#kinglesssoul

The carriage rattles under Levi's ass, tossing him on every rock and bump from the Survey Corps headquarters to Mitras. Not even the disgustingly lavish upholstery of the seat he's stubbornly planted on helps the ache in his buttocks; what a wasteful way to travel, he thinks.

If the choice were Levi's, he would have much rather ridden a horse — better yet, he could have swung into the Mitras Command Hall on his ODM gear, break dramatically through the window and land his dirty soles on a rich pig's stupid face.

A quick and efficient way to demonstrate his abilities — the prowess which has gotten him a handwritten invitation to join the Survey Corps, from none other than the commander to be, Erwin Smith. A man so infamous for his wits and cunning, the higher ups tried to get him killed. And when that failed, they let him become the commander, which, given the nature of the job, is the next best thing to assassination. ( The titans might succeed where Levi hasn't. )

Sometimes, Levi wonders what would have happened if he had accomplished the original task and fulfilled the mission. What would have become of the Survey Corps? What would have become of him? He doesn't regret his choice, of course; the burning desire to serve Erwin's head on a platter to a snob has, over the past two years, dulled into the occasional irritation, an indulgent fantasy at times when Levi understands perfectly why someone would want to shut Erwin's smart mouth for good. They all hate the man for being right and making sense, for his silver tongue and big nose, and — Tsch.

Levi is indignant at Erwin for dragging him along, his pet project, to this business meeting. A dinner with men who care more about the knives on their dinner table than the blades that cut through titan flesh. He is irked, feels petty for it, and then huffs at himself internally because he isn't nearly as angry as he thinks he should be.

To prevent his mind from idle wanderings — the horses would have been a better choice not only for their speed; riding a horse is a full body activity, it keeps one's mind occupied, even if it's physically taxing, and they would arrive to Mitras gross and filthy, but dirt can be washed, he cannot apply soap to his brain so easily — Levi pulls up a folded piece of paper; on it, a crude drawing of a dinner setting as demonstrated by Erwin back at the SC headquarters. He smooths it over his upper thigh, sitting atop the other and peers.

Erwin didn't have silver cutlery at hand, too much luxury even for the commander; they used whatever was available to them instead — a few bits and pieces supplied by Hanji from their lab, which Levi decidedly refused to touch, doubting their cleanliness. "I know how to hold a fucking fork. I just have to remember this, right?" The other pieces were ordinary, wooden.

Levi stares at the paper with notes. If he can remember Erwin's formations and tactics, he can remember this. He does remember it, but he is bored with staring at the carriage walls, and he cares little for the white stone of Mitras. The little curtain is pulled over the window on Levi's side, the dimness of the interior reminds him of Underground.

"This is taking forever. Is your ass as stiff as mine?" Levi breaks the silence, glancing to the side where Erwin sits. He tuts when the carriage bumps underneath him, tossing him slightly. Undignified. His shoulders draw up in annoyance.