Dear Levi,

I know I should be angry about your latest misadventure. Indeed, it is probably my job to be angry. But I must admit that no matter how hard I try, I really cannot make myself get upset. To tell the truth, when I read Mike's report, I actually found myself laughing. It reminded me of when Mike tried to light thirty candles on my birthday cake and nearly burned down the barracks; or when Hange flirted with Commander Shadis and he sent her to the infirmary because he assumed she was having a stroke; or when Ness donned an elaborate Titan costume and knocked on Flagon's window in the middle of the night to see if he would wet the bed.

(He did, in case you were wondering.)

I would repeat all of my usual remonstrations—please do not fight with your squad members, try to get along with Mike before he starts tearing his hair out, avoid Hange's therapy couch at all costs—but at this point, you have heard all of it. I have already sent off my replies to Mike and Hange, in which I told them more or less the same thing. Perhaps it is naïve of me, but I have confidence somehow that the three of you will work this out for yourselves.

Anyway, I should still probably find the energy to scold you for your escapades, but I won't. Perhaps this is because for the past twenty years, I have woken up daily among the ranks of the Survey Corps, knowing that I may encounter pain and blood and Titans and death before nightfall—but also knowing that at the very least, I will never be bored. In the grand scheme of things, that might not be worth much—but it seems to me that it must be worth something.

At any rate, at least hearing about your mischief is entertaining—and I confess that my time in the Capitol has been so excruciatingly boring that I hardly know what to do with myself. Since I fear you may not believe me, I will write out a copy of my daily schedule below:

6:00 – Wake up
6:01 – Have no idea where I am, what I'm doing here
6:02 – Suddenly remember I am slowly losing my sanity here in Mitras
6:03 – Stuff face into pillow and scream
6:05 – Accidentally fall back asleep
6:30 – Wake up again
6:31 – Stare up at ceiling and contemplate sweetness of death's embrace
6:35 – Take shower
6:50 – Get dressed
7:00 – Breakfast
7:30 – Collect mail, read and reply to correspondence from Survey Corps Headquarters
9:00 – Walk to Royal Palace
10:00 – Meet with Royal Council
10:15 – Present additional arguments why Royal Council should approve long-range formation
10:30 – Nearly lose patience with Royal Council
10:45 – Dissociate
10:55 – Come back to reality, realize I have not heard last ten minutes of arguments
11:00 – Guess what arguments were and respond to them anyway
11:15 – Get yelled at by lead councilman
11:30 – Forsake all dignity and beg
11:45 – Leave Royal Council chambers
12:00 – Lunch in park
1:00 – Stroll through city
1:30 – Return to lodgings
2:00 – Feed stray cat on porch
2:15 – Sit at desk and work on Survey Corps paperwork
5:15 – Stand and stretch
5:20 – More paperwork
6:30 – Dinner
7:00 – More paperwork
9:30 – Write poetry
10:00 – More paperwork
12:00 – Pace back and forth in room, sink into despair
12:30 – Return to desk, more paperwork
2:00 – Fall asleep at desk
2:05 – Have Titan-related nightmare
2:15 – Jolt awake
2:20 – Get ready for bed
2:25 – Go to bed
2:30 – Dream about father's ghost

Today, however, was the first day in at least three weeks that I did not have a meeting scheduled with the Royal Council. Even more unusually, I did not have any paperwork to do, having finished it all the night before. In other words, today I had what I believe they call "a day off."

While I am sure that I used to have "days off" from time to time in my younger years, I can hardly remember what in the world I ever did with them. To be honest, last night I was a bit nervous at the prospect of having hours of unscheduled time looming in front of me—but looking back on my day, I think I did quite well. In fact, I feel rather proud of myself. I will give you a summary.

First, I slept until eleven. I did not actually mean to sleep until eleven, but I suppose all these years of late nights and early mornings caught up to me. Levi, I do not think I can adequately describe to you what it felt like to wake up after eight hours of sleep. Is that what people mean when they describe waking up and feeling "rested?" My head did not ache. My eyes were not bloodshot. I did not want to die. I have decided that whatever devil sent the Titans to plague humanity must have also struck me with the curse of eternal sleep deprivation—all because if I were simply to get enough sleep on a regular basis, the Titans could not last a week against my fully-functioning brain.

After waking up, I walked into town to buy a cinnamon roll. When I stepped inside the bakery, the woman behind the counter saw the wings on my jacket and immediately ordered me to get out. When I inquired as to why, she proceeded to deliver a sermon on how the Scouts constantly blaspheme the glory and holy sovereignty of the walls by daring to reject their free gift of safety.

I offered her four times the price of the pastry. She decided that I was not such a heathen after all.

Afterward, I sat at the end of a nearby alley and watched the people passing by. When I was about halfway through my cinnamon roll, I felt myself being dragged into the alley by a spindly pair of arms. When I whirled around to face my assailant, I discovered a would-be mugger, a few years younger than me, who demanded that I hand over all my money. His fighting stance was appalling—weak and unstable—and so I tried to give him a few pointers. He did not seem to appreciate my pointers, and lunged at me. After I had dodged the attack and pinned the young man to the ground, I climbed to my feet, dusted myself off, and offered him the rest of my cinnamon roll. He took it—more bemused than anything else, I think.

I wandered through the Royal Grounds until the sun had fallen low on the horizon. At that point, I decided that I had had enough of the city and began heading back toward my lodgings. Along my way, I encountered a very fat rabbit lying in a patch of grass on the side of the street. Concerned that the rabbit might be injured, I took him home with me. I found an old cardboard box and filled it with grass and a bowl of water. Leaving the rabbit to sleep inside his new home, I went into the kitchen to cook dinner.

Unfortunately, I am about as talented a cook as I am a pianist, and the result of my labor was a plate of burnt potato slices and rather wilted spinach. After eating as much of the food as I could stomach, I returned to my new pet to offer him the rest of the vegetables.

Upon my arrival, however, I discovered two things very quickly.

1. My rabbit was a she, not a he.

2. My rabbit was not fat at all.

Anyway, I know that you have a soft spot for baby bunnies. When I finally manage to return, I will have a gift for you.

Eleven gifts, actually.

Best,
Erwin Smith