3 | Camille and the Empty Set
empty set (n.): the unique set having no elements; its size or cardinality is zero.
Autumn in Belcastle was punctuated by rainstorms, which was not unusual the closer one got to the northern regions within the walls. But it did make for a very slow trek back to the clock shop that day.
Camille peered out of the blacksmith's barn, noting the vengeance with which the rain seemed to fall around her village. Thunder rolled in the backdrop, and branches of lightning lit the clouded sky every now and then. "Doesn't look like it's letting up."
"You've got an umbrella, right?" Behind her, the owner of the forge in Belcastle, Baron Nagel, asked. She and her mother came to Baron whenever they needed parts for a repair that they couldn't just buy anywhere; Baron was kind enough to still do that kind of custom metalwork whenever they requested, on top of the ironwork he did for architects in Sina. Around him his apprentices scurried about, scrambling to finish their tasks for the day before the rain completely ruined the last of their daylight.
"Looks like I did right by bringing it," She replied. She'd recently been toting her umbrella as she went about her errands, knowing autumn in their village tended to also be wet. It was only today, though, when the rain finally broke through after several cloudy days and thunder booming in the distance. "But the forge is so warm."
The older man came to stand beside her, peering at the deluge just outside the barn. "Oh? Soren still not finished with that furnace he wanted to build?"
Hearing her father's name and the contraption he'd been going on and on about for the past few years, Camille grinned. "Mother keeps arguing about where they'd even put it in the house."
"I bet they'd stop arguing if you offered to help them," Baron offered bluntly. "Seeing as you've got that fancy education of yours. You all need to finish those plans quick, I hate keeping the forge open in winter."
"I would if they'd let me," She shrugged. "But you know them when they put their heads together for a project."
"Too much ego and not enough space for reason, eh?" Baron groused. "Sounds about right. At this rate I'd be having those plans by spring, and you wouldn't even need a damn furnace by then."
An apprentice came up to her with the umbrella she'd brought that morning. "Thanks, Jonas." Jonas was the eldest of the young men working in Baron's forge – by far the most skilled as well, going by the handful of times she'd been to the forge during breaks in her studies.
Jonas stood back with a blush in his cheeks. "Congrats, Camille, I heard you, uh," She noted how Baron was watching the younger man with an unimpressed brow. "Finished school? So you're an engineer now?"
"Not yet," She corrected smoothly, shaking out her umbrella before opening it over her head. Everyone in her village knew she'd gone to a second school in Mitras. Curiosity had only renewed when word spread around town that she graduated. Not that she minded – she knew exactly how fortunate her situation was, considering most people were lucky to have attended any kind of schooling to begin with. "I have to take an exam for the title. Next spring, actually."
"Good luck! I know – I know you'll get the best score!"
Camille nodded, her lips twitching. "Thank you, Jonas. That's very kind of you."
"If you're done blabbering, boy," Baron interrupted. "Go fetch the bearings from the salt bath."
She hid a laugh as Jonas sputtered a quick yes sir! before giving her one last wave goodbye.
"Half the boys are convinced they can court you now that you're back for good," Baron grunted. "The other half are too busy shivering in their boots at Iris and Soren. And me, of course."
Camille smiled, taking a step outside the barn, half-exposing her to the rain. The droplets made a loud plap – plap – plap against the black cloth of her umbrella. "I don't plan on marrying any time soon."
"Aye, that's what your mother also said before she went and married your pa," Baron waved. "There's never been an obstacle to boys whose eyes've alighted on something pretty."
Baron didn't say goodbye; he never did, only waved like he was trying to swat a particularly large bug from the air. She began the walk home, satisfied that she'd delivered her mother's gear plans, her head full of the blacksmith's words.
Being back in Belcastle after all that time in Mitras was… different. She was fond of the mismatched houses and the people, of course. She'd grown up here; she knew the streets like the back of her hand, she understood the climate like she was a scholar. By all accounts she was a native: not much had even changed in all her time away.
But something inside her remained unsettled, like a gear setting that was just the slightest bit off-kilter, an equation still missing a variable.
Back then she'd only been Iris's girl – Iris's apprentice, the one who followed her mother around when the villagers needed Iris's help. More than their clocks, it was the waterwheel, the wagon, the bell tower, the grain mill; the villagers had always relied on her mother's expertise. Up until her entry into university her mother had been the biggest personality in the village – and now that Camille was back, every single whisper, every single inquiry, seemed directed at her.
Camille passed unnoticed in Mitras. There, she was just another woman in the capital. Though there'd been some weirdness when she began in Pascal College, she'd quickly settled into a routine while studying, and the whispers behind her back died down as she rose to the top of the class.
She wondered how long it would take to get used to her new treatment now. Baron wasn't the only one who'd noted the way the men in her village seemed to take more notice of her – she'd left Belcastle as a gangly fifteen year old; she returned with the body of a twenty year old. And a degree, apparently.
She sighed. The men at home were nothing like the men in Mitras. Jonas was nothing like Jeremia and his perfectly tailored suits – which didn't really mean much, as she wasn't sure she preferred any of the two, and she knew men like Jeremia didn't marry women from villages like hers either.
When she got home, no one was manning the shopfront. Her mother had gone to work on a dam burst in one of the neighboring villages and wasn't expected to be back until nightfall. Her father wouldn't be home for another month, and so Camille had elected to stay in Belcastle and watch the house with Lotta. She shook her umbrella out before neatly stowing it near the coat rack they kept for such occasions.
She wiped her wet boots on the rug near the backdoor. They were another of her pretensions from Mitras: heeled lace-up boots, which she'd bought with money from doing odd jobs Pastor Kircher referred to her. When she passed through the backdoor, she called, "I'm home!"
Lotta appeared from the sitting room with a towel in her hands. "Welcome home Camille! Come to the fire or you'll catch cold."
She chuckled, indulging Lotta by bending over and letting the older woman wipe her hair, which was only damp if nothing else. "Mmm, I'm not that wet, I walked home slowly. Baron's well, his apprentices keep him busy."
Camille folded the towel over her arm, carrying it into the sitting room.
Then she spotted a figure by the fireplace that had become all too familiar to her in the past few months. His bag sat on the floor next to him.
"Mr. Levi's here, I told him to come in! The shop gets awfully cold in this weather, and he said he had something for you to see," The older woman said, coming forward to put away a few things on the table. The man in question looked back, his steely eyes pinning her on the spot.
"I can see that," Camille commented lightly. She went over to the fire, standing beside him. With her heels on, she was maybe half a head taller than him; not that it diminished from his mysteriousness at all. "Hello again. Fancy seeing you here. The weather's horrible."
"Your maid wouldn't let me wait in the front," Levi muttered, the rim of a teacup already in hand. She didn't miss the way his simple black suit clung to him, and how the firelight accentuated his wiry figure. A cravat hung in his collar as well – the image of understated elegance.
She amended her earlier assertion about the men in her village: Jonas was nothing like Jeremia; he was nothing like Levi either.
Or Erwin, for that matter.
Camille gazed into the fire. The room was warm enough, but her parents had long decided that more measures needed to be taken if they wanted to be more comfortable in the winter. Hence the whole furnace project that never seemed to get finished. "We closed early. Mother's away, and I needed to drop something off at the blacksmith's. Did you come alone today?"
Their gazes met. He nodded once before gazing into the fire.
She ignored the slight disappointment she felt – she'd never had a monopoly over Erwin's time. Instead she clicked her tongue. "Mm. Lieutenant Eyebrows never did like the rain."
"…Eyebrows. Tch. Suits him."
A chuckle slipped out of her. "Yeah. If you can believe it, they were worse when we were kids. You can head upstairs already if you're in a hurry – I'll have a look at whatever it is you've brought me, I'll just make some more tea for us."
"Don't you worry, Camille, I'll bring it up," Came Lotta's voice from the kitchen.
She called back a word of thanks before turning back and heading for the stairs, beckoning Levi with a few fingers and a grin. "I hope you weren't waiting long."
He grunted behind her, which she took to be a no. His gear rustled in his bag as they arrived at the foot of the stairs.
"In a hurry, then?"
"I have to head to Mitras."
She rolled her eyes at how impatient he sounded. No one was exempt from small talk in this house. Such pointless pleasantries helped complete the tapestry of society – mimicking his deep voice, she teased, "Oh? Tell me, what's a brat like you doing in the capital?"
"None of your business, brat."
"Have it your way." They emerged from the staircase and she snagged another stool underneath the workbench, crossing her legs and saying, "Alright, what've you got for me today? Has my repair injured you yet?"
She watched him scoff, setting the bag down beside her. "I want an inspection."
Camille tilted her head at him, wondering what he was getting at. Was it possible that he was beginning to be too dependent on her skills? "You delayed your trip to Mitras for this?"
"I don't trust the shitheads in maintenance," Levi spat, pulling out another stool and sitting in front of her.
What was left unsaid brought a smile to her lips. She decided not to question it and thus spared him the act of saying I trust you out loud; until he volunteered those words himself, she wouldn't admit that she was touched by his words either.
Never mind that all this seemed slightly excessive – perhaps he was just superstitious about equipment? Yet it was lifesaving gear, and she did say he was welcome to come back any time. And she did love the act of taking it apart and just gazing at such a beautiful piece of human ingenuity.
With a happy sigh, she got up again and began gathering her tools. Screwdriver, wrench, jars; such a small number of tools needed was the beauty of standardization in manufacturing. She laid them out before her neatly, the motions of taking apart his gear already ingrained in her hands.
Conversationally, she asked, "Do you intend to keep coming back before each expedition or something?"
"If I can."
Levi was straight with her regarding the ODM gear, at least. Noticing how pristine his gear seemed again, she kept her smile to herself. To each their own, she supposed. He wasn't half bad company either.
The aluminum barrel and the handles fell open in halves; with a light finger, she began assessing each moving component of the gear. She glanced at him. He'd always watch her work each time he came, which she also silently appreciated. "Okay, if you ever wanted to see how this thing really works, study closely."
With the barrel open, it was a perfect time to both test and demonstrate how incredibly simple and clever the ODM gear was. After all: any idiot could build a machine that worked. But only someone dedicated could build the same machine that did twice the amount of work with only half the components.
She carefully gathered the metal handles near her. Applying differing amounts of pressure on the triggers, she watched two springs in the barrel blocking the passages of the metal wires react accordingly; "The releasing mechanism is spring-loaded, though not in the way you might think," and by pulling the handles all the way down, it compressed the springs entirely, allowing the wires to shoot out if there was any gas connected. "See? The springs keep the wires in the barrel. And as you know, it's the gas that propels the hooks."
As it were, the hooks barely moved. "Since pulling the handles pushes the spring back, it also means you can wind the hooks."
So for each side, she pressed down and at the same time manually pulled out a foot of metal wire. As she released each trigger, the hooks stayed in place; pressing both the triggers again just compressed the same springs, allowing the wires wind.
"Simple, right?" She put down the handles and tapped the springs in the barrel, though she also made sure to point out the tinier springs in the handles themselves that reacted to the motion of the triggers. "Nothing seems wrong right now. The next time you might be having trouble with the winding, I suspect it'll be because one of these springs gave out."
Levi nodded. "Can't you replace them?"
"I could if you really want me to," She shrugged. "I don't have a bunch of springs that would beat these steel ones in your gear right now though. That first time was just luck."
She began reassembling the entire thing. As her hands worked, her mind drifted: she hadn't heard of an aluminum alloy that could be made into a spring yet. As fanciful as titanium springs sounded, she couldn't just melt and cast the remainder of what Laplace gifted her either; she doubted Baron could make a titanium spring, let alone one that tiny, especially with regard to the handle dimensions.
Best to go with the obvious solution then: the springs would have to be a better steel. Probably carbon steel, if she remembered the long list of the government's preferred metals correctly.
Good luck tracking those down. She snorted. Yes, the springs would prove to be a challenge – but she found herself anticipating it. Plans formed; contingencies formed; she buried herself in those little details. She'd hit Baron for his recommendations first, though she had a feeling he would only be directing her to the metal markets of Stohess. She could plan a trip a few days from now.
When she noticed Levi's questioning glance, she just twitched a smile. "I'll keep an eye out for some nice springs for you," Camille uttered, stowing his gear in the bag. Later than she expected, Lotta also finally arrived with their tea.
"Sorry, sorry, but a letter arrived for you, Camille," The older woman said. She put down the tray by Levi's side, since all the space surrounding Camille was occupied by the gear. "He came on horseback in the middle of this rain! Poor thing. I tried to convince him to warm up near the fireplace, but he said he had more letters to deliver."
Camille eyed the cream envelope on the tray. She easily recognized the stationery, the seal printed on the wax. "Typical university business. Their couriers are always in a hurry. Thank you for trying though, Lotta."
As Lotta's steps receded downstairs again, Levi poured them both cups of tea. He slid her cup toward her without a word; she grinned. Now that she thought about it, he always did indulge in a cup of tea every time he visited. "Oooh, thank you, Levi. I've been dying for a hot cup."
He said nothing as he drank. She wiped her hands as clean as she could get them on a rag and also set it aside. But it was the letter, not her tea, that her hands itched for. "Do you mind if I read my letter in front of you?"
He shook his head. Camille reached across him with a murmured excuse me, plucking the envelope from its place, careful to avoid brushing up against him. Breaking open the seal, she was surprised to find not a note from the secretary as she'd expected, but a long-winded letter from Pastor Kircher himself.
Her eyes raced across the lines of Kircher's elegant cursive, turning over the different pages of his letter as she went. She had to stifle another snort at its length; he could never really seem to stop talking, even in writing. His vocations as a preacher and a teacher more than suited him.
Her hand pinching the letter fell in her lap as she finished it.
She'd take more time to scrutinize it later, but it more or less detailed Kircher's travels to Wall Maria and his recent arrival in Mitras.
Camille twirled a lock of her hair on her pinky.
Well this was news.
She sighed. A quick glance outside the windows proved that the rain showed no signs of stopping, just as she thought; her tea, whose steam slowly crept up the glass, sat ignored.
She spotted Levi's narrowed gray eyes over the rim of his cup. "What?"
His voice was flat. What, wasn't she allowed to sigh in her own house?
She briefly debated saying none of your business, brat in his irritated voice, but thought better of it. She might as well tell him – he asked for it in any case. "...It seems as if I'm also headed to Mitras after this. I'm thinking about where I'm going to find a carriage that'll take me in this weather."
A single twitch of his brows was the only proof he heard her. He put his cup down.
"Come with me."
She blinked. His same expressionless face looked back at her. "Is that a serious offer?"
His steely eyes continued to bore into her own. "You haven't been charging me this entire time. Maintenance told me it looked like I had titantium or some shit in my gear."
His voice was accusatory; despite her initial confusion, she couldn't hide her grin at that. He had no clue how much of a gift those rods were.
She leaned forward and savored his momentary surprise as his eyes widened – then Camille smoothed her own voice, asking lowly, "And? Does that bother you? That I'd be willing to use nice things on you?"
Levi crossed his arms. Camille noted the way his suit tightened over his shoulders, how much sturdier, more solid he looked.
And also more threatening, when he tilted his head like that and his black hair fell in his contemptuous eyes. "I didn't say that," He said slowly. "I asked you if I was ever charged. Let me repay you."
In reality, it sounded like he'd rather do anything else. Camille grinned, curious to see where this exchange was going. "Is that a threat?"
Levi only raised an unimpressed brow. "It could be."
She couldn't help her laugh as she sat back. She finally took a careful sip of her tea, her smirk pressed against the porcelain. Erwin made such interesting acquaintances.
"Alright," She said when she drained her cup. "I'll come with you. I won't ever charge you, though, because we never charge Erwin." She stood from her seat, smoothing the wrinkles from her clothes. "I'll meet you downstairs."
"Hurry up then."
The sound of a cup clinking and the bag being zipped followed her steps as she walked across the room – and when she closed the door to her bedroom behind her, she took one breath.
Let me repay you.
She felt a shiver run down her spine when she thought about the way his needlepoint eyes had cut into her.
The memory filed itself away. As she took her shirt off and folded it on top of her bed, it seemed to fold itself as well, and tuck itself into a recess of her mind, where she could view it later if she wanted.
Camille redressed quickly. She kept a separate space in her closet for the clothes she'd accumulated while studying in Wodan – though they were mostly limited to blouses and narrow skirts, following the clothing requirements in the university.
A visit to Pastor Kircher, however, always required something more. So she put on a shirt made of gleaming white silk, even if it was only short-sleeved. Her skirt was less fine, though she liked the way it fell over her calves at the right spot. She pulled on her trench coat, perhaps the most expensive clothing she owned along with her lace-up shoes; she'd bought them together in Mitras, and they'd served her well on many rainy days studying at Pascal College.
She was finishing tying her scarf around her neck as she came downstairs and peered in the sitting room. "Shall we?"
He was leaning against a wall, and Camille suppressed another shiver as Levi's gray eyes shot up at her voice and seemed to cut her into little pieces. His bag was already slung around his shoulder, and he was still shorter than her, but that didn't stop her from taking an unconscious step back when he approached where she was standing at the foot of the stairs.
"Lotta," Her voice sounded hoarse, even to her. Damn. "Levi and I are headed to the capital. Please tell mother I'm paying a visit to Pastor Kircher."
The older woman's head popped out from the kitchen. "Oh? Will you be having dinner here?"
Levi headed for the backdoor; Camille felt herself relax when he passed her. She met Lotta's eyes with a smile. "Probably not. I'll be back late too – mother will understand."
Lotta frowned. "Tell the Pastor that he shouldn't be making you go out in this weather! Really now," she said with furrowed brows, "He's making you catch your death! I'll be cross if you return with a cold."
"I'll be sure to tell him," Camille laughed, following after Levi into the clock shop.
She met him near the front door, and stared out the shopfront and into the rainy view of their street. "I didn't see your carriage. Is it in the alley? Why didn't you tell your driver to come in?"
"They aren't paid to drink your tea," Levi muttered, securing the strap of his bag underneath his suit jacket, which she now noticed was only draped around his shoulders. "This is still a job to them."
Her eyes watched this with interest – and before she could say anything more, he suddenly pulled the door open and stepped out – "W-Wait! Levi!"
She raced to grab her umbrella from this morning, hidden behind the coat rack. Her fingers unfurled the umbrella, and now she was in the street too, the rain pouring all around her. The cobble stones felt wet and slippery underneath her boots; "Levi!" she yelled, finding no sign of him, only the empty road that was quickly flooding with the rain.
A carriage roared out from the alleyway, and she almost slipped as she scrambled to sidestep the horses barreling towards her. She gave another yelp as the door to the carriage was then thrown open in front of her face, revealing none other than Levi already seated in its interior, jacket off. "Get in."
She didn't need to be told twice.
When she was safely nestled across him and the carriage was moving forward, she buttoned the umbrella and stowed it beneath the carriage seat. It was comfier than the previous carriages she'd taken to Mitras, but it was nothing flashy either; it was utilitarian in its simple wooden interior. A military carriage, then.
Camille lifted a hand to her temple. Her hair had gotten wet from all the commotion. "You could've waited," She said indignantly. "I had an umbrella!"
Levi also sat pressed against the corner like she was. He looked none too impressed. "You were taking too long."
Camille remained unconvinced. "Great. And now we're both wet."
She fished Kircher's letter from her pocket, though true to the quality of her trench coat, it was still dry. She carefully set it aside as she pulled her damp coat and neatly laid it out against the rest of the seat, mirroring Levi's treatment with his own wet jacket.
She felt his eyes skate along the length of her bare arms. Considering her hair felt moist and was probably disheveled now, she only crossed her legs and studiously ignored him, pulling her scarf from her neck. Part of her shirt was damp as well, and she could feel a panel sticking to her chest.
This was her best shirt too.
And it was still too cold in the carriage for it to completely dry out before they got to Mitras.
And silk was so expensive.
"Damn," She muttered as she combed some of her blonde hair back. Using the scarf, she tied her damp hair away from her face in a ponytail. She considered her near future – Pastor Kircher wouldn't mind if she showed up like this, she knew. But it was the principle of the thing, the idea that she respected him enough to show up looking her best.
"Here."
She looked across her. Levi pulled the cravat from his neck and offered it to her. "Wipe yourself down."
"Thank you, that's kind of you," She said cautiously, taken aback by the unexpected gesture. Did he feel bad? She did almost get run over by the horses. "But I don't want to use it. It's your cravat."
"Then you shouldn't have run into the middle of the street like that, idiot," He replied. His hand remained in the air.
"I know," Camille conceded, eyeing his offering. That was very stupid of her – and it had been doubly dangerous considering the low visibility due to the weather. "But you just ran out into the rain, and I had an umbrella. Didn't want you getting wet either."
He said nothing, though he still held his arm out.
Perhaps he did feel bad.
She sighed, then reached out.
She felt the heat of his fingers even through the cloth, just the pads of her fingers brushing up against his. When she lifted the cravat out of his hand, his hand fell against his lap.
The cravat was a smooth cotton, and she felt so awful about having to use it that she only used a single corner to dab some wet spots at her temples. She folded it before offering it back to him. "Thank you," She uttered sincerely, though not really looking at him.
"Keep it."
When she looked across her, he was staring out the window, not meeting her eyes either.
She tried to not stare at the exposed collarbones now peeking out of his shirt collar – and how well his shirt seemed to fit him, and the lines his shoulders made against the carriage seat. Not even Jeremia had ever looked half the way Levi did right then, which was completely ridiculous, considering Jeremia had the benefit of wealth, and Levi was only supposed to be her – customer? Friend? Acquaintance?
"Alright," She murmured, feeling her face go hot, fingers closing around his cravat. Her eyes darted to the window as well, half-curious about the way her thoughts had chosen to run to how attractive Levi was. "I'll have it washed. I can give it the next time you come back."
He unsurprisingly made no objections.
They began the rest of the carriage ride in silence.
Three hours, she calculated, if the roads were flooded. Though military horses had always been of a different breed – a hardier breed, as far as she knew, especially if the carriage happened to use the same horses the government sent to serve in the frontlines with the Survey Corps. So perhaps even shorter.
Ah, well. The carriage was comfortable enough. And she suspected Levi was going to be more than silent company for the rest of the ride. Her fingers glided along the letter Pastor Kircher had sent her, and she began reading it in earnest.
Roughly an hour into their journey they were stopped by the Military Police guarding the Stohess gate.
"This is a military carriage," Levi hissed at the soldier holding a lantern to their carriage windows. "Did the rain gouge your eyes out? I'm here on business with the Survey Corps."
Camille felt pity for the soldier. The rain still poured around them, and here the boys were, still regulating access to Wall Sina.
"S-Specialist Levi!" The soldier squeaked, practically trembling in the green hood of his cloak, "I'm sorry, if I'd known this was your carriage – "
"Shut up and let us through."
"F-Forgive me sir but your companion – " The orange light of the lantern then floated towards her window, " – n-name and business, ma'am – oh! Miss Leto!"
She leaned against her window, getting a better look at the shivering soldier. Then she smiled. "Hey, Ludwig. They put you on guard duty, eh?"
She watched relief flood his features. There'd probably been more than one angry face in this downpour, though she'd be absolutely terrified too if Levi yelled at her like that. "I-I'm afraid so, miss. Headed to the university?"
"You bet," She said, holding up the envelope with the university's seal on it. Feeling Levi's growing irateness, however, she cut their conversation short. "See you on the way back, alright?" She not-so-subtly nudged her head at the man sitting across her. "We're in a bit of a rush, as you can see."
Like she'd whipped him, Ludwig straightened. "O-Of course!" He stepped back with a hand in the air. "Let them through!"
And the jaws of Wall Sina opened, water dripping from its teeth, drenching the carriage roof as they passed through it, and they found themselves in a city of white stone and smoother roads.
Camille crossed her legs, playing the memory of their recent encounter in her mind as she smirked at Levi across her. Ludwig had evidently recognized Levi, though it was not half as interesting as the way Levi had jumped straight to… what was the opposite of pleasantries? "Not a fan of the MP, I see."
"But you are," He said with narrowed eyes, voice practically dripping with contempt. "Was that incompetent pig your friend?"
Camille interested herself in her nails. "And? They seem to remember you more if you're friendly," She darted her eyes up at him with a smile. "Have to give them something to do, right? Everyone knows those rifles are decorative."
For once, his lips twitched with something like amusement.
Somehow it felt like a secret.
"They hang around the university sometimes," She said without prompt, putting her hand down. "Not like they ever know what they're really doing when they're called there. I've seen my fair share of arrests."
He raised a brow. "Arrests?"
Camille tilted her head at him. True – of course not everyone would know of the shenanigans that went down at Wodan. She decided to correct this with one of the more memorable anecdotes from her stay in school. "Have you seen how a fight between the Duke of Albermarle and the heir of the East of Utopia Company goes down? I'll say, it gets ugly.
"One day, Albermarle's drinking at a bar. He's complaining to the barman about the wine they're serving him. What he doesn't know is Utopia, whose company happens to own produce that wine, is at the same bar drinking that night and overhears him."
She dropped her voice an octave and mimicked her classmate's insolent city accent. "'What's that filth coming out of your mouth, Albermarle?' Utopia says. 'Your family must've lost their seat in the House of Lords because you all talk up shit like that.' Now, understandably, Albermarle's angry. His whole lineage's been insulted to the tavern crowd! He says back, 'I don't know how your father's going to run Utopia Trading when his son's that bloody stupid. What are you? Thirtieth in our class?'"
She glanced at Levi. He was still looking at her, brow still raised. But looking curious at least. A smaller victory, that. "And?"
Camille continued. "A fight breaks out. 'You're nothing but a peasant,' Albermarle says while he's choking the living daylights out of Utopia. 'I own half of the land you make your shitty wine from!' But Utopia doesn't go down without a fight! After one of his friends punches Albermarle off of him, he says, 'I'll have more money than you ever will, since you Albermarles never figured out how to use your own fucking land.' Eventually one of the professors who was also drinking in the tavern breaks up the fight. So Albermarle sends a gang of MP's to Utopia's room the next day to finish the lesson. But Utopia already tipped off the professors."
She ended her tale with a wave of her hand. "And that's the story of why nobody from my college is allowed to drink in that particular tavern anymore, and why no members of the military are allowed at my college unless they're there with written orders to make an arrest."
Jeremia had come to class that day with a black eye. Naturally, he'd been on Utopia's side, and regaled the details of the fight when the rest of their classmates had asked about the ruckus they'd all noticed in their halls. Though Utopia hadn't been allowed back to the college until the next month, and Albermarle had transferred universities altogether.
Levi scoffed. "These rich bastards are all the same. Some people in this world have nothing but that doesn't stop them from wanting more than the pig next to them. All these MP pigs dream about being them too."
She'd long come to the same conclusion. Half of her classmates didn't even really study; they were mostly there for the prestige of it all, and they zeroed in on these petty rivalries like nothing else. The MP's weren't any better in catering to these bastards' whims by taking these jobs.
"None of the MP's were discharged either." She shrugged. As far as she knew, some of them still wandered around Wodan, shilling for some other noble as personal protection. "Anything for a little extra coin, I suppose."
The rumors of corruption at the core of the Military Police weren't news to any observant person who was in Sina often enough. Levi's folded his arms, looking out the window. "You want to stay in a filthy place like that? It sounds like a fucking pigsty."
"I learned how to fix things like your gear in Pascal College," Camille contemplated aloud. The past five years couldn't have been for nothing, she knew. What would she have done, if she'd instead spent the last 5 years in Belcastle? "Mother could have done that for you, but the titanium was a gift from one of my professors."
And yet.
She locked eyes with him. "You make a good point though."
He tilted his head at her answer, his gray eyes scanning her face, as if puzzled by something.
Like always though, he said nothing more.
When they finally entered Mitras, the rain stopped, and the clouds seemed to clear all at once.
It was that point of the afternoon where the sun hung low enough that it painted the sky in a dazzling shade of yellow-orange; it was the color of daffodils and the best-tasting tea, and it was somehow made clearer by the rain that had only been there minutes before. The streets sparkled with the fresh coating of rain, and the people were only beginning to step out, savoring the return of the sunlight.
After hours of a mostly-dreary carriage ride, they both looked out the windows into this sight. She felt as if neither of them came away entranced.
Camille stepped off the carriage at the end of a well-known boulevard, having told Levi she could get off there. "Thanks for the ride," She said, securing her coat and her umbrella in hand.
"Camille. Can you get back?"
Her name on his lips made her look up at him with wide eyes. "Are you offering?"
"No." He said flatly from his seat in the carriage. "But Erwin would skin me if I stranded you in this shithole."
She laughed. After all their time together, she supposed she should've expected nothing less. "I can take care of it." And she turned away with a wave, deciding to begin the walk to Wodan on a good note. "Tell Erwin I said hi!"
The sound of the horses being spurred was all she heard behind her.
She held her coat closer to her. Kircher's letter remained safe within – alongside Levi's cravat, and the momentary memory of his smile.
Notes:
i'll be busy in the next two weeks, so i thought fuck it, let's upload early again. here's some notes about the writing process of this fic while we're at it:
(1) there is a moment in s1 where petra (who i love) says, levi's more high-strung and short-tempered than everyone thinks, isn't he? and i thought, huh, i buy that. there are a few different translations for that specific phrase, but high-strung felt the most authentic to me, even if it (as a trait) isn't immediately apparent in his character. let's try deconstructing that, shall we?
anyway, see y'all in a while! comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. :)