[ the greeting has a thin smile winding it's way across Erwin's face; grim as it is, the humour is a warming thing, and Erwin will always take such things where he can get them. seizing what they can, a step and then a leap at a time - that's always been the way for them, for the Survey Corps, which has survived too damn much to be broken apart by a change in location and a new terrain.
still, the expression does not last. he's beginning to suspect that the only way for a smile to linger in this place is for it to freeze on someone's mouth. a cruel thought, definitely, and chilling, but Erwin's never shied away from those and it's hard to feel colder here. as the door swings shut he glances backwards - despite his best efforts to clear the snow from the entrance, he knows that tomorrow they may find the door stuck even when the locks switch. Erwin taps his boots on the floor until the snow starts coming off in chunks, lowering his hood before he tears off his thick outer gloves.
tucking them into his coat, his eyes come to rest on Levi. there's no shock in seeing the tension written into him, the ruthlessly taut lines of his shoulders, his arms.
when Erwin had first learned about the morgue, the cycling of life and death, he'd thought useful, had thought in terms of pros and cons. he still does.
the alternative, he thinks, eying the shrapnel of wood around Levi's feet, is kinder. ]
Here. [ it's all he has to show for his last ditch attempt to gather supplies before the night comes and all the doors lock, but Erwin passes him a small lighter of brushed steel, the metal holding a rare warmth from where it's been tucked into his jacket. ] It still works, at least for now.
three.
still, the expression does not last. he's beginning to suspect that the only way for a smile to linger in this place is for it to freeze on someone's mouth. a cruel thought, definitely, and chilling, but Erwin's never shied away from those and it's hard to feel colder here. as the door swings shut he glances backwards - despite his best efforts to clear the snow from the entrance, he knows that tomorrow they may find the door stuck even when the locks switch. Erwin taps his boots on the floor until the snow starts coming off in chunks, lowering his hood before he tears off his thick outer gloves.
tucking them into his coat, his eyes come to rest on Levi. there's no shock in seeing the tension written into him, the ruthlessly taut lines of his shoulders, his arms.
when Erwin had first learned about the morgue, the cycling of life and death, he'd thought useful, had thought in terms of pros and cons. he still does.
the alternative, he thinks, eying the shrapnel of wood around Levi's feet, is kinder. ]
Here. [ it's all he has to show for his last ditch attempt to gather supplies before the night comes and all the doors lock, but Erwin passes him a small lighter of brushed steel, the metal holding a rare warmth from where it's been tucked into his jacket. ] It still works, at least for now.