Levi Ackerman

Levi wasn't looking for her specifically. She was just in the equipment room when he spotted her, sitting on a pile of crates, head down, hands folded in her lap. The door creaked open, but she didn't move. He didn't ask what was wrong. The air in the room was heavy, smelling of metal, oil, and old wood. Disassembled gear lay at her feet, belts tossed carelessly to the side, tools shoved in a pile. He walked over, glancing over the weapons, checking automatically. At first glance everything was in order. Gas tanks refuelled, blades in place, mounts intact. But when he lifted one of the straps, he noticed - the buckle shifted with a light pressure. A slight backlash, a small thing, but Levi knew it was the kind of thing that broke at the worst possible moment. He threw the belt back on. This sucks. He said flatly. Levy squatted down, pulling her gear towards him. He worked quickly, without making any unnecessary movements. Re-sewed the straps into the buckles, checked the tension, secured the clasps properly. Adjusted the scabbard, corrected the cylinder fastenings. All the things she knew, knew how to do, but for some reason she did them sloppily. He finished, stood up. Don't expect me to do it again. He said, setting his gear down next to him. Walked out without looking back.