[ The Judge waits, patient and still. It's easy to get lost in his thoughts, requiring nothing of others. When Armin asks for water, he lifts his head as though a little startled, but nods and rises. He's a little slow in standing, the heels of his hands against his knees.
The water he brings Armin - from the same wooden chest - is in a small bottle, still sealed. Usually, he uses a primitive water filtration system, leaving the potable water they discover for other survivors. He offers the bottle to Armin. Then, he leans to check on his wound. ]
( a sniffle here and there. another hiccup or three. Armin watches — older? or perhaps battle worn from this place? — although his attention falls, momentarily, to the medical supplies laid useless on the ground. prompted to raise his head, Armin pauses. spring water? is that all available? or does he seem so miserable?
accepting, voice soft again, ) Thank you. ( Armin sets the bottle firm against his thigh, one hand to crack the seal. half turning, ) You can put your medkit away. I'll be healed up in an hour or two.
[ The Judge tilts his head curiously at Armin. How strange, that he could heal so quickly. It must not be a new thing, the Judge assumes. Armin is no veteran here, so it surely could not be some trick of the Entity.
But, it is, he supposes, none of his business. Armin is safe, now, and will soon be healed, but the Judge knows he has some other use for the newcomer yet. He pauses as though unsure whether Armin is being truthful or simply unnecessarily humble... but nods his agreement then, and sets to putting items back in the med-kit to be stored for another time. Doubtlessly it will be used soon, by someone.
Reaching for the needle and thread, he pauses, thoughtful. Glancing to Armin, back, and then— the Judge holds up the tiny kit to show, plucks at his own sleeve in indication, and then points to Armin. He seems calmer, now, but best to give him time to settle in a little longer before dumping much more information on him. None of the knowledge Judge has to share is pleasant or comforting at all. ]
( here, self conscious and free from immediate danger, the silent pause of such a figure is intimidating. at least a little. Armin waits for the other man to motion his thoughts at all, then turns, slow and uncomfortable, to sip from the proffered bottle. he sips, pauses, sips again, drinks full and perhaps a little greedy: the water, more smooth and refreshing on his tongue than he thought his body to allow.
swallowing, his lips part as the man begins motioning again. ) Um. I can't sew, especially right now. ( unless the man is offering but Armin would prefer not to embarrass himself further with presumption. )
[ A brief tilt, then bob of his head. The motion is almost owl-like, with the mask. The Judge beckons with a gloved hand in a 'give it here' sort of way.
Sewing is a skill he learned as a teen - at least the basics, reinforced time and again after the bombs. It's a meditative sort of activity, and the Judge might almost say he enjoys it, if he's capable of that anymore - especially now. ]
( another hesitant noise, not quite "um," dumbfounded. ) Okay... ( it wouldn't be the strangest thing about his day.
Armin sets the bottled water aside, then slow, mindful of his arm, works through the layers of his clothes: loosening his tie; unbuttoning his waistcoat; unrolling his sleeves and garters, the material of his shirt too long for his arms, before finally... offering the shirt itself for mending.
unfortunately for the chill in the air, Armin hadn't opted for an undershirt this morning. )
[ Another nod, and the Judge waits. He sits across from him once more, legs crossed, and sets to work.
He inspects the tear itself, first, then sets it in his lap along with the small kit. Gloves come next, set next to him without the need for urgency like earlier. He works with a practiced ease, focusing in the moment. Despite the mask, he threads the needle easily enough, and picks up the shirt again to begin working.
Once or twice, he glances to Armin as though to check on him. As he does, the Judge cannot help but notice his physique. The Judge had noted his strength when Armin had tugged him out of the way, but his muscle tone is still somehow unexpected. Even having been crying, tired and wounded, this newcomer is handsome. Catching himself in his thoughts, the Judge shakes his head slightly as he works. ]
( silent for a moment, Armin reaches for the bottled water. he watches the man work, then... )
Thank you. ( not just for this. ) I wouldn't have gotten out without your help. ( of which, this stranger has given so much in so little time. a pause, thoughtful. ) I'm Armin, by the way.
[ A glance up, and then something of a double-take. The Judge gives a small nod. He doesn't mind helping. This newcomer is clearly not incapable, but the odds are stacked against him, and further still for not knowing.
Gathering the shirt to himself so as not to drag it on the ground, he turns a little as though turning his back to the other and leans to pick up a twig close by. In the dirt, text facing Armin so as to be legible to him, he writes 'the judge'. After turning to face Armin again, the Judge points to the writing, and then to himself. ('The Judge' is hardly a normal name, after all.) ]
[ At the question, the Judge is still, mask turned towards his title - name - written in the dirt. After a long silence, he drags the stick through the letters, crossing it out with a single line.
Nothing, now.
The name is a holdover, a misnomer. He was only ever an agent of violence. And now, he is hunted as he hunted those in life. He cannot be who he once was, that man that brought the Collapse upon the world. But 'Judge' seems unfitting, he is unfit to pass judgment on anyone for their sins. He was meant to protect the flock he had once terrorized, but in the end, he failed that, too. That he is here now is proof of his sin.
Another silence, and finally the Judge simply shakes his head. Nothing, now. ]
[ A nod. The Judge points to the dilapidated house, and then the woods around them. There are others around. A few, anyway. He's never seen more than a small handful at a time, but he's gotten to know some.
He sets the stick down, returning to the mending that by now is almost finished. ]
when his attention returns to the Judge, he pauses, then sips from the bottle, eyes lowering. he doesn't think the Judge has dismissed him, but the moment is nonetheless awkward. Armin opts to not further interrupt his work. that there must be others like that woman as well is obvious enough not to ask. )
[ It's a few more minutes of silence before the Judge clips the thread and holds up the shirt. It's not entirely perfect, but the repair is neat enough, and certainly serviceable.
He stands, and offers the shirt back to Armin. Then, leans to check once more on the wound — just in case. ]
( after setting the bottle aside to accept the shirt, ) Thank you.
( Armin adjusts the open, preparing to dress, when the Judge leans close. steam obscures the exact cleave of his shoulder. Armin turns where he sits, lips parting... only to hesitate and fall silent. clear headed, it dawns on him, the fear he can cause others. the Judge is not repulsed, at least, but he is perhaps from one of the few places untouched by the rumbling. better to say nothing. )
( fully dressed, although not bothering to tuck his shirt tails, ) Is it okay if I look around?
[ Well, true to Armin's word, the wound seems to be healing. He thinks, anyway, if the steam is any indication. It is strange, but the Judge has seen many and more oddities, even before coming here. He straightens as Armin asks his question, and the Judge nods agreeably.
There's a noticeable pause, then, a hesitation in his posture as he tries to figure out how to convey his next meaning. Finally, he holds up a finger and crouches to pick up the stick and write in the dirt.
( the request isn't unreasonable, but something about it strikes Armin as familiar, perhaps a little intimate, as though they were companions. he likes that: that whatever strangers they are to one another, they aren't alone. when he returns, Armin thanks the Judge — some of what he eats, clearly hunted before he asks if the Judge had — something that reminds him of Sasha, someone he describes with a fond but sad little smile. ) She'd scarf down everything you gave me and ask for more. ( ... ) I caught her stealing extra food a lot.
( awake, Armin narrows the gaps in his understanding of this place. asleep, he dreams of sand, a tree, and the boy he ate. he is use to that, people haunting his dreams. Bertholdt is the oldest, but this time, he seems younger than Armin remembers. (Armin is getting older.) (what does it mean, all those people in that place? did they never leave? did Ymir? Eren?)
realizing the Judge is, still, awake, Armin props his weight on one elbow. groggy, rubbing sleep from his eye, ) I can take watch. ( he hadn't slept that long, he thinks, but without external cues to measure time... Armin begins to depend on hunger, consistently periodic, and routines he knows to the exact minute. a lack of time is meant to fracture them; drills structure the "day" and keep him strong.
on the third day, give or take another half in the estimate, the fog lifts them to another trial: an abandoned coal mine and a man that traps than hunts. (another mask. Armin's instinct about the Judge had been right; the realization is brief and intuitive, distant in the moment.) even prepared, the trial is no less nervewracking: nigh every step, untrustworthy, but Armin realizes the game — run them where he wants them — and finds plenty more than his own foot to test what's in front of him.
after, the bonfire is some place new, livelier with more than Armin and a man who does not speak. their idea of food is questionable — ) This is pizza...? ( — but Armin believes them when the others claim the gas station offers little to nothing. nonetheless... Armin wanders inside, the aftereffects of adrenaline suppressing his appetite.
coffee sounds a little appealing, but what catches Armin's eye the most is a shelf-full of identical teddy bears, the sort of mass production prohibitively expensive after the rumbling. he turns, teddy bear in hand, when the light behind him flickers. Armin smiles. gaze falling to the teddy bear, ) One of my friends has a daughter. Her birthday is soon. ( although Armin hadn't really considered presents in preparation for the return to Paradis... he places the teddy bear on its shelf.
opposite to his last injury, the side of Armin's head and collar is bloody. he had lost an ear, already regrown, choosing between the Trapper's machete and one of his lures. )
[ The Judge listens to all Armin has to share, listening in his quiet way with the occasional soft noise of understanding or the tilt of his head. And then— he has things of his own to share. Collections of papers, some scraps, some full sheaves. Writings of a man that many of them have met, a man that has seen others come and go. His writing is shared amongst survivors, kept in another chest in the dilapidated building nearby. Much of what they know of what Baker calls 'the Entity' is due to his exploration and subsequent writings.
Other things the Judge has to share: more... hands-on knowledge. Things that will (hopefully) keep Armin alive long enough to make use of the information Baker had to share. Instructions for handling a generator, written on a scrap of paper with charcoal from the bonfire. Instructions, too, for how to find items the Entity leaves them, hidden in chests that take precious time to open but sometimes that risk is worth it, saving time in other places, or offering escape from an otherwise grim situation. And finally, the way to escape aside from either gate: the hatch, an unpredictable thing that might spawn anywhere within a trial. The last survivor might escape from it, so long as the killer didn't find it first.
Outside of that, the Judge joins Armin in his drills, forgoing heavy jacket but taking particular care to keep the balaclava - and mask affixed to it - from being pulled astray. But the mask can hide neither the Judge's skin, scarred countless times, nor his hair; long, black, plaited neatly down his back and tied with leather cord.
When Armin is taken to another trial, the Judge can only wait anxiously that the other is alright, that he will survive on his own. The Entity seems not to want for his anticipation, though, seeing fit instead that the Judge is sent to trial himself. His adversary is a man for whom the title 'doctor' is even less fitting than it was in life. When he returns to the bonfire, nerves still afire from electrical shocks, Armin's relief surprises the Judge.
Pizza is something the Judge has forgotten the taste of, but he is quite sure it's nothing like what the others have come up with. He cannot fault them their attempt to recreate something of home, though. He follows Armin into the gas station instead, rubbing idly at his shoulder and occasionally flexing his fingers. As Armin sets the teddy bear back on the shelf, the Judge comes close, lifting a gloved hand. He reaches to grip the other's chin, gentle, and turn his head to better see the cause of blood on his collar. Gone, now, whatever it was. Armin is fortunate to be able to heal in such a way. Other survivors might not feel the same. He lowers his hand away, a brief grip on Armin's shoulder.
Some survivors have escaped, according to Benedict. Not just back to the bonfire, but back home. If it's true, maybe Armin will escape one day, too. The Judge watches Armin for a moment, still and silent, and then finally turns away, moving instead behind what once served as a checkout counter, and ducks behind it. A moment later, just his hand reappears to place something atop the ruined countertop: a small spiral-bound notebook, its pages yellowed and the cover faded and bent. ]
( in his peripheral, the Judge approaches. Armin turns, only for the other to take his chin. for a moment, Armin's breath catches in his throat. swallowing, ) ...it was just my ear this time.
( his touch is warm: weighty and comfortable. Armin must remind himself it's normal, the intimacy that something so harrowing nurtures and breeds, easily confused, perhaps more so for a man whose words are few, whose face is hidden, reliant on nigh every gesture. (but it is not only the gestures that linger, wanting that Armin is for a hand firm against his neck, but the image of skin and muscle, flesh peaked in the twilight. Armin remembers the shape against his hand.)
silent, a little uncertain of the hand on his shoulder, Armin returns the other's gaze, then follows him to the opposite side of the counter. curious, taking the notebook, ) What's this? Benedict's writing?
[ The Judge lifts his head only long enough that Armin might see him shake it, before returning to his rummaging. Finally, his search bears fruit: two pens.
He sets either on the counter, and waits silent for Armin's curiosity to be satisfied. The notebook is a remnant of whatever facet of the world the Entity recreated here. Some pages are written on, but illegible all the same with ink smudged and faded. Finally, he motions for the return of the notebook, and tests the first pen. After a long moment of attempting to make the ink flow - and failing - the Judge tries the other. This one, after a moment more, produces a visible scribble.
Turning to a blank page: So I can communicate with you. The Judge turns the notebook so Armin can see. ]
( realizing the contents are of little import, Armin pages, half interested, through the notebook. he glances to the other, rising into his vision, obliging after another page or two.
offering a small albeit pleased smile, ) Why don't you keep any paper with you?
[ The Judge glances to the notebook for a moment, then: I will now.
He has written on scraps of paper before out of necessity or very rarely out of desire, but never really sought out anything to be able to write more than a few words or sentences. To be sent to Autohaven Wreckers, and for there to be a notebook, is lucky. But he could surely have found one at either of the two schools he's seen - including where he met Armin.
The real reason, then, is that he hasn't wanted to. But to explain that invites question to why he wants to now. The answer to that... the Judge isn't really sure. He likes Armin, beyond the drive he feels to protect the other (or maybe that is a symptom of liking the other).
( another smile. a slight pause. Armin's gaze lifts to the other as he finds his footing. )
Not that... I mind if you don't talk but we've spent a lot of time together. Getting to know each other is good. ( a beat. ) You saved my life again, by the way.
[ The Judge listens, still as Armin speaks. He cannot explain why he does not speak— not yet. But writing, he thinks... writing is alright. If he's here, surely that means that he is being punished, and therefore he no longer has a chance to atone.
(There is more to it, surely, the fact that he does not speak so that others will not know him. The fact that he did not speak because speaking brought forth more sin. If writing is circumventing that, he is choosing not to think of it now. He has always been weak, though his Pride did not allow him to admit it. Perhaps now he is simply ignoring his weakness. He chooses not to think of that, either.)
Armin's assertion that the Judge saved his life earns an inquisitive tilt of his head; a question that needs no explanation from the newly acquired notebook. ]
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The water he brings Armin - from the same wooden chest - is in a small bottle, still sealed. Usually, he uses a primitive water filtration system, leaving the potable water they discover for other survivors. He offers the bottle to Armin. Then, he leans to check on his wound. ]
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accepting, voice soft again, ) Thank you. ( Armin sets the bottle firm against his thigh, one hand to crack the seal. half turning, ) You can put your medkit away. I'll be healed up in an hour or two.
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But, it is, he supposes, none of his business. Armin is safe, now, and will soon be healed, but the Judge knows he has some other use for the newcomer yet. He pauses as though unsure whether Armin is being truthful or simply unnecessarily humble... but nods his agreement then, and sets to putting items back in the med-kit to be stored for another time. Doubtlessly it will be used soon, by someone.
Reaching for the needle and thread, he pauses, thoughtful. Glancing to Armin, back, and then— the Judge holds up the tiny kit to show, plucks at his own sleeve in indication, and then points to Armin. He seems calmer, now, but best to give him time to settle in a little longer before dumping much more information on him. None of the knowledge Judge has to share is pleasant or comforting at all. ]
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swallowing, his lips part as the man begins motioning again. ) Um. I can't sew, especially right now. ( unless the man is offering but Armin would prefer not to embarrass himself further with presumption. )
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Sewing is a skill he learned as a teen - at least the basics, reinforced time and again after the bombs. It's a meditative sort of activity, and the Judge might almost say he enjoys it, if he's capable of that anymore - especially now. ]
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Armin sets the bottled water aside, then slow, mindful of his arm, works through the layers of his clothes: loosening his tie; unbuttoning his waistcoat; unrolling his sleeves and garters, the material of his shirt too long for his arms, before finally... offering the shirt itself for mending.
unfortunately for the chill in the air, Armin hadn't opted for an undershirt this morning. )
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He inspects the tear itself, first, then sets it in his lap along with the small kit. Gloves come next, set next to him without the need for urgency like earlier. He works with a practiced ease, focusing in the moment. Despite the mask, he threads the needle easily enough, and picks up the shirt again to begin working.
Once or twice, he glances to Armin as though to check on him. As he does, the Judge cannot help but notice his physique. The Judge had noted his strength when Armin had tugged him out of the way, but his muscle tone is still somehow unexpected. Even having been crying, tired and wounded, this newcomer is handsome. Catching himself in his thoughts, the Judge shakes his head slightly as he works. ]
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Thank you. ( not just for this. ) I wouldn't have gotten out without your help. ( of which, this stranger has given so much in so little time. a pause, thoughtful. ) I'm Armin, by the way.
( Armin doesn't expect an answer. )
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Gathering the shirt to himself so as not to drag it on the ground, he turns a little as though turning his back to the other and leans to pick up a twig close by. In the dirt, text facing Armin so as to be legible to him, he writes 'the judge'. After turning to face Armin again, the Judge points to the writing, and then to himself. ('The Judge' is hardly a normal name, after all.) ]
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he stares at the writing, familiar since living outside Paradis, then after a moment, raises his head. ) What do you judge? ( the people here? )
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Nothing, now.
The name is a holdover, a misnomer. He was only ever an agent of violence. And now, he is hunted as he hunted those in life. He cannot be who he once was, that man that brought the Collapse upon the world. But 'Judge' seems unfitting, he is unfit to pass judgment on anyone for their sins. He was meant to protect the flock he had once terrorized, but in the end, he failed that, too. That he is here now is proof of his sin.
Another silence, and finally the Judge simply shakes his head. Nothing, now. ]
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Are there more people? Like us? ( "that have survived." )
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He sets the stick down, returning to the mending that by now is almost finished. ]
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when his attention returns to the Judge, he pauses, then sips from the bottle, eyes lowering. he doesn't think the Judge has dismissed him, but the moment is nonetheless awkward. Armin opts to not further interrupt his work. that there must be others like that woman as well is obvious enough not to ask. )
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He stands, and offers the shirt back to Armin. Then, leans to check once more on the wound — just in case. ]
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( Armin adjusts the open, preparing to dress, when the Judge leans close. steam obscures the exact cleave of his shoulder. Armin turns where he sits, lips parting... only to hesitate and fall silent. clear headed, it dawns on him, the fear he can cause others. the Judge is not repulsed, at least, but he is perhaps from one of the few places untouched by the rumbling. better to say nothing. )
( fully dressed, although not bothering to tuck his shirt tails, ) Is it okay if I look around?
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There's a noticeable pause, then, a hesitation in his posture as he tries to figure out how to convey his next meaning. Finally, he holds up a finger and crouches to pick up the stick and write in the dirt.
come back soon to eat ]
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( the request isn't unreasonable, but something about it strikes Armin as familiar, perhaps a little intimate, as though they were companions. he likes that: that whatever strangers they are to one another, they aren't alone. when he returns, Armin thanks the Judge — some of what he eats, clearly hunted before he asks if the Judge had — something that reminds him of Sasha, someone he describes with a fond but sad little smile. ) She'd scarf down everything you gave me and ask for more. ( ... ) I caught her stealing extra food a lot.
( awake, Armin narrows the gaps in his understanding of this place. asleep, he dreams of sand, a tree, and the boy he ate. he is use to that, people haunting his dreams. Bertholdt is the oldest, but this time, he seems younger than Armin remembers. (Armin is getting older.) (what does it mean, all those people in that place? did they never leave? did Ymir? Eren?)
realizing the Judge is, still, awake, Armin props his weight on one elbow. groggy, rubbing sleep from his eye, ) I can take watch. ( he hadn't slept that long, he thinks, but without external cues to measure time... Armin begins to depend on hunger, consistently periodic, and routines he knows to the exact minute. a lack of time is meant to fracture them; drills structure the "day" and keep him strong.
on the third day, give or take another half in the estimate, the fog lifts them to another trial: an abandoned coal mine and a man that traps than hunts. (another mask. Armin's instinct about the Judge had been right; the realization is brief and intuitive, distant in the moment.) even prepared, the trial is no less nervewracking: nigh every step, untrustworthy, but Armin realizes the game — run them where he wants them — and finds plenty more than his own foot to test what's in front of him.
after, the bonfire is some place new, livelier with more than Armin and a man who does not speak. their idea of food is questionable — ) This is pizza...? ( — but Armin believes them when the others claim the gas station offers little to nothing. nonetheless... Armin wanders inside, the aftereffects of adrenaline suppressing his appetite.
coffee sounds a little appealing, but what catches Armin's eye the most is a shelf-full of identical teddy bears, the sort of mass production prohibitively expensive after the rumbling. he turns, teddy bear in hand, when the light behind him flickers. Armin smiles. gaze falling to the teddy bear, ) One of my friends has a daughter. Her birthday is soon. ( although Armin hadn't really considered presents in preparation for the return to Paradis... he places the teddy bear on its shelf.
opposite to his last injury, the side of Armin's head and collar is bloody. he had lost an ear, already regrown, choosing between the Trapper's machete and one of his lures. )
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Other things the Judge has to share: more... hands-on knowledge. Things that will (hopefully) keep Armin alive long enough to make use of the information Baker had to share. Instructions for handling a generator, written on a scrap of paper with charcoal from the bonfire. Instructions, too, for how to find items the Entity leaves them, hidden in chests that take precious time to open but sometimes that risk is worth it, saving time in other places, or offering escape from an otherwise grim situation. And finally, the way to escape aside from either gate: the hatch, an unpredictable thing that might spawn anywhere within a trial. The last survivor might escape from it, so long as the killer didn't find it first.
Outside of that, the Judge joins Armin in his drills, forgoing heavy jacket but taking particular care to keep the balaclava - and mask affixed to it - from being pulled astray. But the mask can hide neither the Judge's skin, scarred countless times, nor his hair; long, black, plaited neatly down his back and tied with leather cord.
When Armin is taken to another trial, the Judge can only wait anxiously that the other is alright, that he will survive on his own. The Entity seems not to want for his anticipation, though, seeing fit instead that the Judge is sent to trial himself. His adversary is a man for whom the title 'doctor' is even less fitting than it was in life. When he returns to the bonfire, nerves still afire from electrical shocks, Armin's relief surprises the Judge.
Pizza is something the Judge has forgotten the taste of, but he is quite sure it's nothing like what the others have come up with. He cannot fault them their attempt to recreate something of home, though. He follows Armin into the gas station instead, rubbing idly at his shoulder and occasionally flexing his fingers. As Armin sets the teddy bear back on the shelf, the Judge comes close, lifting a gloved hand. He reaches to grip the other's chin, gentle, and turn his head to better see the cause of blood on his collar. Gone, now, whatever it was. Armin is fortunate to be able to heal in such a way. Other survivors might not feel the same. He lowers his hand away, a brief grip on Armin's shoulder.
Some survivors have escaped, according to Benedict. Not just back to the bonfire, but back home. If it's true, maybe Armin will escape one day, too. The Judge watches Armin for a moment, still and silent, and then finally turns away, moving instead behind what once served as a checkout counter, and ducks behind it. A moment later, just his hand reappears to place something atop the ruined countertop: a small spiral-bound notebook, its pages yellowed and the cover faded and bent. ]
no subject
( his touch is warm: weighty and comfortable. Armin must remind himself it's normal, the intimacy that something so harrowing nurtures and breeds, easily confused, perhaps more so for a man whose words are few, whose face is hidden, reliant on nigh every gesture. (but it is not only the gestures that linger, wanting that Armin is for a hand firm against his neck, but the image of skin and muscle, flesh peaked in the twilight. Armin remembers the shape against his hand.)
silent, a little uncertain of the hand on his shoulder, Armin returns the other's gaze, then follows him to the opposite side of the counter. curious, taking the notebook, ) What's this? Benedict's writing?
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He sets either on the counter, and waits silent for Armin's curiosity to be satisfied. The notebook is a remnant of whatever facet of the world the Entity recreated here. Some pages are written on, but illegible all the same with ink smudged and faded. Finally, he motions for the return of the notebook, and tests the first pen. After a long moment of attempting to make the ink flow - and failing - the Judge tries the other. This one, after a moment more, produces a visible scribble.
Turning to a blank page: So I can communicate with you. The Judge turns the notebook so Armin can see. ]
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offering a small albeit pleased smile, ) Why don't you keep any paper with you?
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He has written on scraps of paper before out of necessity or very rarely out of desire, but never really sought out anything to be able to write more than a few words or sentences. To be sent to Autohaven Wreckers, and for there to be a notebook, is lucky. But he could surely have found one at either of the two schools he's seen - including where he met Armin.
The real reason, then, is that he hasn't wanted to. But to explain that invites question to why he wants to now. The answer to that... the Judge isn't really sure. He likes Armin, beyond the drive he feels to protect the other (or maybe that is a symptom of liking the other).
No, it's easier to dodge the question entirely. ]
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Not that... I mind if you don't talk but we've spent a lot of time together. Getting to know each other is good. ( a beat. ) You saved my life again, by the way.
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(There is more to it, surely, the fact that he does not speak so that others will not know him. The fact that he did not speak because speaking brought forth more sin. If writing is circumventing that, he is choosing not to think of it now. He has always been weak, though his Pride did not allow him to admit it. Perhaps now he is simply ignoring his weakness. He chooses not to think of that, either.)
Armin's assertion that the Judge saved his life earns an inquisitive tilt of his head; a question that needs no explanation from the newly acquired notebook. ]
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