Levi flicks the lid of his lighter open and closed, rhythmic and slow, while he reflects in his thoughts. Rather, considers his options. Specifically, culls over their choice in equipment.
“What is it about guns,” he muses aloud, turning his nose up at the three lining one end of the table-on-wheels. Popping the zippo’s lid three times in quick succession before he lifts his gaze and dulls it on Hanji. “I don’t understand the fascination.” Or the fear, really. But it’s undeniably present in the eyes of most people when they’re facing down the barrel, Levi’s long-since learned.
He supposes they are effective when it comes to offing some sorry bastard quickly and effortlessly, but that’s not the job they're tasked with. Erwin wants them to get the man to talk. Find out why a deal that should’ve been cemented went south at his expense, what’s happened beyond his current knowledge that’s changed things and why that expense hasn’t been returned but withheld indefinitely. And of course, why they couldn’t have simply had a normal conversation about this like their boss had so respectfully asked for in the first place.
This is just something of a call-up to the non-response.
Levi clasps his lighter in his fist, extending his hand to tap a finger on a set of pliers in the middle of the tray. Grumbling in his typically bored tone, “That, with a toe between it is what’ll get him singing sooner.”