Memoirs of the Lost Loser

The Loop and the Harbinger

You decided to have breakfast with Petra in the mess hall. 

Two crying idiots, just spotted eating in the long bench, along with hungover soldiers from last night, moaning, 'I'll never drink again... urghhh...'  when everyone knows that's never true. 

You had boiled potatoes and radish for breakfast, while Petra only had tea. 

"You won't eat?" You asked her, helping yourself another serving of that bland root crop. 

"I have plans for lunch so I'm saving space for later." She said before sipping from her cup. Normally, you'd respond with 'Ooh, who's the date?' but agreed that it might come off as insensitive. Arianne is the same after all. She can look tough however she wants, but you know that's a façade. 

"You're not gonna ask who?" She lifted her cup.

"I don't want to pry..."

"Just ask. I don't mind. Last night was last night, this is today." She winked at you. That fast? Isn't it just a while ago she's all: 'Why am I not enough for him?!' And now she's like: 'I-can-find-ten-of-you-in-the-market-for-a-discount-fuck-you-captain-Levi!'?

You stabbed your food more than you should, wide-eyed of how she does it: From clingy Clara to bad bitch Barbara in a matter of minutes. Now that you remembered, the first time you met her, she put your jaw back, kills titans for a living, and handpicked by Levi Ackerman, himself. 

Petra Ral, you concluded, is one nasty lady no one should pick a fight with. She's definitely the type to bring grenades in a gunfight, or take your family pet Pochita as hostage.

"You okay?" The subject of your thoughts snapped you from them, noticing her eyes pointed sideways to indicate somethi—

"Wanna get out of here?" You whispered, leaning to her. Levi, incoming at ten. That works for you, since you have to get going too. To be honest, you don't wanna see him as well. You've done some thinking, only for a conclusion to branch out to a full-blown, intrusive paranoia.

"I have nothing to do until lunch, can I come with you?"

"Nope." You flatout rejected the idea, sipping to dismiss. Why would she come in your shabby cabin and let her see that you're building a bomb to save their asses tomorrow?

And why did you even agree?

"Your cabin's..." She stared at the front door, gone were her puppy eyes and pleading, bubble cheeks, you can tell she's scrutinizing every bit of shabbiness and poverty seeping from JUST the front door. 

"Shabby."

"Cute."

"Why thank you for the pity. Wait in the grass." You pushed her by your hip, catching the last of her retorts while mentally preparing yourself to dodge your own traps. Kick, dodge, step forward, jump.  

And like the last time, you kicked your door— dodging an icepick that aimed at your throat, stepped forward to avoid the sacks of sand from your roof, and jumped to avoid that slashing knife hidden in the supposed mailbox in your front door. 

"Clever." Petra clapped as she approached. She watched you pat the last pricks of sand on your shoulder, while you took in the dreary state of your cabin. Definitely not guest ready. 

"How many robbers tried to steal from this house? I saw you do it, so where are you hiding the goods?" She tackled you as payback to the hip push, but Petra bet she didn't expect the impact of her strength on you. 

"Sorry! Oh my goodness—how did you graduate when you're this... fragile ?" She pulled you up.

"You can say it—"