Blondie,
The fact that I even have to write this is stupid. It's beyond stupid. It's fucking idiotic. You're running a shitshow here, and the only reason I'm even stooping so low as to write this note is that someone has to do you the courtesy of informing you that your squad leaders are a bunch of incompetent bastards who don't know a damn thing about running a branch of the military.
Flagon tried to tell me I can't hold my right blade backhanded. Something about adhering to regulations and best practices and training standards. I tried to have a reasonable discussion with him, but Furlan and Isabel pulled me away before I could land more than a couple good punches. Flagon said what I did was insubordination (which is also stupid—since when is a conversation insubordination?) and that he'd get me kicked out of the Survey Corps if you weren't so hellbent on my being here.
I don't want you to reverse my punishment or anything like that, even though I obviously don't deserve it. All Flagon did was assign me cleaning duty in the barracks for the next three weeks. (Joke's on him. I love cleaning.) But if I can't hold my blade backhanded, I'm quitting. And it's not like I need your permission to hold my weapon however I fucking well please, but as dumb as you look, for some reason it seems like you don't want me to quit, so there it is. Tell Flagon to get all the way off my ass or I'll be gone faster than the Survey Corps' last funding allocation.
This is getting too long. I'm done now. Furlan said I should just go knock on your office door and talk to you, but that's obviously ridiculous. Your office probably stinks of ink and pomade anyway.
Disrespectfully yours,
Levi