Childish Games

Childish Games - Prologue/PV

-Prologue/PV-

Jean never really understood the purpose of games. You can entertain yourself easily enough with a simple drink and some mindless chatter with people, even if that mindless chatter did end up becoming violent banter. But who cares about one or two fists in the face when you're completely intoxicated? He certainly didn't; well, not until the following morning when he was sporting a dark purple ring around his eye. However, when you look at it in an optimistic way, the throbbing bruise serves as a mark of strength or bravery, even if you're the one who got punched it still gives off a somewhat dangerous, rebellious aura. And that, Jean decided, he liked. He liked to seem defiant, unwilling to be shepherded like sheep or cattle. He refused to follow many orders, unless he had no choice in the matter, of course.

For instance, if Dot Pixis gave him orders, he'd lose his head for failing to obey them. Albeit that it wouldn't be Pixis giving the order, one of his men would certainly decide that he'd be losing a body part and he'd much rather it be his head than something further south. What a meaningless existence that would be if he couldn't even enjoy the more mature things in life.

Games, he'd told himself, were nothing more than childish nonsense, an excuse to run around and scream for no particular reason. As if they didn't do that enough already. Why the hell would you want to scream your head off when everyone met their death with loud, endless, blood-curdling screams. People say it's because they're screaming for good reasons. Happy screams. Jean can't tell the difference. Hear a scream, hands twitch towards the handles of his blades, eyes searching for the source of the noise. Unnecessary panic caused by a child playing a completely pointless game in a puddle. Why a puddle would make someone scream, he had no idea, and he was pretty certain nobody he asked would be able to tell him why.

The only game he ever took any fancy to was 'marco polo' solely because of who he'd play it with. They'd occasionally take to standing in various spots around one of their cabin rooms, one person blindfolded as they walk around trying to find the others, only deciding where they were by saying 'Marco' and getting a 'Polo' in response, leading them towards the others who stand waiting. Connie seemed to be the best at these games, possibly because he had very sharp hearing, closely followed by Armin and Sasha (who still, to this day, is known as Potato Girl).

Despite all the friends he's made though, Jean does prefer to sit on a high rooftop, lying down on the tiles and basking in whatever sun they get. But when he's pulled out of his thoughts and relaxed interior by a sharp yell of 'Kirschtein! Quit slacking!' He forces himself to sit upright again, shooting a quick glare at his disturber before swiftly going off; often to find another roof further away, sometimes sitting on the edge of Wall Rose with his feet hanging over the edge, completely out of the way of even the fifteen-metre-class titans. It makes him feel big, superior, even. Looking down on the hideous lumps of flesh that oddly resemble humans but with some kind of deformity, with a pleased smirk on his face as he quietly whispers to them;

'Idiots.'