The life of a Drone

Pathetic.
He had dreamt of doing so much more. Instead, he became what he said he wouldn't be. A leech. A parasite. A booze-guzzling layabout. Just like most of the Military Police. Indeed, he got lazy and uncaring after joining the MP. But he'd still do his usual duties, like walking on his usual patrol route, stopping drunken brawls and arresting the occasional petty thief.
And of course, there were his flaws. He'd skip out on duties that he deemed too strenuous to him, drink most of his money away, gamble the rest off and pass paperwork onto someone else. The Kir his parents raised wouldn't recognize him. Yes, the luxuries of the Interior wall and the authority that came with the MP uniform had caught up with him. He would abuse his power, although not as much as his brothers-in-arms. He hadn't paid for a drink's full price ever since he slipped on that jacket. But there were the occasions where he would actually work.
But yes, the MP life changed him.

Sometimes, he felt that his Titan-killing, survival and hand-to-hand combat training was all for nothing. Kir could feel all those years of boot camp being washed away with his cushy life in Wall Sina. There'd only be the occasional target practice to hone his shooting skills.
When he looked around him, all he saw were lazy bastards looking out for themselves. So much for the 'King's Elite Guard'.
Their guarding skills were as fake as the horned horses sewed onto their jackets.

Ever since he took residence in the Military Police HQ in Stohess, he'd always do the same things. Wake up, patrol, drink, go to sleep and repeat. It was dull after the first few months. Although, Kir couldn't complain about the soft beds, delicious meals and almost-unlimited supply of booze. He didn't complain. Nobody did.
Kir stepped out of the bar he was once in. Now with alcohol in his system to keep him going, he resumed his orders. His legs guided him along the streets he knew all so well. It was as if he was on autopilot.
The sun shone down on him, reflecting against his almost-white hair. He firmly held the strap of his musket, which was slung over his shoulder. His father's hunting knife was inside it's covering held up by his belt. He always kept it around in case he got into an unfair brawl, even it was illegal. The full flask in his pocket begged him to take it out and wrap his lips around its rim. He was tempted to, despite just exiting a tavern.
Kir walked. Citizens parted, making way for the soldier. That day had been particularly boring. Nothing happened. He wished for something, anything, to happen. Kir scratched his chin, rubbing his fingertips over his stubble.
"Gods," he mumbled, "kill me now..."

Marco was walking the streets of Stohess, carrying a couple of books with both of his hands. That day was another one of his off days. He had spent half of it in the library, only leaving as the need for food called for him to stir from his comfort zone. He bought some bread from a nearby stall and leaned against a wall, enjoying his meal. The sun shone overhead and the wind whipped his long locks around.

As he ate, the soldier surveyed the environment around him. There was the usual bustle of people, which would have unsettled the brunette, had he been in the middle of the crowd. Amidst the crowd, Marco noticed a man wearing the Military Police uniform. His platinum blonde hair made him stand out among the sea of strangers. There was also something familiar about him that made the soldier sure that he had seen him before -- he just wasn’t sure where. The Military Police walked around Stohess looking bored. Marco found the expression quite unusual. Most MPs were usually drunk and did not care much for their duties. Not this guy.

The brunette found his gaze wandering to the blonde man as he finished the last of his meal. He wished he could do something that could ease the man’s boredom, but at the same time, he didn’t really want to approach him, being the reserved person that he was. He also wasn’t looking for any sort of conflict, in which Military Policemen would have no choice but to appear in. Of course Marco would try to stop them, having the instinct from being a soldier. One small problem would be that he would be afraid. The soldier was practically the opposite of fearless, jumping at the slightest disturbance.

When a fight broke out between a nearby shop owner and a customer, that was exactly what Marco did. He jumped back, nearly dropping the books in his arms. He held on to them tightly, his eyebrows crinkling in worry. He observed the offenders of peace warily, not wanting any brutal conflict to break out.

Oh my god, I jinxed it, he thought, chewing on his lip nervously.

His eyes darted from the Military Police to the offenders and back again. Should he do something? Should he try to stop the fight, or should he leave it up to the officials?

Marco wasn’t exactly sure what to do, so he flattened himself against the wall, as if by doing this, he would become invisible to the conflict causers. He kept his eyes on the two men, his face as neutral as possible, struggling not to show any sign of fear.