I need a shovel.
[The feed's not supposed to be video, but this is what happens when you give a low-tech teen a smartphone equivalent. His hands are hidden in dirt and bandages, tombstones sitting along the background: clearly the graveyard by the church.
He gnaws at his knuckle for a second before a shaky grin cracks against it.] This place... what a joke—
[ It's said like the words burn in his mouth, spat out with a growl in the back of his throat. The smiles dies into a more honest scowl. Tone rapidly growing more emphatic, Eren's thin fingers grip across the device with an irritated wrenching. ]
These graves... people wake up here when they die, right? Are we okay shuffling around, waiting for whenever they decide to fuck with us again? Feeding off their scraps? Scrounging around for anything that shines... might as well stretch our necks out and wait around 'til they decide to slit our throats.
[ There's fury and frustration in how his jaw tightens, eyes practically shining with near-mania. ] That's not peace! It's their pity— and since we live by their mercy, we die by it too. [ His mouth twists. The words are hushed, but no less vicious: ] Like sheep at a slaughter.
[ He shuts up for a good several seconds past awkward after that, staring at the ground. It's hard to see, but there's a slight tremble in the way his hand stays at his lip, matching the way his voice starts to shake. ] And Armin, you... your sense of humor— seriously, what the hell? Get in touch. Soon as you see this.
[ A moment later, he lets the watch swing free and crouches down, frantically scooping another fistful of dirt away from a grave before the video fizzles out. ]