wipesfaith | [fourth wall]

[Not his superior officer... His eyes narrow, but he'll throw together a salute for this asshole.]

Cadet Jean Kirstein of the Survey Corps, sir. [Eat his teenage sarcasm, fuckwad.]

[He raises a hand in an abrupt manner, as if he's about to slap this kid across the face, but then he thinks better of himself. The general attitude inside the Military Police has a tendency to rub off on people, but he's still trying his best not to let it drag him down. What would his squad say if they could see him beating the snot out of some twerp from the Survey Corps? He's supposed to be setting the right example for them.

The hand is lowered again, though it remains curled into a fist. He draws a harsh breath through his nose, then tries again.]

Don't get smart with me, cadet. I want your real name.

[He flinches and breaks the salute to raise a hand in defense, which he only lowers a few beats after the other man lowers his. What the hell is this guy's problem?]

Sorry, that's the only name I've got.

You need to run back home and tell whoever put you up to this that I'm not a complete idiot.

[His tone of voice is low and threatening, but once he's said what he has to say, he turns to leave. He's got better things to do than engaging in tasteless pranks.]

[Uh-uh. This twerp is gonna follow you.]

Whoever put me up to what? All I was doing was seeing if you needed some help, since you're obviously new here, but sorry if you're too damn high and mighty for that! Don't know why I even bothered.

[A cadet who actually dares to accuse a Military Police Captain of being "high and mighty"? And here he thought new recruits were all without spirit. This is a feisty one. Figures the Survey Corps would get all the good trainees.

He sighs and turns to face the kid again.]

Listen, cadet. You're lucky I'm such a forgiving man. If you were facing the real Jean Kirstein, you'd be in such deep shit you'll think twice before joking around next time.

What the fuck are you talking about?!

[And now he's studying this asshole's face, while he's glaring at it and willing it to burst into flames and all. The freckles don't go unnoticed, but they're not such an uncommon feature...]

I should be asking who you are, since you already seem to know my name.

[The kid's bad temper and fluent cursing are only making the resemblance more uncanny, but he supposes fifteen years of bad memories are making him more eager to see the Jean of old. The person his friend used to be before the Military Police destroyed whatever sense of dignity the guy still had back then.

He misses that Jean.]

You're seriously still keeping this charade up? Fine then. [He gives a wave of the hand, feeling he might as well humor this kid.] Captain Marco Bott, leader of the third Military Police squad. Is that what you wanted to hear?

[And just like that, his anger all but vanishes, filled in with confused shock.]

...Marco?

[He's in the Military Police. He's a captain. He...he made it. Maybe this isn't as real as he thought; he's looking at a dream. Jean searches for an explanation. Time is irrelevant here...does that mean time can even be changed, back home? Is this what Marco would have ended up as if he had made it through Trost, if they had followed through with the dream they'd cultivated for all those years?

This isn't what it was supposed to be like...]

That's Captain Bott to you.

[He's not sure why this kid is still pretending to be surprised. Nobody's buying that he's really Jean Kirstein. There's no way it could be Jean Kirstein. Time can't be turned back and people don't get second chances to make something of their lives. Any coincidental resemblance to Jean is just that- a coincidence.]

And I distinctly remember telling you to run on home.

[Like turning a knob on a gas lamp, his anger flares back into view.]

So I guess being in the Military Police can make anyone a total asshole if you give it enough time. [A loud scoff.] Shit, I'd hate to see how I ended up, then.

[He thinks he's joking...at least, he hopes he is. But a growing part of him is nervous, and he isn't sure if he really wants to know.]

[And just like that, Marco can feel his own anger rising to a boiling point. Not because of the first remark, but because of the second. Pretending to be Jean is one thing, insulting the man Jean's become is another. It's a touchy subject because now matter how much Marco still attempts to stand by his friend, a part of him fears that he's to blame for Jean's steady decline. That instead of worrying about the state of the Military Police in general, he should've worried more about the state of his closest companion.]

You'd better get the hell out of my sight before I have you put on probation! This poor excuse of a joke has gone on long enough!

This isn't some stupid joke! Can you pull your head out of your ass and just listen for a second?!

I am Jean. Or are you so obsessed with yourself that you've forgotten what your best friend used to look like - if we even are still friends? I told you, this place is messed up. Time means almost nothing here...and reality can be played with like it's a toy. I don't know what the hell is going on here-- [he gestures between the two of them] --but that's the best explanation I've got, so you'll just have to take it.

[Time means nothing and reality can be played with? Really? He's supposed to just accept that? Who the fuck does this kid think he is?

And yet... He looks just like Jean. He sounds just like Jean. He acts just like Jean. It's impossible and at the same time it's right there in front of him. Evidently there was nothing wrong with his cigar, no drugs of any sort in his body- things would feel a lot different if there were, he's sure of that much.]

Prove it. If you really are him, then prove it.

Prove it? What the hell do you want me to do? [He racks his brains for some obscure memory he could relate, something only the two of them would know.]

You tell me.

[Even back then, he was already best friends with Jean. No, in a way, they were even more close back then than they are now. If this kid is really who he says he is, he shouldn't have any problems proving he's not some imposter.]

[Wow, fuck you too. He half wonders why he's trying so hard for this asshole, but then again...this asshole is still Marco, and Marco is still his friend. Well, let's take this back to the beginning then.]

The first time I met you, I thought you were a naive kid from some lame town out in the boonies, and I told you as much. [In his usual careless way, which he was even worse about back then.]

That's the best you can do?

[In retrospect, he's pretty sure half the trainee corps thought that about him. It's not exactly a secret he's from the village of Jinae, either.]

No. You remember Trost? It's probably still the only real battle you've fought in, isn't it?

You told me you thought I'd make a good leader...I probably brushed you off, because I liked to think I wasn't capable of doing a good thing. Too much responsibility and all that. But you told me that it's because I'm not strong that I can understand others and figure out what to do in a tight situation. [Which...he's started to believe a little bit more, because he trusts Marco's judgment.]

Remember that, Marco?

[And this... This is where the balance shifts. It's been a long time, but he still remembers that moment. Back when he believed Jean had what it took be a responsible leader- no, back when Jean actually still had it. No one would know about that. No one but himself and Jean.

His expression softens. He would like nothing more than to accept this as the truth, but this person can't be Jean. Because Jean... Jean is waiting for him, back home. Probably drunk off his ass, but waiting nonethless.]

But that's... That's impossible.

Yet here I am, and here you are.

[Marco never got the chance to live past his youth. To see him so much older yet still so clearly Marco - now that he's looking and noticing every point that matches - makes this unsettling for him too. But he's not going to bring up the fact that he's supposed to be dead if he doesn't have to.]

[For a moment, he just runs a hand across his face in exasperation. Then he reaches into his chest pocket and pulls out a second cigar because fucking dammit he really needs another smoke to go with this.]

Just when you think your day can't get any more messed up...! [After putting the cigar to his mouth, he starts digging through his pocket for a matchbook.]

[He snorts.] Look at you, living the dream.

[Marco may be listening finally, but he's still so completely different than what Jean knows that it's more than a little unnerving. And it pisses Jean off, that all those lofty dreams collapsed into...whatever it is he's looking at right now.]

You know nothing about dreams, kid.

[Ultimately, there's a difference between dreams that can be realized and fantasies. Their initial goal was one that could never be reached, Marco knows that now. The only 'dream' he still has left is to continue leading the only squad in the Military Police that's even remotely close to being respectable.

Once he's done lighting his cigar, he puts the match out with a swift wave of the hand and tosses it aside.]

Maybe not. [It's impossible to be certain that there's a better future up ahead, a way out of all of this. It's hard enough to put in it whatever tentative hope he can.] I know plenty about nightmares, though, and that's as good a reason as any to fight.

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