[ The comparison is a pointless one, and yet—Levi is struck by a reminder of Hange as the stranger lingers gracelessly by the threshold. Maybe it’s the fogged up spectacles. Maybe it’s the ridiculous disorder of hair, all thick and unwieldy knots tied back into a ponytail. Or maybe it’s the laidback demeanor that prematurely has him locking his jaw in irritation. Regardless, her suggestion for him to “chill” is met with an icy look. Probably not what she had in mind. He tracks her progress through the house without so much as turning his head, eyes following her every movement. The makeshift machete now rests against a knee cap where he kneels in front of the bereft fireplace; its placement is deliberate, a casual warning. ]
You’re not going to find anything.
[ Levi’s voice is clipped, flat. He’s already ransacked the place, with every good worth having neatly piled beside him. ]
no subject
You’re not going to find anything.
[ Levi’s voice is clipped, flat. He’s already ransacked the place, with every good worth having neatly piled beside him. ]