Features nourishing naught, vacant canvas painted underneath layers and layers of vacuous regard. A silhouette melting into the ebony of night, translucent to scrutiny. Present, and yet distant, confined in notions weaved by recent —— happenings. Tragedy swarmed his thoughts, an onslaught of sentiment and he blinked, ankle pressed more viciously against his knee. Nobody to see, to discern, yet no tell-tale mouth to grate upon shapes birthed within his marrow. He dwelled soberly, a secure position, his mind a valley of ashes but no scent to disclose its barren state. They were all the same, all too eccentric to fit and too scarred by what they had seen to forget. Levi was, first and foremost, in control of himself, aware of who he was and what he was supposed to do. Responsibility upon his shoulders, resoluteness bright and scorching, no sovereign existence. He operated on orders — which, however, was not to say that he did not believe. He did. He dreamed. Firm, a stone to rely upon, willing to dip his hands into spheres no soul could return from unscathed.
Yet, a pale manifestation in the dark, mercury basins trailed to the unconscious form of Petra Ral, and his thoughts, flecked with portraits of destruction and lives forlorn, froze, iron poured upon his limbs. Sat still, no hunch of migration to be detected, silvery illumination poor. Required no light to see, hands clenching for a sparse moment. Atrophied expression indeed, vague indication: filtered impression trailing after impression, circumstance intimate and alien. The stool underneath was deserving of no praise, but it served a purpose, as did he, and he remained rooted, unbothered by its teeth. Regret mumbled in his ear, sharp and stale, certainly no meal of choice. It was to remain, this whispering creature, but not to dictate.
Levi waited quietly, silence deafening, remembering afternoons of pleasant chatter (no matter how one-sided it may have been, it posed dear memory). Melancholy that stung, a throbbing rivalling the ache permeating his ankle as she resided in alabaster position, covered and battered. Dissonance, a feeling of out of place, a splutter of paint missing its target. Only that, this time around, it was not in his power to wipe it away. She’d either wake or not, a coin still hanging in mid-air. Time running, an endless river, and he watched, watched and watched some more, not patient but —— helpess to alter, to inflict change upon steel.
It was to be, or not, and whichever grasped victory, he was bound to accept.
Tragedy was not a stranger to Petra.
Five years was enough to experience death. By now, she was a seasoned veteran, trained to be one of the strongest and toughest soldiers to ever face off against the titans. However, five years was enough to where she’d seen many of those she held close to her die right in front of her. Before she joined Levi’s Squad, it was hard for her to adjust to this lifestyle; it was almost enough for her to want to never want to fight again after her first battle. To be confronted with a titan… it was a horror that was almost unspeakable.
But, she kept on fighting.
Delicate hands laid rested on the bed, golden eyes closed as her body remained unresponsive save for the soft, shallow breathing as her chest moved up and down. Injuries were severe, and many sworn that she had died with the rest of the squad, but she was lucky. Bones broken, a once smooth visage covered with bruises and scratches, and her torso and arms bandaged heavily. She doesn’t know that everyone else from her squad is dead, save for Erd, and it’s unclear on how she’ll take the news.
She doesn’t know how long she’s been out for but, slowly, she slips away from the dark abyss that is her subconsciousness. Fingers would twitch not unlike a heartbeat, a faint stirring as her head moves. All she knows is that everything hurts, which gets a whimper from her when she accidentally moves her torso a bit too sharply. Golden eyes finally open, and she notices that it’s dark in the room. Where exactly was she? All she remembered was hitting the tree hard, before she blacked out.
Then, she sees him.
Petra is faintly surprised when she spots Levi, though it was hard to tell that it was him at first. A sobered expression on his face, she wonders just how long he’s there for. Minutes? Hours? Days? Maybe even weeks? Time is not a concept she’s grasping at the moment, but she supposes that it’s been awhile. Maybe she could ask him.
"Hei.. chou..“
It’s soft, almost too soft for her taste, but it’s incredibly hard for her to talk right now, which surprises her. Just what exactly had happened to her?
