Puddles have gathered in sagging, neglected portions of the main thoroughfare, frozen over in an uncharacteristically-early onset of poor weather for the season. The thin layer of ice hides a hollowed culvert and it shatters with the sound of fragile glass beneath Jean’s heel. His upset balance only adds to his fouling mood. He rights himself and adjusts the high collar of his coat with one hand while glancing down to ensure the package is still tucked securely beneath his other arm.
“Should go back in there…” Annoyance steams from his mouth like a hiss into the chilling air. His statement is punctuated by the solid thunk of the door closing behind Marco. The muted, joyous tinkle of the shop bell feels mocking. “Talking like he knows anything at all.”
Stitched onto their backs, the Survey Corps and Military Police emblems appear as unlikely comrades. The animosity between the two branches is infamous. Yet there was a time the people of the Walls favored one over the other. Sides easily chosen when one was lauded as sensible protectors of the Crown and it’s favored, the other viewed through a suspicious lens as borderline heretical outcasts. These days, they tend to receive equal vitriol. Trust had been eroded by the events in Stohess. An attack so close to the Royal Capital? Human traitors? All under the noses of the ones meant to serve and protect!
Jean can still hear the shop owner's derisive tone. A portly, middle-aged man with watery, pathetic eyes and an outspoken opinion on the insanity of him and his ilk. Jean had known the first day he donned the Wings that thanks would be in short supply. It wasn’t a responsibility he had taken on expecting vain-glory, not like he had once dreamed of. But Marco?
He mulls his jaw, staring back over his shoulder into the cloudy shop windows. When the man had turned his ire to Marco, Jean had imagined the satisfying crumple of his fist into the soft, sneering mouth spewing mockery and ignorance. The Military Police have fallen so far. Fresh anger roils beneath his skin. “I shoulda hit ‘im. Some people don’t change otherwise. Some people deserve it. He deserves it.”
@naevose says: can we stop and think about this rationally ?
Jean waves off the concern, eyes and head rolled back forward where his true intentions lie. Marco stands waiting, a fixed figure in his life despite the horrors it took to remain there. The thought only deepens the frown etched into his features, adds a harsh edge to his already snapped retort, “This is being rational.”
It is quickly followed by shame, guilt in the form of his fingers pinched over the bridge of his nose and his eyes closed, the sag of his shoulders that carry an apology before he even puts voice to it. Marco had enough pains in his life now, he didn’t need to be one of them.
