Was it 846 or 847? It was 847, your intuition told you.
Intuition is something you've always trusted. Not because you're a freaking hocus pocus, but because it has a basis in psychology.
"You're an INTP..." But give it a couple months and you're an INFJ.
"Your IQ got higher..."
"She's a prodigious savant..."
But however they called you before obviously don't matter now because without a spark of electricity, you're a fish swimming on land! You mean there's mudfish but anyone should get the point. Should you test your luck and fly a kite on a thunderous, rainy Wednesday? Oh! Maybe you could tie a kite string around the key your best friend gave you just so you could power up and try again? Your genius-ness is useless when your body can't carry lumbers up a hill, or earn enough money for measly, rusty nails, nuts and bolts! Kiss your dreams buh-bye because you can't even afford to eat at least twice a day if you don't work three jobs! And you're gonna dream of buying iron ore and extract it and forge it yourself? With your physique? Are you kidding yourself?
Oh how the mighty hath fallen.
Without the manpower, electricity and materials, nothing. will. ever. fucking. work.
It's almost 2 years...
You miss home already.
You stood at the front door of your cabin. With your trusty bag hanging on your shoulders, you looked at the life you made in the far end of wall Rose. An apprentice blacksmith, who usually makes copper pots and knives by day, a cook and dishwasher by lunch, and an amateur singer at night because you know, copper is the new gold.
Because a couple of copper coins were the highest you could earn for a day.
You'll never let anyone know what kind of things you've been working on the sidelines. Your employer in the ironworks shouldn't know you're the person stealing his metal scraps just so you can make a prototype of an electricity generator. Mind you, it's not going well. You need robot arms for the tiny handiwork. Even with a dead fingernail, you're still pushing it through.
You'll never let your employer at the eatery know you're that burglar stealing the potato skins for dinner, as well as some food that might've been left unsold for the day, spoiled or not. It's better than starving for a couple of days. It toughened your stomach and butthole too.
As for money, trading that silky, Egyptian cotton towel from your precious bag pack earned you a guitar. You sing at public podiums to get some coins. Sometimes, you get note bills. Sometimes you could spot some military guys watching. You swore you even saw Erwin and Miche watching you at some point. Apparently, they dig Ed Sheeran's songs.
But they will never need to know who he is.
You sighed, dreading the time you'll have to go under for three years:
Now that the damage in Shiganshina is half-dealt with, and the Survey corps started to recruit again, you knew it's time.
Time to sell your soul to the Training Corps, that is.
***
You saw a glimpse of the river of afterlife undergoing Keith Shadis' training regimen on your very first day. Crossing the river Styx seemed like an easier choice compared to running in full gear at dawn until morning, eating breakfast of boiled potatoes and carrots after, and non-stop footwork until the end of the day. Your body isn't receiving it well. You felt heavy and your breasts felt uncomfortable lately. Not to mention you do freaking push-ups in the middle of an unshaded training ground a few minutes after lunch.
You've long shunned the thought of SPF and accepted your fate of premature aging.
Sure, countless YouTube videos entertained you with military memes and awesome, synchronized North Korean footwork before, but the training they have to undergo with that no arm push-up? That's Keith Shadis level of shit.
And he is one intimidating son of a bitch.
"And who the fuck are you?" He sprayed spit on your face, and it smelled like he has not eaten anything for long periods of time. You didn't know why you thought of this, but if he's breath was a color, you thought of brown, and if it was a letter, you thought of O. Like a gaping asshole about to rock the toilet with the hardest, biggest shit his ass will ever give birth to. You instinctively gagged in his face as if returning the favor until he yanked your hair up to meet again, his forbidden Windex.
"You think your commander's breath smells like sewage?!"
"Sir, no sir!" Someone ask his birthday and give him a toothbrush tomorrow!
"D'you expect it to smell like mint?!"
"Sir, no sir!" You shouted at the top of your lungs then he asked you your intention in joining the military.
Fist on your heart, back straight, feet apart.
"Sir! Recruit Johnson, Phoebe and I want to be of use to humanity!" Haha, you almost convinced yourself. You're becoming a joker, Febe.
"And how the fuck do you think you can do that?"
"To use whatever I can think to assist our victory over the titans!" And so I can leave this god forsaken place!
His tone soon after you said those words, dripped in mockery.
"Oh? What're you gonna do? Bleed up your ass? " Bleeding? Aw, shit. Are you due for today? That's why your boobs hurt! The thought of laundering red cotton towelettes every night tightened your jaw. But never mind that— you stopped yourself from looking behind but sure as hell you heard their snickers in the background, and they think no one can hear them.
Damned kids weren't even trying.
You can pinpoint by voice, whoever they were.
The snickers overruled your nervous energy. Women fucking menstruate. How backwards are these people? They think babies just go out suddenly after one night of their daddy's weak pullout game?
"Sir, no sir!" Your irate hits harder than Shadis' or your nervous energy combined.
"Then what?!"
"I—"
"I what?!"
"I can build useful stuff for humanity sir!" You tasted warmth and bitterness of Shadis' spit on your lips. Shit on your luck. You probably run out of it since you've been relying on luck in going home every night. And why are you questioned longer than anyone? You're not even the main character of this story and can anyone please give this guy some Tictac?
You've never been this humiliated before.
And you're not one to forget anything.
You remembered those who laughed.
Jean Kirstein;
Connie Springer;
That black haired bitch with twin ponytail who thinks she's cute, but guess what? She's gonna die, not important; aaand
Ymir, and even when she's gonna die, you can't let that remark go unnoticed. Fucking ugly titan jumping midget.
Quiet anger simmered through you. Your thin, weak muscles itched to start working at this very second. You didn't know how long have you been staring blankly ahead, your eyebrows furrowed. It took you too long to notice that most of the cadets were out to hit the showers. The grime, sweat, blood can be washed by the cold water, but the humiliation just a while back? They think you're a disgusting freak? They have no idea.
Even the remark of a manlet sporting an undercut got through your skin when he saw you hopping with a bloody ass, and that fishy smell that lingered thereafter. And it's not even his division, so why is he here? You know it's uncomfortable and somehow disgusting, but it's natural and there's really nothing you can do about it. Imagine going through all that on your very first day and you're freaking bleeding man. They can't expect you to smell like roses now, can they?
You paraded in the empty halls with a bloodied rear, rapping a song under your breath as you devised a devious prank to get even against every fucking person who laughed. Who should get serve first, you wondered.
Oh you have an idea. You'll start with the men.
***
You strode to the bushes earlier than dawn, and although it's Sunday, your one and only day-off, your nerves raged to find that one plant to make people look like how they described you to be. It's common to see poison ivy in the outskirts of Wall Rose, but no one seemed to mind it, or be bothered to study it. You thought, before they venture outside, maybe they should look around and study their own backyard first. You appreciate their efforts in weaponry, but someone needs to put effort on medical stuff too!
Not that you're using it for medicinal purpose right now but...
You waited for the evening bath. There's usually the strict three-minute baths in the morning, but Jean and Connie skips them. You've memorized their schedule already. You've been in this indocrination process for a whole month now.
The next day, you were giddy to get up, but kept it on the low. A tray in your hand with the same, potatoes and carrots for breakfast.
"Connie you bastard, what the hell did you give me last night?" Jean was the first to arrive. Oh, he's red alright. Red, blistering, and looked like he's about to pop a lesion.
You sipped your morning coffee. What a great morning.
"I got the usual Jean, this isn't my fault!" Connie panicked, whose half of the face was swollen. You almost pitied them til you remembered what they said.
Freak.
You see, it's not uncommon for the two to put something like leaves on their baths in exchange for soap. You knew how expensive it is in here. You noticed that pattern and took advantage of it. Connie is stupid, so to sneak the root in his boiled water and rub the leaves to their change of clothes while they take a bath were easy feats. No one saw it; almost everyone sleeps in on such a precious day-off and Connie didn't even bat an eye.
Jean? He trusted Connie's better judgment.
You sipped again, playing coy. Your food stabbed more than usual, the potatoes mushed and pressed more than it should. The smile you tucked and hid went unnoticed, but your eyes... your eyes gave the satisfaction away.
Co-recruits gave them looks like the one they gave you a month ago. You thought giving names feel better than receiving them, but that was a complete bullshit: Giving names and have people agree with you feels gratifying. Now you know what people who don't understand you feels like and why they kept at it until you just gave in and considered that maybe, you really are a freak. It wasn't because they totally believed what they said, they just used you as an excuse to ostracize someone and feel better about themselves.
And the shameful thing was, it felt good stooping down on the same mentality they had.
Your jaws tightened, your satisfaction turned sour, feeling like you shouldn't be here. You gobbled what your mouth could and went outside. As much as you wanted to hear more, you can't stand what your actions say about you, or you'll burst into fucking laughter.
And at the stables, you did.
Stomach hurting, eyes watering, you drowned in the taste of shame. Of course you checked if someone's here first before you had your spectacular outburst— the last thing that you are is stupid. The little bouts of air as you laugh were not done yet; the spasm still hurting and you could barely stand up.
What is it that you're feeling? You can't name it is but it doesn't feel good. You didn't do that because you hate them, no. You did that because you hated the familiar words they uttered against you, one you lived through all your young life thinking there really is something wrong with you.
Freak.
What is wrong with her?
She can't join us, she's not... like us.
She's so weird.
You tried to swallow as if it will save your face, came up with excuses that you're just trying to protect yourself. People are wrong to cross you this time! You've had enough of name callings, and coffee spills all over your shirt, cutting you off team plays or sabotaging your work because they couldn't stand seeing that you can do better. You can be that goody-two shoes or ruin everything for them! Everyone have there bad sides too and you're no exception! The more they call you a freak, the more you wanted to prove them how right they are!
And it's disgusting!
It's tiring! Accepting it for how they see it even if you don't agree because you just wanted a peaceful day without feeling like crap! Everyone relies in your genius when they want something from you, and a circus freak show when they can't stomach that you're breathing the same air! You didn't even do anything wrong— nothing out of the ordinary, and then you get this kind of treatment? This name calling? They ain't shit!
You're normal— you're one of them, but they think you're a deformity! An anomaly!
You thought that life ends in your world but even here, you're a fucking outcast!
You wiped the tears when you heard boot steps coming in. Any trace of laughter on your face, gone while you pretend to tend to the horses.
"I didn't know someone would be here this early."
That deep, velvety voice, made you freeze at the memory; his battle cry rang in your ears when he took his exit in the battle of Shiganshina. If you take a look, what expression would Erwin Smith wear? Would he be as pleasant and commanding as they describe him to be, or would you see him on a different light?
How will he see you?
And when you're ready to meet his ocean blue eyes and blinding golden hair burning through the morning light, you thought hard on the notion of changing a part of the story, for this man to stay alive.
"Good morning sir," your greeting was quiet and polite, without any trace of your outburst a few minutes ago. "I was thinking of petting the horses too before the training to ease the nervousness."
"Really?" Erwin smiled, "I thought I heard laughing so I came to pet the horses as an excuse."
"I-I wasn't—"
"It's fine, but you could share what was so funny." When he said those words, your stomach began to sink. Will he report you? You didn't do anything wrong though. Wait— did they somehow find out that you did that to Jean and Connie? Shit. Are you in trouble? Oh gosh— you're in trouble aren't you?
Your eyes began to wander, thinking of excuses to come up with—
"Relax, you're not in trouble. The week had been stressful, so I could use some laughter." He encouraged you with a wide, sincere smile. It was difficult to stare to his eyes without getting sucked in them. You pursed your lips and tucked you hair behind your ears, buying more time to narrate a credible backstory. You can't tell him you did that to Jean and had an incredible meltdown in the stables.
"I heard commotion in the mess hall. Only poison ivies with a grudge do that to people." He totally knew, and you're totally screwed.
"Sir, I-I can explain—"
"Then I heard laughing at the stables."
"I-It was me! TheycalledmenamesandI'msickofit! " You admitted with tightly shut eyes and clenched fists. No, maybe you should salute? So you raise your hand that it barely touched your forehead. Wait, do you do it with your right or left? You switched it to left and then to the right, but you just remembered this salute was from your world. So you switched it again to closed left fist— right fist to your heart.
At this point, you're just mentally preparing yourself to be thrown at the cell for the wrong salute or bad behavior or some shit that sounds similar, but it didn't come.
Instead, Erwin Smith chuckled heartily, with one of his hand on a horses back to steady himself.
"S-Sir?"He didn't answer right away, the commander was busy composing himself. What was so funny?
"You looked like one of the creatures my father used to tell me about when I was a child." He told you a story so fondly between his bouts of laughter. "I could imagine its eight arms doing all that salute you—"
"Ah, an octopus! It's a cephalopod— invertebrates that also include squid and cuttlefish. They have bulb-like, squishy heads, large eyes, and eight long arms. Very smart too! Did you know? The greeks call them cephalopod, meaning, 'head-foot,' which actually makes sense, because their limbs are attached directly to their head—"
Erwin Smith wore a frozen expression.
Why did you think he'll take interest in whatever you say?
"Sorry sir, I didn't mean..."
"Erwin," Another familiar voice popped just behind him in his brown-green military coat, sporting that undercut and that trademark scowl.
"We're going to be late."
"Levi." The commander turned to meet his close friend, his subordinate's call. Levi Ackerman's eyebrow twitched when he saw you, one that you responded with a bow. His eyes didn't linger for long, as the shorter guy turned his attention to his commander, reporting to him that they already got what they came for. You did the salute— correctly this time, not meeting any of your superiors eyes for a while, thinking that they don't need to hear all your pointless murmurs and useless trivia.
"How did you know it's called an octopus?" Erwin asked, his expression bewildered. You thought of excuses, but his inquisitive— almost enchanted gaze kept you at your toes.
"And inverte- what?" He scoffed, amazed. "Cuttlefish? Cephalod?" He looked at you in astonishment, like no one ever knew these... words...
Right.
They weren't allowed to read books containing any information of the outside.
Then it makes sense that they don't know anything about sea creatures.
"You are an interesting conversant, miss...?"
"Johnson." You added to finish his sentence. The commander just nodded absentmindedly, still with the amazement in his eyes, the subtle amusement in his lips. It was so apparent with the contrast of scowl on Levi's, when he turned his back and mounted his horse.
"I hope that when you graduate from the training corps, you'll consider joining the Survey corps. I would love to hear more about Cephalods."
"Cephalopod. Pod means feet." You can't help but correct him.
"Cephalopod. Feet." He repeated with a smile.
And they left, just like that, leaving you in complete and colorful tinge of hope.
In the vast universe, you found someone who appreciates the way you see things.
How will he see you, you asked, and at the end of this pointless conversation, you got an answer.
And looking at Erwin, alive and whole, getting home isn't the only thing that you want to do now.
If you're going to go home, you better leave crumbs of you behind, not that you wanted to be remembered, but to leave with something to remember them. You like this memory, and it was one of the things you came here for.
Now being two.
***
I have no particular input about OC but I did imagine her doing the Kira laugh. Thank you for reading! I hope you're entertained.
;)