Attack on Titan / Interactive Story

88

The day began with tax collection, a feat at which the Military Police loved taking advantage of. It had been almost a week inside your new branch, and everyone had learned quickly of the faults and crimes acted out by the Military Police soldiers.

Ballard and you had set off into your designated district to maintain, along with around one-hundred others. Tax collection, land distribution - the normal tasks.

Ballard stopped outside a rather large and white house. "Can you give me a minute,     Y/N?"

"You want me to wait outside?"

Ballard squinted his eyes in thought. "No, never-mind. Just come with me. You'll burn up out here."

He walked up the perfectly paved doorsteps, knocking until answer. A woman, much shorter than Ballard answered. She held a plump figure and soft, blue eyes beneath platinum curls. Her face lit up ecstatically in front of Ballard.

"Ballard, baby! Come in, come in!" She swept her body out of the doorway and rushed the two of you into the house with a sweeping hand motion. "And who may this sugarplum be?" 

You blushed at such a nickname. The cold air of the house hit your skin and made the hair on the back of your neck stand. The house was grand, a large staircase to the left of the doorway and an open dining room straight ahead. The building was decked in windows, light souring in through every angle.

Ballard chuckled and rubbed the hair on the back of his head in embarrassment. "Mom, this is my friend, Y/N."

You smiled courteously. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Jesperson."

The woman, although surrounded by detailed architecture and design, dressed modestly and casually. Her expression rose at the sound of your name, possibly something she had once heard before.

"Where is dad?" Ballard asked, trying to peer up the stairs. "Is he here?"

The mother's giggle sounded very similar to that of the gentle sound of a hummingbird's wings.

"Yes, yes. He is upstairs. I'll go retrieve him. Go to the kitchen, go! I've made cookies!" She happily skipped her way to the stairs, disappearing into one of the rooms far above.

Ballard guided you to the kitchen, which you could have easily done yourself, but he felt he needed to as the host. The entire house was like a magic show. Every corner was a surprise, something everyday people from your hometown would never have even known was real.

Ballard noticed your expression and handed you a warm cookie from off of a tray. "I didn't live here, growing up. They moved recently - few months ago. Dad thought it was a good change."

A man, just slightly shorter than Ballard, trudged into the kitchen. The man's bottom length of his left leg was bare and replaced with a metal pole. A small clone of Ballard, a boy with skinny features and spaced-teeth, followed closely behind. Both wore very modest clothes compared to the wealth illuminated by the house. Ballard's mother stood in the hall and watched happily with her hands clasped together in front of her.

"Hello, son." The man greeted joyfully. His expression and attitude did not seem to fit his bland welcoming. The man shook his son's hand gently and then shook yours.

"You must be Y/N."

Ballard's brother jumped into his arms and waited for Ballard to mess with his hair.

"And you must be Mr. Jesperson."

The man was embellished with wrinkles and  puffy cheeks. His eyes squinted gleefully at you. "Ballard has spoken about you."

You weren't sure what to say but you could definitely feel Ballard's embarrassed blush behind you. Ballard's little brother danced his way over to you and shook your hand sharply.

"Nice to meet you, little man." You smiled at the kid.

"Where's Winona?" Ballard's mother spoke up.

Ballard propped himself back up onto his heels, looking down upon everyone shorter than him. "She's out working. She said she'd come over tonight."

Mama Jesperson smiled and clapped her hands together. "Good, good! You're welcome to join us for dinner, Y/N."

"No, thank you. I'd love to, but I have work." Ballard easily saw through your lie but kept quiet. You didn't want to intrude. Joining a dinner that was already planned for Ballard's family and Winona seemed wrong, maybe even a little awkward.

Ballard's brother handed you two some cookies before you left, his parents waving goodbye. It was off to work.

~

The heat made your clothes cling to your skin. It was humid, the air right before a thick storm. Ballard and you had gone off to your designated district to collect tax, but you both rarely said any words.

Your mind kept drifting back to his family's new house. The Military Police soldiers were treated well, but not that well. Families of veterans could receive small bags of cash as thanking gifts or gardens or small shops, but not a complete move, not a complete transfer from one wall to another. It was likely that Ballard's father had done immoral acts to gain quick cash during his employment, and it was likely Ballard knew of it, too. The family, as sweet and generous as they were, were guarded under a rooftop of fraud.

"Sorry about that." Ballard apologized after a long silence.

You two walked through the streets, headed toward the building where the tax was stored.

"No need to apologize. Your family is very kind."

Ballard messed with his uniform. "You could've come to dinner."

You looked to him. He looked like a pouting child, upset about not getting candy. "Didn't want to get in the way."

Ballard took a deep breath in. "Y/N, I..."

He was cut off by the sound of shouting. Loud shouting. Ballard and you ran towards the noise to find one of the Military Police soldiers, inside a woman's home, prompting their shotgun against the wooden floor in a provoking manner.

"Hand over the money!"

"I've already paid! I swear!" The woman turned to the doorway, hearing you and Ballard step up to see the commotion. She only seemed more frightened by the increase of soldiers. "I don't have any more money! I always pay my tax!"

Ballard walked into the house, attempting to pull the shotgun from out of the boy's grasp -without success. "Schmitt, get away from her."

"Fuck off, Jesperson." He hissed, "She hasn't paid."

Leave (Chapter 92)
Help the Woman (Chapter 93)