Reiner can't recall the last time he left the internment zone like this.
He can recall the last time he left it at all, of course. He was on his way to another battle, one more in a seemingly endless march of war. His time spent in Liberio had been painfully short, one military briefing after another eating up whatever freedom he'd had. He barely even saw Gabi, let alone had time to venture outside the internment zone.
But the war is over now. (For now.) Reiner has time to himself. Time to reconnect with his mother, his cousin, the rest of his relatives. Time to reflect. Time to think.
Too much time.
The walls of the internment zone loom around him, pressing in. Reminding him of other walls, other places, other faces. Reminding him of another Reiner entirely. One who was breaking but not broken. One who still had a comrade with whom he could share everything. One who wore no armband and who didn't understand the significance of "warrior."
Suffocating. That's what his so-called "free time" is. Utterly suffocating.
The privilege of his Warrior armband affords Reiner the opportunity to leave those barbed wire-capped walls, if only for a few hours. He does so, wandering streets where Marleyans stare with a mixture of curiosity and fear. (No one throws things; no one dares attack a Titan.) He visits the fortunate few Eldians allowed to work outside the zone, purchasing whatever he can justify. They're happy to see him, but they dare not fawn where Marleyans can see. It's a nice change.
But Reiner's thought still plague him, distracting him just enough to hear a voice that can't possibly be real. Startled, he nearly collides with a tall Marleyan wearing a stylish hat. Reiner stops short, gaze dropping deferentially, looking at the Marleyan's collarbone instead of his face.
"My sincere apologies," Reiner says automatically, ready for whatever insult is thrown his way. Was the near-collision enough to warrant being spat on? Maybe; it depends on what kind of day this man is having.
But something about the man's neck is familiar. Or maybe it's his chin…? No, Reiner must be seeing things. He must be imagining those sharp features, just as he imagined he heard Jean's voice.
Reiner keeps his gaze focused on the man's shirt, refusing to indulge in curiosity and look up.
no subject
He can recall the last time he left it at all, of course. He was on his way to another battle, one more in a seemingly endless march of war. His time spent in Liberio had been painfully short, one military briefing after another eating up whatever freedom he'd had. He barely even saw Gabi, let alone had time to venture outside the internment zone.
But the war is over now. (For now.) Reiner has time to himself. Time to reconnect with his mother, his cousin, the rest of his relatives. Time to reflect. Time to think.
Too much time.
The walls of the internment zone loom around him, pressing in. Reminding him of other walls, other places, other faces. Reminding him of another Reiner entirely. One who was breaking but not broken. One who still had a comrade with whom he could share everything. One who wore no armband and who didn't understand the significance of "warrior."
Suffocating. That's what his so-called "free time" is. Utterly suffocating.
The privilege of his Warrior armband affords Reiner the opportunity to leave those barbed wire-capped walls, if only for a few hours. He does so, wandering streets where Marleyans stare with a mixture of curiosity and fear. (No one throws things; no one dares attack a Titan.) He visits the fortunate few Eldians allowed to work outside the zone, purchasing whatever he can justify. They're happy to see him, but they dare not fawn where Marleyans can see. It's a nice change.
But Reiner's thought still plague him, distracting him just enough to hear a voice that can't possibly be real. Startled, he nearly collides with a tall Marleyan wearing a stylish hat. Reiner stops short, gaze dropping deferentially, looking at the Marleyan's collarbone instead of his face.
"My sincere apologies," Reiner says automatically, ready for whatever insult is thrown his way. Was the near-collision enough to warrant being spat on? Maybe; it depends on what kind of day this man is having.
But something about the man's neck is familiar. Or maybe it's his chin…? No, Reiner must be seeing things. He must be imagining those sharp features, just as he imagined he heard Jean's voice.
Reiner keeps his gaze focused on the man's shirt, refusing to indulge in curiosity and look up.