#enchainednomad

        VALENTINES? He’d be understanding. He can’t imagine it being such a         popular practice around here, now that he thinks about it. But Christmas is a         holiday taught around the world, right? One way or another, however, he wishes         to celebrate it even here. 

        DON’T judge him; Christmas is just the one holiday he is extremely giddy about. 

          {~†~} – Aoba was so very bored. Nothing interesting was going on tonight and he needed something (or someone) for some kind of entertainment. So here he was, wandering through  one of the back alley ways near, but not in, the Northern District. There was a bunch of thugs and yakuza members hanging around. He knew a few of them, but none of them were good enough to be used as entertainment. He shoved his hands in his pockets and pressed on. 

       Then, he saw exactly what he wanted. The absolute perfect entertainment.

Starter for enchainednomad

Armin didn’t really know how he ended up like that. Since he had his eye surgery in Platinum Jail, performed by some doctors who did it completely for free, he started feeling weird things because of his new bionic eyes. He thought at first that it would be discomfort, but it wasn’t quite simple. He started having nightmares, he felt terrible headaches and he started to feel that things were not ok in his brain. 

His suspicions became true a few weeks ago. He was hanging out with his Rib gang Titan, whose bosses where Eren and Mikasa, Armin’s best friends, when some crazy dude went into him trying to convince him to leave Titan and join his band. The blond boy tried to get rid of him, but he insisted over and over again. It was when his whole body lost control and his vision became blurry. The only think he remember after that was that guy lying in the floor with dead eyes. 

{~†~} -- Aoba was silent as he moved through the destroyed streets of the Northern District. Damn Virus. . . sending him up here to keep an eye on Scratch. Why did he have to do this? From what Aoba had heard, Scratch never really bothered anyone. No one dared come up here because all the members were escaped prison inmates. 

But no. Aoba was here told to get some info on them to assess if they were useful or not. What a pain. The only noise that could be heard from him was the soft sound coming from his headphones. He jumped over a pile of debris and headed closer towards Scratch’s hideout.

Till a huge shadow of a person caught his eye in the distance.

 Send “Jail Birds” for our muses to be cell mates in a prison together.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this, their plan had been simple. They weren’t supposed to be in court, there wasn’t supposed to be a trial to find innocence. Yet, Aoba sat emotionless in his chair by the lawyer as the Foreperson stood with their final decision. Why hadn’t he grabbed Koujaku’s arms and held him back instead of holding the family for the beatings? ‘Guilty’. The gavel echoed on the block, as his sentence was listed Aoba simply stared. He was still as dumb-struck even as he was being placed in irons. Why hadn’t he stopped when there was blood? Why did he help the murders? 

The ride to the prison was kept quiet with the driver and the guard’s serious attitudes. When one of the inmates with Aoba got rowdy a crack to the head with the back of the guard’s rifle kept him unconscious for the rest of the trip. It seemed, wherever he was going that the prisoners were more like meat than men. That fact became more apparent when they were pulled into the main part, it was quiet in the halls even when they walked by the lunch room. It was more intimidating than the orange suits they were forced to be put in but less than the warden’s introduction. 

The air was stagnant and sticky, much as it usually was in Midorijima, but it just seemed moreso navigating through the multitude of alleyways and thin, claustrophobic underpasses. Noiz hadn’t minded so much --things like that never much got to him. He walked, hands buried in his pockets and a slight hunch to his shoulders as he lazily kicked the ground on his way back to his home.

The Rhyme tournament had been somewhat of a disappointment --still no-one that could rival his battle prowess, and leaving the exasperated victor, the blonde had considered stopping by that junk shop to see if Aoba had changed his mind about joining the team. Nah, he’d save it for another time.

The underpass opened to a small street not too far from where the young German lived. Settled at the side of the pavement was an old bike, both rusting and yet somehow sleek. He wouldn’t have paid it much mind if he didn’t know who it belonged to. What was the head of Scratch doing here? As far as he knew, this wasn’t exactly their territory --or Ribster territory at all.