[ Description: Levi's point of view following a short conversation between him and Erwin Smith. ]

**Originally on Writing Arena but that place sucks

- A Raven's Wings -

Scrap.. . . scrap...

"How long have you been sitting there?"

My voice is dry, addressing the simpleton seated across from me. Hands folded, I peer across the mass waves of paperwork on the oak desk. A strand of blond hair greets me along with diamond blue eyes that could cut steel. I'm not fazed however; another chain of events it seems. I huff inwardly, a partial greeting in return. The man straightens his posture as he begins speaking.

"C'mon, Mr. Ackerman. Don't you know how to greet an old friend by now?" A glint of amusement shows in his eyes.

My jaw is already set, but I scoff him indifferently. Old friend? This geezer has quite some nerve. --

"I'm afraid not.. Erwin Smith. I thought old friends don't call one another by their last names." I cut back my tongue, laced with venom.

And of course, he is already used to my remarks. He leans forward now, revealing tired lines and slight wear on his features. I mark with subtle notice how he doesn't have grays at this point. I could almost laugh if my tea hadn't went cold moments ago. Calling in Petra would be a hassle...I make the mental note of calling her in later.

"What are your wings of freedom, Levi?" He squints, gazing beyond what I could see.

He calls me by my name. I respond.

"The choice I least regret, reluctance in bloodshed, and pride in the surviving." The answer is automatic.

He blinks, not answering for a moment.

I breathe in the silence, the passing of boots above my head. The tiny world outside my own living and breathing all the same.

"Do you believe in me and the surviving of this world?" He inquires again.

"Believing in itself is a form of doubt. You believe in the unknown for the sanctity of your own peace of mind. In whatever eases your troubling thoughts at night.... so I can't say. Whatever happens shouldn't be because of believing, but in what you do now." My tone is constant.

"Wisest in the fitting." A smile cracks on his lips.

"Look who's calling the kettle black." I reply in thin humor.

He emerges from his seat, moving toward the door. Each of his steps are grand, filled with experience. He calls over his shoulder:

"Oh, and by the way, Levi. Your tea is cold." He drones me out with a small chuckle.

You old geezer...