Work Text:
Fleet Street in Shiganshina occupied a very delicate nebulous space between shady and respectable. It was not uncommon to see folks of the upper class wander through to partake of its services, both legal and otherwise, just as it was not so respectable that the average commoner didn't feel uncomfortable walking down its streets.
It maintained this status through an outward vernier of respectability, that covered up its more shady elements. While there were no prostitutes wandering the streets, that didn't change the fact that Mrs. Renz's otherwise respectable inn, doubled as a brothel. Or the fact that Mr. Bodt's apothecary sold a few medicines that weren't exactly medicines.
The other side of the equation was a mix of equal parts willful obliviousness and unintentional apathy. While Officer Kirstein was vigilant in making sure pickpockets and robbers didn't prowl the street, at the same time he turned a blind eye to the activities of the apothecary, the "inn," Mr. Springer's gambling den, and other shady establishments that masqueraded as respectable businesses. In fact he was frequently a patron of said establishments.
In the same vein no one dared think too hard on the fact that occasionally someone would enter Mr. Jeager's barber shop, and not come out. Most people dealt with the implications by not paying much attention to the comings and goings of the barber shop and so could not be said to rightfully know who was entering and/or leaving the store.
At the same time, no one dared think to hard about why Mrs. Ackerman always seemed to be able to keep her meat pies stuffed with meat and her shelves always full. They all ate there after all. (Most secretly figured that the meat in question consisted mostly of stray dog, feral cat, and the odd rat.)
And above all else, it never once occurred to anyone that the two occurrences might be connected.
---
Judge Hawkings had been in a good mood all day. It showed, in his work too. Instead of having a notorious thief hanged, he merely had the man sentenced to ten years hard labor in a salt mine.
When Armin Arlert, his clerk, commented on it. He had smiled. Which in itself was strange, as he would have normally snapped at the boy to get back to work.
"I'm going to ask Mrs. Leonheart to marry me," he explained, removing his judge's robes and donning his coat. "She won't refuse me this time, not unless she wants her father evicted from his store."
"Congratulations sir," Arlert responded politely. He then paused, as if considering something. "Sir, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion? When one plans to propose to a lady, they must take care to look their best, and if you will forgive me for saying so sir, you're starting to look a little scruffy."
Judge Hawkings frowned and unconsciously brought his hand up to rub the stubble on his chin. He hardly looked scruffy of course, but Arlert had made a good point about looking your best.
"If I may sir," Armin continued, sensing the judge's silent agreement. "I know of a barber sir, an old friend of mine. He's one of the best in Shiganshina sir."
The judge nodded to himself. Arlert was right, a shave and a haircut was just the thing he needed. "You say your friend is one of the best?" he inquired.
Armin smiled. "I guarantee he'll give you the closest shave you'll ever have."
---
Jeager's barber shop was located up a short flight of stairs in a small room above a meat pie store. It was certainly not as prestigious as the areas Judge Hawkings usually frequented, but it was respectable enough.
They walked through the door, just in time to see the barber himself wiped the last bit of shaving foam from a man's freshly shaven head.
"There you go Connie," he said cheerfully. "Like a marble bust."
Mr. Springer raised his hand and ran it over his shaved head. "Perfect as usual," he proclaimed, "Thanks Eren." He reached in his pocket and tossed Eren a couple coins in payment, before heading out the door.
Judge Hawkings scrutinized Mr. Springer's smooth scalp as he passed by. It seemed Arlert had not been exaggerating about his friend's skill.
Eren in the meanwhile had finished rinsing and wiping off his razors and turned towards his new customers.
"Armin!" he exclaimed. "Good to see you! What brings you here?"
"Eren, this is Judge Hawkings," Armin explained. "I've told him of your prowess with a razor and he's here for a shave and a haircut. As close as you can possibly make it."
"Well come on in and have a seat Judge Hawkings," Eren smiled, motioning towards his barber's chair. "I assure you Armin's not exaggerating, I promise to give you the closest shave you've ever had." He turned to the sink and began lathering his brush with soap suds.
The judge seated himself in the chair, and Eren proceeded to lather his face with the soap. Eren then selected one of the his straight razors, sharped it expertly with the leather strop at his belt, and placed the blade against Judge Hawkings's face.
The next thing Hawkings knew he was choking on blood.
Eren stepped back, surveying the judge's slashed throat with something like professional pride. "Closest shave I'll ever give eh Armin?" he said.
"Indeed," his friend replied, nodding in agreement.
Eren reached forward and gave one of the levers at the side of the chair a yank. A trap door in the floor opened up, the chair lurched backwards, and Hawkings slid straight down the hole in the floor. The chair righted itself, the hole in the floor closed up, and it was like the Judge had never set foot in Eren's barber shop.
"So," Eren said conversationally, rising the blood from his razor blade. "How are things going between you and Annie?"
"Excellent," Armin smiled. "I've finally saved up enough for a ring and I was thinking of asking her to marry me soon."
"Congratulations," Eren smiled. "I'm sure you'll have a happy life together." He slid his razor back into place beside the other knives and scissors in his leather case. "Are you staying for dinner?" he inquired. "Mikasa would love to have you."
Armin laughed slightly. "So long as it's not meat pies. They've never been my favorite, even if the meat is fresh." He cast a slight nod at the concealed trap door.
His friend grinned back. "Nope, those are for the customers. Roast duck sound more to your liking?"
Armin smiled. "Sounds delicious."