Chapter Text
Armin is unsure of where he is. He knows he got off the train behind Sunday, and that he’s on a new planet. He’s still confused though, all of this planet stuff and these… colorful people. He doesn’t remember the name of the planet they’re on now, it began with a P maybe, or a B? He doesn’t know, and he thinks he shouldn’t bother asking questions anymore. Instead he simply follows behind Sunday, who seems almost content leading him around. The woman with bright red hair and the older man, (Welt Yang? Or should he say Mr. Welt??) had told them to do as they please. Apparently the two elders had some kind of meeting with someone, so the five of them are just here for the ride.
The pink haired girl, March, had insisted on taking photos of something somewhere- Armin would be lying if he said he’d been paying full attention. The two guys who looked around her age wanted to tag along, and Armin would’ve preferred to hang around in a group as well, but Sunday had suggested for the two of them to split off.
So against his own will and better judgment, Armin silently follows Sunday through a slightly snowy… village? Town? It’s certainly a lot more ‘modern’ than any village he’s been to, even more so than Marley. There are also quite a few heaters set up around, he wonders if it really gets that cold here. Other than the modernness Armin notices a few people, but none seem all that important. Not that Armin thinks they’re ‘unimportant’, just not useful to him. That almost sounds worse though, doesn’t it? He tries not to dwell on his opinions of strangers any longer, and instead dwells on the winged man in-front of him.
He’s been walking closely behind Sunday for a few minutes now, long enough to realize they’re not really going anywhere. In fact Armin is sure he’s seen this same building before at least twice. He’s unsure if he should bring it up, and risk Sunday getting mad at him. Perhaps he really does know where he’s going, and he just has to walk in a few circles to get there.
But Sunday really doesn’t know what he’s doing, obviously. He’s never been to Belobog before, and was just hoping it’d be similar enough to Penacony that he could just figure it out along the way. Unfortunately, it's far different than Penacony, and Sunday isn't sure what exactly they should be doing. That being said, he doesn't mind just walking around and occasionally smiling at the people he’d pass along the way. He only worries about Poor Armin, who is probably very confused. He hasn't said anything though, so maybe he doesn't mind wandering around with Sunday… “Where are we going?” Poor Armin says in the middle of Sunday’s hopeful inner thoughts, with the one question he was hoping to not get. Why couldn't Poor Armin ask about Sunday’s favorite color? Or dish, or what he does in his free time?
“Is there somewhere in particular you’d like to go, Po-” He interrupts himself. “My Dear Armin?” He stops moving and turns to face the blonde man, who stops as well right behind him. He hopes Armin won't say anything, and that his question will have Armin let Sunday lead again. Unfortunately, nothing ever goes Sunday’s way. “I want to sit down and eat somewhere, I've only had the noodles since yesterday.” He trails off before continuing with, “Which were good, by the way…” as if trying not to seem ungrateful. Sunday wouldn't have blamed him if he threw up those tasteless noodles immediately after eating them, especially since they had been left out all day before.
“Well then,” Sunday begins to speak as he turns his head, looking around for a convenient place to get food. Unfortunately, every building looks the same, and none of them look like they hold anything particularly appetizing. “Why don't we ask a local what they’d recommend?” Nice save; that's what Sunday thinks to himself, anyway. Now the pressure of finding a place to eat is off of him. Although if they ever go back to Penacony he’ll have to redeem himself and take Poor Armin somewhere nice. Anyway, the two of them glance around before Armin finds a nearby woman and asks for her opinion. Armin can't help but think she looks a little out of place though, she seems a bit punk-ish.
The woman; who neither of them got the name of, suggests eating at a nearby hotel, which seems a bit strange to Sunday who would've preferred a nice restaurant. Then again, he’s a bit low on credits at the moment so perhaps this really is a better option. So the pair wanders around a bit further until reaching the Goethe Hotel, which Sunday had actually heard of before. Supposedly it's the best place to stay here in Belobog, but after seeing it in person, it doesn't even compare to the check-in area of Penocony. He doesn't comment on it though, since Poor Armin seems content ordering tea and toast. He almost orders the poached eggs, before giving Sunday a little worried side-eye and switching to the boring bread and butter. Perhaps he doesn't want to spend too much of Sunday’s credits, and that's why he chose the less expensive option. Poor Armin is oh so kind, in Sunday’s opinion. He doesn't thank him or anything though, he doesn't want the shorter man to know he knows.
So he simply walks beside him silently, heading to the closest table to sit at and drink while waiting on Armin’s toast. Sunday hadn't ordered anything other than a small cup of tea, he asked for the same thing Poor Armin had gotten. In his opinion, it's not very good, but Poor Armin drinks most of it pretty quickly. He wonders if Armin actually likes it, or just wants to avoid having to talk. He understands this is probably very awkward for Poor Armin, who’s completely out of his comfort zone, in a place he’s never even heard of before. Fortunately he's been paired up with Sunday by the kindest gods, who’ve blessed them both to meet each other.
“Armin, is there anything you’d like to do after you eat?” Sunday asks softly, trying to keep his tone calm and composed. It’s been a while since he’s spoken like this, ever since joining the express he’s been more or less quiet and ‘shy’ for lack of a better word. He’s mainly relied on Mr. Welt to do the talking for him, so he’s having a bit of trouble getting back in charge of himself. “Not particularly, I don't really know what there is to do.” Armin replied with a low hum, his gaze more or less focused on his half-empty cup of tea. There's really only one thing Armin actually wants at the moment, and it's to get home. He just has no idea how to achieve that, or even where to start looking. He’s not even completely sure if he believes this is real yet, or just some strange prolonged dream. He’s also not sure if Sunday, (whose name he's still confused about), would be willing to help. He can't think of a particular reason why the winged man would refuse, but he knows most people aren't so happy to help out a stranger.
“Then why don't we start with checking in on Mr. Welt and Himeko? I’m sure they're done with their meeting by now.” Armin assumes ‘Mr. Welt and Himeko’ are the older two who left them alone this morning, but he still has yet to memorise everyone's names. So he simply nods along in agreement with Sunday’s suggestion, and fortunately someone brings him his toast so he’s not forced to give an actual response. Sunday thanks the hotel worker before Armin can, then seems to shoo them away, leaving the duo alone at the table again. “So,” Sunday begins to speak again, leaning forward with a shoulder on the table and his cheek resting in his palm. “You said you were from Para…dees? Right? I’ve never heard of that before, so I tried looking it up. I couldn't find any information on it though.” His question, or statement (?) causes Armin to frown a bit before responding. “Paradis, it's where I grew up. I was also in Marley for a brief period, if that sounds more familiar.”
“It doesn't."
“It… It doesn't sound familiar at all?”
“No, apologies. Are you sure you're pronouncing it correctly?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Hm, that's definitely a problem then. I’m not sure how you’ll ever get home if no one knows the place you're from.” Sunday’s comment only causes Armin to frown deeper, his expression frustrated and a bit distracted. He furrows his brows and lightly taps the glass of his tea cup, making a quiet sound with his nail absentmindedly. “You should eat your toast, or it'll get old.” The winged man continues, perhaps trying to make the situation a bit better. If that's what he was attempting to do, he certainly failed, as Armin only looks more dejected. “You really think there's no way I'll ever get back…?” Sunday clears his throat before replying, “Well, I never said that.”
“You did,” Armin continues before Sunday can argue back. “It's alright though, I don't recognise any of the places here so, I know I'm pretty far from home. Also, this place is a lot more… ‘evolved’ than the place i’m from.” He mumbles a bit under his breath, seemingly talking more to himself than Sunday. It’s like he's going over the facts in his own mind to try and figure something out on his own. Sunday cant help but think its a bit pointless for him to go over these things now, he seemed to just appear here a few days ago, so maybe he’ll eventually just disappear the same way. “You seem a bit old, Armin. Perhaps you're from the past. You did say something about being from a year with only three digits.”
“‘Only three’…” Armin copies Sunday’s observation with an infinitely less content expression, his lips forming a small frown that's almost the complete opposite of the winged man's small smile. At a time like this Armin can't help but remember his friends back home; he promised Mikasa he’d visit Eren’s grave with her, and now he's suddenly missing. Whatever force is doing this must be very cruel. He hopes Mikasa won't be too mad at him, if he ever gets the chance to see her again. He can't let himself be the second person she’s lost in such a short amount of time, she’d never get over it.
So Armin swears to himself: he’ll find a way back home. For his own sake, and Mikasa’s, and everyone elses too.