[ It's a simple truth he keeps repeating to himself, in rhythm with the clacking noises from the tracks. He'd never thought he'd find himself running from duty, and yet here he was, curled up on a passenger train headed out of the country. ]
[ He'd been to war before. Several times, even, and each time he's left more and more pieces of himself behind. Some could be seen; some couldn't. He'd gotten a medal for his troubles, as if the print of cheap alloy could repay for the lives lost, people he loved that he would never see again. For some of them, he doesn't even have anything to remember them by; only his memories. And his scars. ]
[ He'd been retired with honor, supposedly, but he follows the news from the front. Things aren't going so well for their shitty government, and he's seen that song and dance before; only a question of time when they start pulling in reserves, kids who'd just turned sixteeen or less, or old fart "specialists" like himself. He wonders if he would have been let through the checkpoints so easily if anybody had recognized him from the glory days of the 92nd Bomb Disposal Squad. Oh well; it doesn't matter now. He's managed to slip through. Nothing awaits him at the destination, but... ]
[ It had honestly been tempting to volunteer. He's got nothing left; might as well let himself die by the hands of others. But... people turned to animals on the battlefield. He knows himself well enough to expect he'd still be clawing for survival; he would hurt, kill someone that may have lived if he wasn't there. Some kid who had no say in being forced to come there, to spill blood for his or her country. No, that didn't sound good at all. Besides, his fallen comrades... he owed it to them to keep living. ]
[ And so there he is, cooped up in a small compartment. He'd requested to stay alone, but as the express train fills with more and more distraught passengers, he expects his solitude is going to end very soon. As if on cue, the door opens, and the conductor rushes someone else in; Levi pays them little attention, choosing instead to stare out of the window with his one good eye, hands folded in his lap. ]
[ He's still wearing his parade coat, though. He didn't have any other warm clothes, and while removing his decorations left him pretty unassuming to most eyes, someone from the military could probably still clock him for one of their own. ]
walks in with starbucks a month later- (hope this works)
[ It's a simple truth he keeps repeating to himself, in rhythm with the clacking noises from the tracks. He'd never thought he'd find himself running from duty, and yet here he was, curled up on a passenger train headed out of the country. ]
[ He'd been to war before. Several times, even, and each time he's left more and more pieces of himself behind. Some could be seen; some couldn't. He'd gotten a medal for his troubles, as if the print of cheap alloy could repay for the lives lost, people he loved that he would never see again. For some of them, he doesn't even have anything to remember them by; only his memories. And his scars. ]
[ He'd been retired with honor, supposedly, but he follows the news from the front. Things aren't going so well for their shitty government, and he's seen that song and dance before; only a question of time when they start pulling in reserves, kids who'd just turned sixteeen or less, or old fart "specialists" like himself. He wonders if he would have been let through the checkpoints so easily if anybody had recognized him from the glory days of the 92nd Bomb Disposal Squad. Oh well; it doesn't matter now. He's managed to slip through. Nothing awaits him at the destination, but... ]
[ It had honestly been tempting to volunteer. He's got nothing left; might as well let himself die by the hands of others. But... people turned to animals on the battlefield. He knows himself well enough to expect he'd still be clawing for survival; he would hurt, kill someone that may have lived if he wasn't there. Some kid who had no say in being forced to come there, to spill blood for his or her country. No, that didn't sound good at all. Besides, his fallen comrades... he owed it to them to keep living. ]
[ And so there he is, cooped up in a small compartment. He'd requested to stay alone, but as the express train fills with more and more distraught passengers, he expects his solitude is going to end very soon. As if on cue, the door opens, and the conductor rushes someone else in; Levi pays them little attention, choosing instead to stare out of the window with his one good eye, hands folded in his lap. ]
[ He's still wearing his parade coat, though. He didn't have any other warm clothes, and while removing his decorations left him pretty unassuming to most eyes, someone from the military could probably still clock him for one of their own. ]