Having been subjected to three years of intense military training, she is competent at using weapons and possesses the fighting abilities of the average soldier. Her battle skills are average, and yet are adequate enough to place her among the top ten of her class. While she possesses great social skills, she’s not particularly field intelligent.
First Person: [The soft voice comes to life on the network murmuring and unsure, and definitely unaware of being broadcasted to anyone at the moment.] I thought I did it right the first time, but this thing isn’t cooperating at all. Perhaps I should have asked someone to help with this after all--Oh!
I’m terribly sorry about this! I hope you didn’t have to listen to me ramble like that. I didn’t mean to inconvenience anyone. Perhaps it’s possible to talk to someone in person? I’m guessing we were given this to use in case of an emergency, but I feel like I’m wasting everyone’s time, what with making you listen to me. It’s not my intention at all!
...But if it isn’t an inconvenience, after all, I’ll be outside the building with all the little living units. I have so many things to ask. [There is a pause, as if Historia is thinking over her next words.] How do I turn this off, again?
Third Person:
When she wakes up for the second time, the panic finally starts to set in.
The first hour has gone by in a complacent daze of disbelief and confusion, mild and perplexing. There were the unfamiliar moving surroundings, unobtrusive and inoffensive in their mundanity. It is easy to keep to oneself when there’s not much required of you in a new place. Historia doesn’t miss the loud commanding voices, booming in their urgency upon waking up every day. She doesn’t mind the lack of oppressiveness in the atmosphere, reminding her that every day and any day can be her last. It is easy to stay in and stay still, willing the unfamiliarity to go away from the comfort of her new and unrecognizable room.
It is when she wakes up for the second time to witness the movement and quiet, humming noise, she does so with a start, and her heart starts racing not soon after with disquiet and urgency and discomfort. Looking outside makes it all too real that she is not anywhere resembling home. It is quaint how she’s come to call the barracks home, but the memory is at least comforting. The act of rubbing her eyes--feeling the solidity of the non-dreamlike nature of the cool glass against her palm the stale air in her lungs and the fabric on her skin reminds her that none of this is a dream. But it can very well be a nightmare.
The comfort comes with the first human face she chances upon once she arrives. The sight makes the task of smiling easy and effortless, and the words are soon out before she knows it.
“I’m glad you seem to be alright, sir,” she lets out a breath, before seriousness takes over, “I think I need help getting home.”
[CANON] Historia Reiss | Shingeki no Kyojin | Reserved 2
Background:
Wiki: http://shingekinokyojin.wikia.com/wiki/Historia_Reiss
Abilities:
Having been subjected to three years of intense military training, she is competent at using weapons and possesses the fighting abilities of the average soldier. Her battle skills are average, and yet are adequate enough to place her among the top ten of her class. While she possesses great social skills, she’s not particularly field intelligent.
First Person:
[The soft voice comes to life on the network murmuring and unsure, and definitely unaware of being broadcasted to anyone at the moment.] I thought I did it right the first time, but this thing isn’t cooperating at all. Perhaps I should have asked someone to help with this after all--Oh!
I’m terribly sorry about this! I hope you didn’t have to listen to me ramble like that. I didn’t mean to inconvenience anyone. Perhaps it’s possible to talk to someone in person? I’m guessing we were given this to use in case of an emergency, but I feel like I’m wasting everyone’s time, what with making you listen to me. It’s not my intention at all!
...But if it isn’t an inconvenience, after all, I’ll be outside the building with all the little living units. I have so many things to ask. [There is a pause, as if Historia is thinking over her next words.] How do I turn this off, again?
Third Person:
When she wakes up for the second time, the panic finally starts to set in.
The first hour has gone by in a complacent daze of disbelief and confusion, mild and perplexing. There were the unfamiliar moving surroundings, unobtrusive and inoffensive in their mundanity. It is easy to keep to oneself when there’s not much required of you in a new place. Historia doesn’t miss the loud commanding voices, booming in their urgency upon waking up every day. She doesn’t mind the lack of oppressiveness in the atmosphere, reminding her that every day and any day can be her last. It is easy to stay in and stay still, willing the unfamiliarity to go away from the comfort of her new and unrecognizable room.
It is when she wakes up for the second time to witness the movement and quiet, humming noise, she does so with a start, and her heart starts racing not soon after with disquiet and urgency and discomfort. Looking outside makes it all too real that she is not anywhere resembling home. It is quaint how she’s come to call the barracks home, but the memory is at least comforting. The act of rubbing her eyes--feeling the solidity of the non-dreamlike nature of the cool glass against her palm the stale air in her lungs and the fabric on her skin reminds her that none of this is a dream. But it can very well be a nightmare.
The comfort comes with the first human face she chances upon once she arrives. The sight makes the task of smiling easy and effortless, and the words are soon out before she knows it.
“I’m glad you seem to be alright, sir,” she lets out a breath, before seriousness takes over, “I think I need help getting home.”