. I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin, and am using the franchise for a non-commercial work of fanfiction.
They were awoken that morning by a huge quantity of snow falling on top of them. It was a great shock, and very painful. Needless to say, they were awake in seconds and on their feet in even less time. They looked around, and saw that the cause of the sudden interruption of their lie-in was the owner of the bakery.
"Now, I've been putting up with you for some time now, but I'll have to ask you to get away from here. You're bad for business. Now scram, before I call the cops."
Annie didn't like being woken up suddenly. She was far from being an early bird, and this man had literally made the roof above their heads collapse on top of them with a shovel. She was going to rip his head off.
"Of course, sir," said the guy whom she had shared a shelter with that night timidly. "Come on Annie. Let's get our stuff together and go."
She gave him the most venomous look that she could muster, but listened nevertheless. Everything was quickly shoved into the suitcase, and they walked off. Once they were far enough, she gave him the same look again, and, unsurprisingly, he wilted beneath it.
"I-It wouldn't have been a good idea," he said, shaking under her gaze, thick droplets of sweat beading on his forehead and tracing lines down to the tip of his nose. "I n-need to lay low for a while…"
She nodded curtly, then gestured down a street that branched off from where they had been walking.
"Let's go this way. It leads to the Eastern slums, and I know some people over there that might help us get some necessities. And there are some fast foods over there as well."
They continued walking, the guy dragging a little behind. It was slightly annoying to Annie, the way he followed her like a dog, but she let it go. She had her back to him, but she was fairly confident that he wouldn't stick a knife between her ribs.
"What's your name, by the way?" she asked, not quite satisfied with the lack of that one piece of information.
"Bertholdt," he said weakly, sound muffled by the scarf he had wound around his neck and mouth.
"Too complicated, how can I remember how to pronounce that? I'll just call you Bertl, it's easier to remember."
She turned his way to judge his reaction, but she wasn't greeted with the horrified face that she had expected from the stupid nickname she had come up with. There was definitely something wrong with him.
His eyes were vacant from where they peeped past the coils of the scarf, and he was shivering from head to foot. His forehead and a good part of his hair was slick with sweat, and when she raised her hand to his cheek, he didn't flinch away, and she found it way too warm to possibly be healthy.
"Shit. Right, I'm bringing you to Isabel."
They continued walking, going past block after block of shops, that then turned to modest apartment blocks, to outright gross streets with cracked pavements and with every other window either broken or barred. They turned down several winding alleys, getting closer and close to their objective. They were only a few blocks away from their objective when Bertholdt collapsed in a dead faint. She quickly checked his vitals, surprising herself with the slight panic that took over her as she did so, but after confirming that he was indeed still breathing and his heart beating at a normal rate, she picked him up and half dragged, half carried him the rest of the way.
Finally, the red-painted door appeared before them, and Annie knocked at it with her free hand, the other hooked behind the boy's knee. She had to insist, pound at the wood so hard that the door rattled in its hinges before someone came to answer. It clicked open, only opening a crack, stopped by the chain that held it fast on the other side.
"No service today, go and check… Oh, it's you," said the woman's voice on the other side, her voice bored and drawling.
"Nice to see you too, Isabel. I would appreciate it if I didn't have to break my way in, 'cause you know I will."
A sigh answered her, then the door closed again, the chain clicked, and she opened it fully.
Annie stepped in, grabbing the handle of her suitcase, and pulling all her charges into the relative warmth of Isabel's place.
The other woman closed the door and double-locked it, then turned to Annie, her arms crossed and an indifferent expression on her face. Her red hair was held back in two sloppy pigtails, and she probably wasn't wearing much more than underwear under her faux white tiger print nightgown. Heavy makeup was smudged over her face from a night without wiping it off, making her seem like she had elongated lips and panda eyes.
"So," she said, stopping to take a puff from the cigarette that she was smoking, holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling. "what brings you here? Apart from your passed-out boyfriend, that is."
"You wish," the blonde scoffed, unloading Bertholdt onto the dirty brown sofa on the other side of the room. "I could do with a favour or two, actually."
The red-head raised an eyebrow in her direction, unseen by Annie, who was busying herself by pulling a blanket on top of her sick charge and his scarf off. The wound underneath was red, puckered, and felt worryingly warm to the touch. "Oh, and why would I do that, then? Do I get anything in exchange?"
"Clothes," she answered distractedly, before turning back to her, accepting the cigarette and lighter she passed over. "You can have all my stuff, and I know you want it. Just, I need less conspicuous things to wear than these, and a way to get a doctor to look at my friend here. I'll even throw my phone in the deal if you get us both a decent meal."
She lit up, taking in a puff of the smoke herself. She sighed in relief at the instant nerve-calming effect the nicotine had on her brain, something that she had clearly needed for several hours.
"Fine, deal. You'll need cash for the doc though, and I can't give you any of that. And you'll have to hurry up for him as well, he's leaving for Shiganshina soon."
"Right. Where is he? I'm going as soon as I get Bertl sorted," she asked, walking over to the sink, picking up a random rag and wetting it with cool water from the sputtering tap. She walked back to the sofa and put it on Bertholdt's forehead.
"Down by the river, next to the yellow building. But why help him? This is not like you at all, Annie."
"He saved my life, and he's the kindest person I've met in a long time. I think he deserves it."
She then flew out of the room, leaving the red-head stunned and a little unsure of the whole situation.
It had been quite some time since she had last done this, and she hoped that she wasn't out of practice. She couldn't wait for night to fall to make some quick cash, so she needed to go back to her first source of revenue, when she still lived with her father.
She remembered the technique he had used, and the one that she now copied today. She had found the darkest alley that she could, leading onto a nearly deserted street, with about three pedestrians walking down it every hour. In her right hand, she held a flick knife, and the other she kept ready for grabbing whatever victim would pass her way.
In theory, if she had chosen the place correctly, the shadows should protect her identity, and the instant threat posed by the flick knife pressing into the throat of whoever was to be her unlucky victim would make them let go of their wallet faster than they would in other circumstances. The idea was to pounce quickly, but if possible to not do so if they wore any kind of light-coloured leg-wear. Those always meant trouble.
Annie didn't have to wait long before she heard the thump of heavy boots in the distance, getting closer and closer. The sheer proximity of the noise meant that the person was on her side of the street, so will surely fall prey to her trap.
The hand holding the knife trembled slightly, and it wasn't because of nerves. No, she was excited. The prospect of money, food, and saving the life of the one person she could now call her friend (how did that happen? If it was love, she would have said that she had fallen hard and fast, but this was friendship. Someone she knew she could trust. Even though she didn't know him at all -nothing apart from his name and age that is- she already held him deeply in affection. She loved this gangly, naïve boy like a brother, and despite the coldness she displayed around him, it didn't change how she felt deep down).
Her victim walked into her sight range just then, and in the microsecond she allowed herself before striking, she analysed his basics. Brown trousers, not white, check. Tall, muscular, but nothing she couldn't handle.
Quickly, she snapped her arm out and caught the man by the collar. Before he could register what was going on, she spun him around and slammed him violently into the alley wall, knife glinting and pressing against his throat, just above his mangy scarf, where a bead of blood formed and slid down the skin to wet the fabric.
"Money, now."
He stayed motionless, and she pressed her weapon a little deeper into his flesh.
What happened next, she never quite understood, even years later. The only explanation she could possibly come up with was that due to the stress, uncomfortable night, and lack of food her attention slipped for one crucial second, which under other circumstances would have surely signed her death warrant.
Suddenly, she felt the hard wall against her back, and the pained cry that she had nearly let go in that instant was muffled by the feeling of deadly metal on her throat. The roles had been reversed; the players dealt a different hand.
"Now you're going to tell me what you want my money for, so I can get it for you and have done with it."
What?
He sighed, not letting the blade waver. "I'm offering you charity. A woman who resorts to armed robbery has to be pretty desperate. Come on, tell me and I'll help you out."
This is all just a big joke
"Come on, I won't hurt you. I'm just making sure that you won't hurt me."
Well, I guess I'm in no position to barter. If what he says is true, what do I have to lose?
"My friend is ill," she said quietly, well aware of every movement her throat made against the cold metal. "I need to pay the doctor so that he doesn't die."
She was released, but the knife was held well away from her so that she couldn't snatch it back. She looked at him warily, and he did the same with her. Finally, he talked.
"Is it true? I mean, you really do look like a cold-hearted bitch; it's difficult to believe that you have any friends at all. You sure it's not for drugs or alcohol or anything like that?"
"Would I have been able to attack you so successfully if I was off my head on something? And please, I may be a bitch, but I'm far from cold-hearted. And I can ask you the same thing. Are you really willing to pay for something and ask for nothing in return? This isn't some weird way of asking me to blow you off or something?"
"Hardly, babe," he smirked. "I'm not into girls. No, I've just got my fucking heart stuck to my fucking sleeve and no way of removing it, so please, let's go and get your doctor and return to your friend."
He strode off, and she followed, walking by his side.
"Can I have my knife back?"
"No."
"Shit."
He laughed openly, merrily rather than mockingly.
"You're welcome."
The Military Corps in the One Land of the Kingdom are separated into three distinct categories: The Military Police, sporting the Holy Emblem of our King, are the ones charged with the task of keeping order in the Capital and solving heavy matters such as murder and corruption in all the cities of the Land. They are the elite, the greatest that leave the different academies from between the three walls; the Border Police, who manage the different traffics that enter and leave the Walls, sporting the Wall-Rose with raised Spines; the Men at Arms, who manage all other matters across the Land, and keep law and order in all places excluding the capital and the important inner cities, sporting the Godspeed-giving Wings of Freedom.
-Standard Middle School Civic Studies Manual
It seems like I always give our dear Bertholdt a fever in my fics. I don't know, it seems fitting, seeing as he's always so sweaty anyway. But I don't know why I always wound him.