[2] zwei | sense and sensibility

[solutioning]

Before the fireplace lay a green rug, two chairs, and a table on which rested an old-world novel bound in crimson linen; this last was an orphan from the two massive bookshelves which dominated the western wall of the office. The open window admitted the shouts, gentled by distance, of the soldiers training in the courtyard below. A long yellow column of afternoon sunlight draped lazily upon the wooden floor and the rightmost third of Commander Erwin Smith's desk. Here there was the restful scent of paper, and a sense of order as steep and clear as if drawn from a deep well.

Erwin himself was seated at his desk, where he was drawing up a set of expense authorizations in his swift, neat handwriting. The sound of footsteps in the hall disturbed his focus not at all. The pace was intimately familiar, and he knew by speed and heaviness what to expect, and how soon to expect it. He finished the line just in time to look up, tip his pen into the inkwell, straighten his shoulders, and in all other ways convey to his visitor that his attention belonged completely to the matter at hand.

"Welcome back." It was not necessary to indicate the comfortable chair on the other side of his desk. "How did it go?"

Comments

never stopped laughing tbh

[shortcutter]

There were no thanks necessary -- not for the man whom Levi trusted with his life, as well as with the entire fate of humanity. He owed Erwin more than he could ever likely repay, even with all of his strength, and Levi would continue to bear whatever weight he could from the Commander's shoulders until he was crushed by the lot of it.

It wouldn't happen anytime soon. Levi believed this, and his intuition had always been good.

"Erwin."

Levi was not a warm man, but there was a certain brutish intimacy to his version of 'you're welcome.'

"I'll see you with the brats," he said.

And with that, Levi rose and left the Commander to his paperwork.