Chapter Text
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Inspired by this prompt:
http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/2848.html?thread=4054816#cmt4054816
Basically, someone gets the idea to crash a fancy party and hopefully score as much fancy food as they can before they get tossed.
Eren sets out to try and pass himself off as someone noble and refined. (With all the rage and determination he can muster.) The thing is, he pulls it off. Eren (and by extension Armin and Mikasa) pull off the act so well, everyone assumes they are supposed to be there. (Him? Oh he's Lord So-and-so's son, I think.)
Obviously, some parts are altered to suit the setup.
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“I’m so excited!”
“I can’t believe we’re going! I heard it’s amazing.”
“Just imagine all the food! And the music! It’s going to be like a fairy tale!”
It’s that time of year again -- the midwinter ball. It’s the high-class event of the year in Trost, and due to the house’s rising reputation, several of the girls have been invited as escorts for their customers in the military brass.
Only one of the girls had gone the year before, much to the jealousy of the others -- she had since married out, to the same man who took her, incidentally; the wedding had been quite nice. She had told Armin all about it afterwards, but being already utterly smitten, she hadn’t been able to provide all that much detail.
Well, detail besides “he looked so dashing, like a prince!” and “we danced together all night!”
There is so much gossip Armin could pick up there. Just thinking about it makes his fingers twitch toward his little black book. All those nobles, merchants and soldiers, boozing and taking stabs at each other. Just one hour, and he could fill up ten pages, he’s sure.
Unfortunately, the girls might get invited as escorts, but the owners of a brothel are definitely not on the guest list.
“Hrmph, pigs,” Eren scowls, with his usual disdain for the upper classes.
On the couch next to him, Levi moodily chews on the last of the stew he was given and nods. “Drunken pigs,” he agrees.
To Eren’s insistent questions, Levi had finally caved and explained that while Titans were less active in the winter -- shorter days, often cloudy, made them lethargic, for lack of a better word -- the unpredictable weather also made expeditions too risky.
So the entire Survey Corps was spending the winter inside the Walls. Levi’s squad had gone off to visit their families, like many of the other soldiers, and Erwin had gone off to report at the capital and to shmooze. Their mostly abandoned barracks were so cold your piss would freeze before hitting the urinal, supposedly, and the mess hall had basically closed down, so Levi had decided to mooch off the house instead, where Armin made sure to keep everyone warm and fed, still remembering the terrible winters when they were in real danger of freezing and starving.
Thinking about those days, Armin suddenly understands Eren’s anger.
“Tell them not to drink anything anyone gives them,” Levi warns the boys. “You never know what some asshole might slip you.”
Armin nods slowly. Most of the girls know better, but it wouldn’t hurt to warn them just in case. “I’ll remind them to look after each other too,” he mutters to himself.
Eren’s scowl deepens. “If it might be dangerous, we shouldn’t let them go alone,” he says. He and Mikasa take their protection duties seriously.
“I’m afraid none of us were invited,” Armin says.
“Yeah, well, consider yourselves lucky,” Levi snorts. “Erwin drags me along to these things all the time, and it’s the dullest shit you can imagine.”
An idea seems to occur to him, and Eren turns to Levi.
“No,” Levi says flatly before Eren can do more than open his mouth. “Absolutely not.”
Eren sulks and abandons Levi for the rest of the night, not that the captain seems to mind the relative peace and quiet. He’s long since gotten used to dozing on their couch and even has a preferred corner. The girls seem to view him as a kind of fixture of the house, and the customers are even a little less rowdy at the sight of Humanity's Strongest.
In any case, it’s not as if Eren’s going to let anyone kick Levi out, even if all they do is argue.
Well, they can handle one more freeloader. Maybe Armin can make him help haul supplies...
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Still, Armin can’t stop thinking that there’s something to that idea. Going to the ball, that is. It would be useful, wouldn’t it? They could watch over the girls, stuff themselves on high-class food and gather some good intel. It’s worth a try.
And that’s how Armin explains his reasons to Mikasa and Eren. Also, he adds, they’ll be able to make fools out of those elitist pigs, which is a nice side benefit.
Eren is, of course, all in. Mikasa shrugs.
All of them are passably good at sneaking, so getting in isn’t a problem, though the fancy outfits Armin arranged for them make things a little more difficult. Once they’re in the mansion’s park-like garden, they have to pause to fix each other’s clothes and hair.
Naturally, this is the point when they get caught.
“You there!” one of the servants calls out. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m calling the guards!”
“Try it and I’ll break your arm!” Eren snarls right back. He’s quite serious.
He steps forward into the light streaming through the mansion’s windows, and the servant pales even further seeing Eren’s fancy coat, vest, and shirt ensemble. Mikasa follows him, moving a little awkwardly in the full dress she’s wearing -- Armin had to force Eren to get her a new shawl just so that she’d agree to leave the scarf behind.
There are still leaves in Eren’s carefully combed back hair and in the folds of Mikasa’s skirt. The servant looks between them, and the assumption he makes is completely obvious. Two teenagers, out by themselves, wanting secrecy. Yeah, it’s obvious.
“My deepest apologies, my lord, my lady,” he says, bowing deeply. However, judging from the way he glances at Mikasa, he doesn’t think her much of a lady at all.
“Get lost,” Eren snaps, and the servant scrambles away, keeping his head low.
Watching him go, Armin makes his own way out of the bushes. He brushes off his dress and pats his head to makes sure his hairpins are still in place. He just hopes he hasn’t smudged his makeup.
Glancing at him, Eren makes a face. “You look like a girl,” he says, which is kind of the point. “Are you really going to be okay?”
“They’ll be more open with a demure young girl,” Armin says. “Having you hover around would defeat the whole purpose.”
Eren appears unconvinced, and he and Mikasa exchange a meaningful look.
Armin sighs. “Just duck your head and look mostly toward the floor,” he tells Mikasa. “And don’t stab anyone until I give the signal, especially if they’re just drunk and handsy.”
Turning to Eren, Armin smooths his hair back one more time and fixes his fancy necktie. To be honest, his friend didn’t look like himself, even more than Armin managed by wearing a dress.
Well, it was probably for the best -- Eren’s presence would raise the most questions if someone recognized him. Unlike Armin and Mikasa, he couldn’t really pretend to finally have joined the house like that. Who would take him, right? (Who would dare? Who could possibly survive the experience?)
The doors and windows looking out across the garden are open, despite the cold winter weather. The sheer amount of waste on heating alone is staggering. Eren is already working himself into a fine mood as he shoulders his way through the crowd, while Armin and Mikasa slip away. He tries to look around for a familiar face, but the shifting kaleidoscope of bright colors and patterns makes his eyes cross a little.
As Eren takes a moment to orient himself, putting his back against one wall, a maid offers him a tray drinks. Despite being only his age, she carries it easily with one hand, and the sparkling amber liquid in the glasses barely even trembles as she curtsies.
Eren accepts one, muttering his thanks. That is apparently the wrong move, as her pale blue eyes dart to him in surprise. Of course, nobles are all stuck-up, thankless, arrogant assholes. They would never thank a servant.
Trying to cover up his mistake, Eren scowls and waves her away as dismissively as he can. He automatically brings the glass up, only to hesitate as he remembers Levi’s advice.
But that only applies to stuff from sleazy nobles, right? His eyes dart to the maid, making her way gracefully between the other guests. Typically, none of the partygoers watch where they’re going or even consider if they’re inconveniencing someone else, but the maid dodges them with admirable skill.
Even when a group of young noblemen suddenly steps in her path and the closest throws an arm out wildly, she manages to avoid them. However, the drinks on her tray slosh and spill over a little. Without even turning, the nobleman who had almost knocked her over reaches out to take a glass and grimaces as his hand encounters slight stickiness on the surface.
“You spilled it? Be more careful, you useless wench,” he snaps at her.
And now Eren’s too pissed to think clearly. It only takes a few steps for him to reach the noblemen and the maid, who accepts the unfair criticism with a submissive curtsy.
The young man who had yelled sputters as Eren’s untouched glass ends up on his face and shirt.
“Oops, I spilled it,” Eren sneers, with absolutely no apology. “I’ll have to be more careful.”
The nobleman glares at him, ready to take offence, but Eren’s just getting started. He’s a noble right now, isn’t he? And nobles can do whatever they want, right? That’s how they think. No matter what happens, it’s someone else’s fault.
“Or rather, you should be more careful, you useless oaf,” Eren continues, his tone venomous enough to make the young man in front of him flinch. “Next time, don’t stand in my way!”
By this point, the maid has wisely slipped away, and Eren doesn’t wait for a response. He kind of wants to deck the nobleman, but in a rare show of self-restraint, he simply turns around and walks off without another word.
Whispers break out behind him.
“Did you see? Doing that to the marquis’s nephew!”
“He must from Sina!”
“Could he be the count’s relative? Or maybe even... the duke’s?!”
After all, someone that rude and confrontational has to be important, right?
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Eren proceeds to terrorize the entire guest list -- spilling six more drinks, stepping on three hems (though at least one was from honest clumsiness), pulling off four wigs, and sticking an entire flower vase on the head of particularly annoying nobleman.
By that point, rumors escalate to speculating that he’s a distant member of the royal family.
Eren has just spotted his next target -- a noblewoman in far too much makeup, laughing gratingly over the less expensive dress of one of the house’s girls -- when a small hand on his arm forcefully yanks him back. A short slim figure presses against his back, and a very familiar, displeased voice hisses in his ear.
“What are you doing, Eren?” Armin demands in a whisper, his still demure expression completely at odds with his fearsome tone.
“I’m giving those pigs a taste of what they deserve!” Eren hisses back. “Isn’t that why we came here?”
Armin’s fingers pinch his arm very painfully. “Cut it out,” Armin orders. “Go stand in the corner.” Eren tries to protest, but Armin won’t have any of it. “Corner. Now. And stay there!”
Incidentally -- or rather, entirely on purpose -- the corner Armin directs Eren to is the same corner Levi has been sulking in. Armin’s counting on Levi’s murderous aura to keep most of the nobles away and on Levi’s relatively good sense to keep Eren from doing anything utterly scandalous.
Well, that second one is a pretty forlorn hope, but still.
Whereas Armin has banished to Eren to the corner, Erwin has spent an entire evening trying to get Levi out of it. He has been utterly unsuccessful, and the only time any other guest is brave enough to attempt conversation with Levi, Humanity’s Strongest goes on to describe in gruesome detail how exceedingly similar a Titan’s anatomy is to a human’s and what Levi has done to that anatomy. With his swords. With great pleasure.
His would-be conversation partner departs quickly, a very greenish hue to her face. Erwin sighs.
Just as Levi allows himself to feel a little triumphant and to expect a night of peace and solitude, another noble joins him. He’s young, just a kid, with a fancy coat and the same stupid slicked back hair.
As he catches sight of Levi, his scowling, petulant look melts away into a bright smile, and he waves.
Levi stares at him with a complete lack of recognition.
“Hi, Levi!” the boy says with entirely too much familiarity. “Wow, you look really different out of uniform. But I guess everyone doesn’t look like themselves in these stupid clothes and hairstyles and make up.”
Fortunately, Levi doesn’t demand who he is. He would never live it down otherwise. Instead, he glares for several more moments before that stupid puppy-like expression, those eyebrows, and finally those eyes start to look familiar.
“What are you doing here?!” Levi scowls, his glare sharpening even further.
Eren, long since used to it, just grins. “We snuck in,” he says with some pride. “Isn’t it great? I’ve been making fools of those pigs all evening. It’s really--”
At this point, Levi stomps on his foot, glaring pointedly over Eren’s shoulder. As Eren turns to look, the happy, pleased look slides off his face. An expression of disdain and mild threat takes its place.
The nobleman who had begun to approach them falters a little, but drawing support from the two toadies following him, he renews his approach.
“It’s a rare pleasure to see Humanity’s Strongest in the flesh,” the nobleman says, giving Levi a very smarmy smile. Turning to Eren, he adds in a falsely friendly tone, “I’m sure it’s especially impressive to the young romantics among us.”
“What are you talking about? I see Levi all the time,” Eren says flatly, and Levi can just see the way his words are misinterpreted. Who could possibly often come into contact with high-ranking members of the Survey Corps? Does he have close ties to the military?
The nobleman laughs, slightly too high and entirely artificial. “I see! This is my first time seeing you as well, and I must confess I don’t recognize you,” he says, trying to demure, but failing to hide his pointed look.
“So? I don’t know you either,” Eren says flatly. “Who are you supposed to be anyway?”
Levi doesn’t recognize him either, but Erwin has managed to impress on him how very inadvisable it is to admit that. There is nothing more insulting to a blowhard than having his own lack of importance shoved in his face.
So, Levi watches with perhaps too much amusement as the nobleman starts to turn an unflattering red.
“Yes,” he says, his smile now more like a grimace, “I can see that you are new to this. Let me give you some advice--”
“I don’t want it,” Eren cuts in. “I’ve got no interest in anything you have to say, so just get lost.”
He turns away, because as far as he’s concerned, that’s the end of it, but it looks more like a deliberate insult. Losing out to his rage, the nobleman reaches for Eren, and Levi finds himself reflexively tensing.
It’s pointless, of course. Eren doesn’t back away or try to avoid his hand so much as he steps in, suddenly too close, and makes his own grab for the man. Remembering Armin’s long, stern lecture about not hurting anyone at the party, Eren only takes hold of the noble’s expensive jacket and pulls sharply.
The fabric, luxurious but not made to last, rips with a loud sound that draws the attention of all those around them.
The nobleman pales sharply as he is left standing in the ripped remains of his outfit.
“Oops,” Eren says, not in the least bit sorry. “Not very well made, is it? My bad.”
Failing to gather the tatters of his pride and clothing as the other partygoers start to snicker, the nobleman flees.
Levi raises the untouched glass in his hand to hide his mouth. He’s not sure what kind of expression he’s making, but he suspects it is not one Erwin would approve of. Suddenly, this party got a lot more interesting.
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After getting hit on the for the fifteenth time, Armin decides he’s had enough and changes his strategy. Instead of trying to chat up the nobles or surreptitiously listen in on some incriminating conversations, he uses his long experience to find and stake out the places most likely to be used for a bit of quick “fun.”
The payoff is immediate and not half bad -- Armin now knows about several nobles who had cheating on their wives, surprisingly often with the daughters of people they really have no business crossing. He’s also proud to realize that his girls know better than to use such obvious make-out spots.
The innocent “blush and duck your head” routine also works like a charm the few times he’s noticed by the unfortunate couples.
It’s on his rounds that Armin encounter something strange. An older man and a maid stumble to the nearest deserted corridor, his hands groping in places they really have no business being. Armin follows, wanting to make sure the man is who he thinks he is -- it would be quite the scandal.
There is a strange, muffled sound.
When Armin peers around the corner, the maid is lowering the old nobleman's limp body to the floor and begins to search through his pockets.
Armin watched with interest. He doesn’t recognize the maid, though she’s probably not really a maid at all -- short, blonde, with surprisingly strong features. She fishes out the man’s appointment book and leafs through it quickly.
When she clicks her tongue in disappointment, Armin can’t help sighing a little. The maid looks up sharply, her eyes meeting his, and Armin can tell she’s reaching for some weapon.
“Nothing good?” he says, calmly and conversationally. They’re both here for the same thing, after all. “You want his seal? Otherwise, I’ll take it,” he adds.
“It’s mine,” she says, her pale blue eyes narrowing.
Armin shrugs and leaves her to it.
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When she finds herself alone, Mikasa stops to think for a moment.
She could go find Eren or Armin, but truthfully, she expects that they can handle themselves in a place like this. She could go have more of the fancy food, but it honestly isn’t to her taste. She could go skulk in a corner and wait for the night to be over.
But that would leave her too open to unsavory sorts of attention, the way being alone and out of the way often does. It would be a shame if she had to extricate herself out by breaking a few fingers. It could get her kicked out. Or raise questions about how she got in.
So Mikasa shrugs and does the opposite -- she heads for the center of the ballroom, where there are more people and no one would be willing to try anything too obvious.
It doesn’t take too long for a brave young soldier to approach her. He’s from the Military Police -- automatic negative -- but he’s blushing and can’t even look her in the eyes, and not because he’s staring at her chest.
He asks her to dance. Mikasa shrugs and goes with it. She’s seen enough to remember the steps. They glide around the dance floor a couple times, then a nobleman tries his luck. Mikasa shrugs and dances with him too.
There’s another after that, and another. Mikasa doesn’t stop dancing and doesn’t let any of them pull her away. Only one nobleman is dumb enough to try sliding his hand lower and Mikasa retaliates by grinding her heel into his foot, all without breaking step.
It’s kind of fun, the step-step-turn of the dances. As the night winds down, Mikasa is surprised to find herself smiling faintly.
They’ll have to do this again sometime.
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For some reason, Levi is starting to sound more and more like EMA’s put upon babysitter, who also freeloads off the kids. He is so done with these brats. So done. After he eats this stew. And takes a nap. At least they're good entertainment, right?