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@kerothi
❝— @kerothi // with all the heart
|| PRIVATE || JEAN KIRSTEIN || SELECTIVE ||
CANON / DIVERGENT CHARACTER FROM SNK / AOT. MULTI-VERSE. SLOW / SPORADIC ACTIVITY. WRITTEN BY JACK / 31. 21+ ONLY. NOT SPOILER-FREE.
|| RULES || VERSES || PROMPTS || PINBOARD || ☆
Vito moved with the kind of subtle precision that kept him unnoticed, even when the world around him buzzed with tension. He kept his pace steady as the boy — Jean, he now knew — trailed behind him, high-strung, eyes flickering from shadow to shadow. The kid was wound too tight, like a wire about to snap, every breath shallow, every step hesitant. It was painfully clear Jean didn’t belong in Zaun, not even for a minute, but Vito knew better than to let on too much. He had a talent for reading people, and right now, what the boy needed most wasn’t answers, just a bit of calm in the storm.
The brunette had seen it often enough in this city — the way outsiders came in, shoulders drawn up to their ears, terrified the very streets would eat them alive. They weren’t wrong to be careful and wary in this sense, but Zaun wasn’t as black-and-white as some thought. Not everyone was a predator looking to rip out your throat the moment one blinked an eye. The young man was lucky enough to cross paths with someone who preferred to avoid unnecessary bloodshed and conflict. Though, Vito wasn’t about to let Jean realize how precarious his situation had been.
As Jean finally spoke, his voice unsteady, Vito kept his expression impassive. His face didn’t betray much — just a faint flicker of amusement at the boy’s attempt to break the silence. The Northerner was no stranger to fear, but this kid’s brand of paranoia was almost palpable. He could sense the tremor in the other's voice, the way he was almost already bracing for betrayal. The question hung awkwardly in the air for a moment, but Vito, ever the shrewd strategist, weighed his words before responding.
"I’m not from around here. Yes." He confirmed, his tone smooth but quiet, designed to draw no more attention than necessary. His subtle accent, a blend of the northern Freljord and Piltover’s refinement, had clearly given him away, but he wouldn’t be bothered by that. "But I’ve been here long enough to understand how things play out. And how to avoid certain… unwanted outcomes."
He glanced briefly over his shoulder, noticing how Jean kept looking back, as if the shadows might reach out and drag him into some dark alley. That level of vigilance would keep a person alive here, but if it were overplayed, it’d paint a target on his back. The trick was in knowing when to blend, when to stand tall, and when to simply disappear. Vito had mastered that balance, and Jean—whether he was aware of it or not — was now under his wing, if only for the moment.
"Keep your eyes forward.” Vito murmured under his breath, his voice low enough that only Jean would catch it. “No need to give them any more reason to follow us. They’ve decided you’re not worth the trouble — for now."
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, knowing the subtle warning would sink in. There was no need to spell it out further, the Enforcer already knew he’d barely dodged a bullet. Vito turned his gaze forward again, guiding them down another narrow street, where the lights were dimmer and the crowd sparser. Less exposure. Less risk.
Though, as Jean asked for his name, Vito hesitated for a heartbeat — just long enough to consider how much of himself he wanted to offer up to a stranger, even one as harmless as this jittery Enforcer-Boy. Still, it couldn’t hurt to play along, at least for now.
"Vito." he answered simply, not bothering with any titles or embellishments. Names in Zaun were fluid, shifting with the wind, and his carried more weight in different circles than Jean could begin to understand. "Otherwise known as, The Curator. Names don’t mean much down here, though. It’s what you do with them that matters."
He cast a sidelong glance at the young man behind him, catching the way the boy’s eyes flicked around, still suspicious, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. The kid had a lot to learn about surviving in Zaun. But then, everyone did when they first stumbled into the undercity’s jaws.
"Just stick close to me." The brunette added, his tone quieter now, almost companionable, as though the boy’s unease amused him more than anything.
Vito’s steps didn’t falter, his long braid swaying gently with the rhythm of his stride, always forward, always calm. He didn’t need Jean to trust him — trust was an illusion in these parts — but for now, their goals aligned. If he could get the boy out of this immediate mess without attracting further trouble, it would be a win for both of them.
And Vito never moved without a strategy. "Why Zaun?" He asked suddenly, his voice low and even, cutting through the thick, polluted air like a blade. He didn’t turn to face Jean as he spoke, but his tone carried enough weight to suggest this was more than just idle curiosity. It was an invitation, perhaps, to understand the other one a little better — or to gauge how much of a liability he might be. "You’re not here by accident, are you?” Vito continued, eyes still surveying the streets ahead, as if the city itself could answer his question. "Piltover’s more your speed, I’d wager. So what brings you down here, to this… less accommodating part of the world?"
Jean whips his head back forward upon instruction, still with his eyes flicking back and forth from his path to the man just a step ahead of him. His breathing is still heavy, especially when the older fella talks about being followed and Jean wants nothing more than to take another cautious glance over his shoulder again. He has to trust the experienced though, and do what he says; at least while what he says seems to be what is going to keep him alive for the night... Hopefully, anyway.
His confidence in that isn't exactly great. As they round a corner down into a slimmer stretch of alleyway with less witnesses around, Jean debates if the gang of uglies were maybe a safer bet after all. He knows nothing about this guy — except for his name, now. Vito, he's eventually told. But that title, The Curator, raises more questions.
Jean continues after Vito, although he'd feel more comfortable if the narrow path allowed for a little more arm's length between them. Names might not mean much, according to him, but Jean does have to wonder just what exactly it is that he curates so well that it's earned him enough reputation to go by an alias like that. It's not a name he'd ever heard back when he was still working in Piltover — which could be a good thing, but he's still in Zaun so somehow he doubts it...
He would have asked about it, if Vito didn't come back with a question for him first.
Why Zaun?
It's not something Jean is keen to explain and he hesitates to do so, backed into his indecision when the older man observes that he's not here by accident. Piltover's more his speed. While Jean's more than aware how obvious it is that he's not from here, he does have to question what about him makes it so clear he's from Piltover.
That's not good.
If the wrong person asks the right thing, he could be easily found. He could be easily sold out.
"Uh-hm..." Jean weighs his words as he slows his pace a fraction, creates a bit more of a gap between them while he bands his arm across his chest and squeezes at his bicep. "The... The idea was to start again. Go some place where nobody knows who I am... or where I'm from..." He darts another glance at what little of Vito's side-profile that he can see. Jean's sure he doesn't need to tell him he's aware it's not going well.
He's hoping he doesn't have to go into any more detail than that for the man to be satisfied.
"Why- Why do they call you The Curator?" He dishes back after another beat or two. Still trying to gauge his current company and figure out if it's one he wants to keep or get far away from as soon as possible instead. "And why are you... helping me?"
Isabel’s grin widened, clearly amused by the flustered state the man was in. There was something endearing about his awkwardness, the way his movements betrayed him despite whatever cool plan he must have had in mind. She leaned back against the shelf, watching as he stumbled over his words instead of his feet, her head tilted, realising how much she appreciated how perfectly unperfect it was.
She took the CD's from him, letting him mutter about the plan he had, "Lucky for you, I prefer those that are a little rough around the edges" Isabel mused, putting the CD's back in the box. She had a feeling he wasn't here to shop. "Y'know trashing a store is pretty punk" she chuckled, the box tucked under her arm, "Next up, smashin' a guitar on stage".
It was easier to talk to him knowing he wasn't completely refined and polished, it made her more confident in herself, knowing she didn't have to act any different around him. After all, he had embarrassed himself first.
"So, when you practiced this in yer head," Isabel started, moving to place the box on the counter, "did y'start with tellin' me yer name?" she asked, turning round to face him again.
"Then what? Y'lean casually on the counter, compliment me, tell me I was right and Hayley Williams is our one true Queen. Then offer me yer arm on the way t'get ice cream?"
Jean scuffs up a breath when the girl says she prefers those that are a little rough around the edges. Thank god for that because that's just what he is, no matter how much he tries to act like he's got it all together. The gift of the gab can only get him so far.
He laughs when she tells him trashing the store is pretty punk. Yes, it certainly would've been, had he actually done so on purpose. But—
"Oh, you have no idea how much I've always wanted do that." Jean grins widely as he pushes himself back up to stand, swiping the carpet dust off his knees. Still a little hot in the cheeks but comfortable in the belief that he could still leave here with his head held high and a potential date in the very near future, if he plays his cards right. Telling her that he's actually in a band might help — but then he'd have to tell her they're nobodies, really, and that just kind of takes away the wow factor of it all anyway.
She pushes the conversation along for him though, before he's suspended in his awkward and gets stuck in yet another glorious fumbling of his words and bravado. He pockets his hands while he trails along behind her back to the counter, letting out another light laugh of nerves when she asks about names.
"Ah, yeah, well I was gonna—" He starts then promptly stops when she turns around again, stopping him in his tracks and setting him back a step before she asks then what? "Well..."
He licks his lip, pulling his mouth shut with a guilty-but-amused look at the floor when she correctly guesses what his plan of action had intended to be — with just one little error that gets him laughing anyway.
"You're jus' not gonna let that go, are ya, Red?" His eyes crinkle with his honest, lopsided grin, but Jean does in fact slip around to her side so that he may lean on the counter like she predicted. "Can we start wi' the names? Then I'll happily go on diggin' my hole about Miss Williams."
And still try and shoot his shot with that invitation for ice-cream anyway.
"I'm Jean," he says with a hand to his chest before it's offered out to the girl instead. Poised and ready to shake when he tells her, "And for my- my compliment I think I'm gonna say: you've got really pretty eyes... I can uh, work on some better ones though."
While Armin dumps some antiseptic onto a clean piece of gauze, there's a blessed moment in which he thinks he's successfully shut the subject down. But as he goes in to finish up treating the injury, Jean decides to open his mouth yet again. Perhaps even more frustratingly, he turns his head at just the right moment, so all Armin's gauze comes into contact with is empty air. The blond frowns. At this rate, they're going to be here all evening.
"Alright, alright. You're welcome." I'd do it again, if you needed me to. "That's what you want to hear, isn't it? Now, come here and stay still for a minute."
A hand finds its way to Jean's face, fingertips grazing his jaw, gently pulling him back into a position in which Armin can see what he's doing. Blue meets gold, intent on a stern expression that instead fizzles into something almost shy when he realizes just how close they are. Whoops. Armin backs off, clears his throat, and swiftly brings his focus back to the wound with a mumbled, this is probably going to sting a bit.
His hand remains cradling Jean's face as he dabs at the slice through his brow, just in case he tries to pull away again. Doesn't let go until he's finished with the antiseptic and needs both hands to apply a makeshift bandage with medical tape and more gauze from the stockpile on the table. It's not the prettiest bandage, but its neat and should be effective in keeping the wound clean while it heals.
"There." The blond takes a short moment to admire his handiwork before he nods to himself. Acceptable. "Finally done."
No, not really... Well, kind of. But still no. He's not really sure what he wants now that question's been asked, to be honest. Some more weight behind it, maybe. It's a big deal, the price of his life several times over now. Armin's still talking like it's nothing.
Jean frowns, paused on a breath when fingertips touch to his jaw and guides him back again. Frustrated without the words to explain why, he resorts to a quiet stare and defeated sigh instead. Blue eyes avert their gaze first and Armin leans back a little, clearing his throat before he mutters a warning that Jean doesn't fully take in. You know, until the antiseptic is touched to the split in his brow and makes him hiss with a wince, fingers flexed then furled into a tight fist while he tries to keep still like he's told.
"Shhhit..." He's sure to grouse anyway. Teeth pinched behind the thin line of his mouth and a bouncing leg while he hums his way passed the worst of that sting. "Hm-hmm..."
He blinks with the one eye below the bust just a bit more than the other when Armin is finished with his torture and lets go of his face, picking up the gauze and tape instead. He should continue to keep still but his eyebrows have a mind of their own and Jean makes several different expressions trying to find one that doesn't feel like someone's just poured acid on his face while he awaits the next step of his clean-up.
The rest of the process is much less unpleasant. Eyes are closed and relief is breathed while Armin fixes the gauze over his eyebrow. Jean takes the time to reflect on his badgering meanwhile, decidedly a bit deflated that he's come away feeling more disappointed for trying than he had before he ever attempted to broach the subject.
He mutters his thanks once Armin's finished and almost immediately raises a hand to prod at the gauze, steering back to find his reflection again and assess how much abuse he's going to get from Connie with this new look. Probably a lot, he suspects.
"Sorry for ramblin' at you," he says, peeking back at the blond from the corner of his eye. "Just somethin' I think about a lot, is all. More than you do, apparently. But, ah..."
It is my son, my darling, my cinnamon apple, my baby boy Porco Galliard's birthday today on 11/11 (HINT-HINT)
I will be like "I'm fine" and then another fucking event will occur
you're not gonna BELIEVE who has covid
— wolkenleere, excerpt of a book I’ll never write
Without delay, he shoulders his way back into her field of vision. She wishes he'd stop while he has the chance, but she's starting to anticipate this kind of stubbornness from the younger man. He's got that air to him, that no good sense. She does look, at least. She's never been one to flinch from a pair of narrowed eyes.
"That's just it, Jean. You want me to be the enemy, the one who shoves innocent people off a wall, the one standing by while women and children are turned into monsters. And I can't deny my hand, either. What happened to the villagers on Paradis, I was there for it. But those titans were my people, too. Our people. We are as much a hostage of Marley as you. They just turned us into part-time jailers, sold snake oil and false hope to the starving masses. It's the oldest trick in the book. If our people hate each other, our masters can keep doing what they want. Marley and Eren, too. I am part of this machinery, just like you are. And to pretend otherwise is either foolishness or cowardice."
No. Jean shakes his head while she speaks. That's not what he wants. That's far from what he wants, though he would be quick to react that way when she gives him the impression that is what she is. It's not what he thinks. What he thinks is—
We are as much a hostage of Marley as you, Pieck says, and Jean blinks at her. Taken back a step and kept there while she goes on to call themselves part-time jailers, says it's the oldest trick in the book. If our people hate each other, she understands. She thinks she's educating him, she's just proving to him that she's educated. They already think the same way. It's just never been said out loud before.
After a beat or two of silence, Jean's brows come down from their surprise and he huffs out a breath. Gives a half-nod, half-shrug of acceptance and says, "Alright, then, maybe I should'a just asked you sooner."
Evidently he'd been wrong about her. Big enough to admit it though, he's sure to staple on a plastic grin designed entirely to infuriate when he tells her, "I'm sorry that I doubted you were brighter than that."
"Oh, 'yourselves', is it? I'm curious. Which one am I in your argument? Marleyan or Eldian? Or does it depend on your opinion of me? —I thought you're brighter than that, Jean."
She doesn't so much look frustrated with him as disappointed, which is a strange enough sight after so much deadpan eye contact. For a brief moment she seems intent on explaining, rebutting, lecturing even. Her lips part to do so. But then she catches herself, comes to her senses. All she does is sigh and, at long last, Pieck turns her head away from him.
"But that's just it though, whatever my opinion is doesn't matter. You're an Eldian. The big hunk of steaming mass right in front of us says you're Eldian, but you..." Jean steers himself right around to face her, acknowledged or not. He touches the tip of his tongue to his lip, pulls his mouth into a tight line while he thinks about just what exactly his problem is.
"I don't get you," he finally admits. She's hard to read. "But I'd like to know what you think. 'Cause sometimes, some things you say make me wonder. Where do you think you fall?"
He makes it easy for himself there, but it's an opinion she can understand. These monsters have beset his whole life, gnashing teeth and gurgling screams heralding their approach. Pieck is no different to him. She remembers how his thunder spears felt, when they ripped her apart. Fair enough, too. She would have done the same to him, with her teeth.
"That depends on your angle. Not everyone would agree. But in this case? Yes, quite ugly. Annie's titan was considered quite appealing, in her monstrous way. I pitied her. It's of course much easier when they're hideous. You can ignore that they are people."
It's almost funny, for almost a second. Remembering how Reiner had commented about Annie's titan once — before she took out half the squad in her hunt for Eren, that Reiner had been aware of all along. Jean's features sour while Pieck's still talking.
"Is that what you told yourselves when you were throwing them off the wall, sending them to kill us?" He makes sure to bat back at her. "Because it was my understanding that Eldians were never really considered people in the first place."
"I've been called worse for less. Don't overexert yourself on my account." She looks back over her shoulder, then, at the steaming, slowly decaying skeleton of her body. Her titan's body.
"Besides, you're not half wrong... No? Quite an ugly thing."
He scoffs to that, overexerting himself. Probably deserved at this point, but Jean can own it. He's called her worse before, none of which he's ever gone out of his way to apologize for.
"It's a titan," he replies, carefully. Steering his side-eye from Pieck to the Cart's decaying body with a wrinkle of his nose. "Like water is wet, don't you think?"
"So I've been told," Her tone falls flat as she cocks her head. No use debating the fact now, no matter how it rubs against the grain of her mind. Besides, apparently it unnerves him more than her. That's rare.
"Well, it started with you inferring I was a troll. We snowballed from there."
That was odd. But there's a lot of things about Pieck Finger that he finds odd. The inflections in her tone of voice and whatever they might mean are far beyond his comprehension, especially right now.
"Right..." He's beginning to wonder why he ever opens his mouth. More so, why he just can't seem to shut it again. "Are we still doin' the whole manners thing? I could maybe take that back."
She holds still while he stammers and retreats. Something of a cornered animal to him, there. His words stumble over each other in an effort to make as little sense as possible, but she takes his meaning well enough. He is amusing... in his way.
"But." She agrees as he pulls his hand away from her, flinching as if burned by her touch. She steps away at last, lets him finally breathe easier. "Relax, Jean. I'm no lady, remember?"
But, Pieck echoes, and Jean is content to leave it at that. Quietly clearing out his throat while the scratch behind his ear turns gradually into a rub at the back of his neck instead. And she's no lady, remember? So Jean can't really justify the creeping heat beneath his palm that touches up to the backs of his ears. He'll blame the steam.
"Yeah, you're still a girl though..." He mutters. In retrospect, he doesn't really know why because it is of no benefit to his case whatsoever. Plus, as another afterthought, she's older than him so— "Woman," he corrects himself. Just getting warmer. "Wh- How'd we get here again?"
At long last, he elicits a genuine look of surprise from her. When he rounds the titan's shoulder, she watches him with barely veiled curiosity. Her warm hand slides into his, allowing him a sturdy grip on her. With his help, she frees herself from the dead flesh, steam billowing around her. She slides down and lands on her feet, gracefully ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up her spine. Instead she draws nearer, looks up at him with dark inquisitive eyes.
"...You think I'm pretty?"
Shit. She gets him again. Yet another wide-open shape of his mouth is made after that question is asked, and Pieck's drawn herself closer inside his personal bubble, prompting Jean back another unexpected step while he stammers over his response.
"No..." The first fully complete word he manages to come back with, but it's weak and he knows it. Jean knows what he said, no matter how much he might regret it now. He snags his hand back now that she's ground-level and sturdy, scratching just behind his ear while he struggles, "Well, okay, not like- I don't think you're not, but..."
On command, steam bursts from the nape of the titan. The flesh peels back hissing and tearing, as the shape of Pieck Finger slowly emerges. She doesn't bother forcing her hair back in place, unruly mane splaying down her back and shoulders. She leans over the lowered head of the Cart and peers down at Jean.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
To this, Jean's mouth makes a series of different shapes where he struggles to come back with a witty retort of his own. That wasn't exactly what he meant, but he supposes he did only tell her to show him. Still...
"Y'know it takes more than a pretty face to make a lady, right?" Jean says as he navigates his way around the Cart's long snout. He still makes a point of offering up his hand with an even more pointed arch of his eyebrows, despite what he says, and assuming she intends to come down. He sarcastically asks, "Would you like some help?"
A short barking noise issues from behind bared teeth, and it takes a moment to become apparent: that was a laugh.
"I'll say. Your manners are atrocious."
He didn't flinch... too badly. Was loud and surprising, that's all. Anyone would have.
"Oh, and yours are so much better?" Jean puffs out a breath. "Show me that lady you were talkin' about and I might return a gentleman — but 'til then?"
