Armin had first seen Krista's talents at work when she had come to him for assistance — Ymir had barricaded herself in the broom closet when Krista approached her with a bar of soap, and showed no signs of backing down from her stand against personal hygiene. Krista's instructions to Armin had been simple and clear: please would you help me unscrew the hinges from the door, perhaps screw them back on when I escort Ymir to the showers?

He never minded helping his classmates, and was somewhat intrigued as to how Krista was planning on "escorting" Ymir once her fortress had been breached. The thought of her carrying Ymir was…well. Something like a bear being carried off by a miniature pony.

And so, Armin handed Krista a screwdriver and they both set to work on the door. When the last screw came loose, and they lowered the door to the ground, Armin caught sight of Ymir cowering in the corner, eyes wild, and hand hovering at her mouth.

"Ymir." Krista stepped forward.

Ymir's hand flew up to cover her eyes. "Don't do it, I swear to god, don't you dare fucking do it or else I'll put all the shit in the infirmary on the highest shelves so you can never reach a damn thing ever again…"

Ymir paused in her tirade of threats, and lowered her hand from her eyes, shakily. She froze, blanched, and whimpered. Armin watched Krista, fascinated. Such a simple method — tilting the chin down to draw attention to the eyes, which are blinked rapidly to create the illusion of welling tears. But such results…Ymir lurched after Krista, broken and defeated, and resigned to her sudsy fate.

Krista smiled at Armin over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows, almost expectantly. Armin gave a thoughtful nod back.

Armin understood Krista's gesture — she had meant the demonstration to teach him the technique as reward for his assistance. He turned her instructions over again in his mind, calculating.

He tried it out that night at dinner, to break up one of Eren and Jean's fights. They'd begged forgiveness at his feet, right then and there.

The thrill of power coursed through Armin's blood like rich, spiced wine.