#eren_01

He had walked out of the residential district during what appeared to be early waking hours, for a quiet smoke.

 It wasn’t exactly the smartest idea to spend what little money they had on an expensive habit, but he was certain there would be opportunities to make whatever he spent back. The need for a quiet killing was a profession that had never really died out, just gotten more difficult.

Kiritsugu had paused to light the cigarette at small wooden bridge that out-looked the surrounding lake, shielding it from the north west winds skimming across it. There was something surreal about the stillness of it all, or perhaps, he had simply been dead long enough that any sensory stimulation was odd.

He’s about halfway through his cigarette when a young man joins him on the opposite end of the bridge. Honestly, “young man” is a generous stretch; he’s practically a child. But, the military style uniform and stern look on his face say he’d probably resent being referred to as such.

He’s been starring at the lake for quite some time, long enough for Kiritusugu to have finished his cigarette. He takes a long drag and exhales a thin stream of smoke.