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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnian Salient: Rear Line, August 25th[/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	In that moment, a swarm of soldiers suddenly gathered around him. Some were interested in his poetry, others just curious about why he was wasting his time with his pen to the paper. He didn't get a chance to fully respond to Isaac before another began to speak. Jonnie, once more, had answered the queries and responses he bespoke of, and made a few humorous jokes and anecdotes about the training days. It sent a few bad memories through Jean's head, making him remember his own NCOs and their abusive tendencies. Being branded a coward was bad enough as it was, a reputation which had unfortunately carried over to his training camp regardless, but having the body of a Darcsen worsened everything tenfold. They were not days he was fond of reminiscing of, nor was he happy with ever sharing those details. For the most part, the others around him had not yet brought up his Darcsen heritage, which made him feel slightly anxious about whether or not he was an acceptable candidate for their Lance Corporal. The boy's curling muscle and wink showed quite a lot of confidence, one that worried Jean a little bit.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"N-Now now, let's not get too ahead of ourselves in the confidence race, shall we?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Before he would continue, he turned over towards one of the newer investors towards the conversation. She was a very fair girl, of similar age but a much more questionable height, who bore the same gear as any other rifleman would have. Her blonde hair and honey-toned eyes shimmered through the darkness of the raining solstice. The hair she carried draped down fairly far, making him wonder if it would be a nuisance for the battlefield. Everyone here was yet to see the frontline and to take part in their opening mission, but Jean couldn't help but wonder how he and the others would do. Either way, Paloma, as she identified herself as, had the aura of a warming endeavour spreading beyond her own entity, something that felt ethereal and eternal. He gave her a beaming smile, one that he'd given to a select few beforehand.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"I wouldn't call myself a poet as much as a failing one, but I definitely see the links to it towards music. It's very very lovely to meet you, Paloma. Oh...and you don't need to salute a Lance Corporal."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	For once, his slightly playful side was shown as he winked satirically to further stress his point. These were all fresh soldiers, just like he was, so to crack down on misconduct was something he couldn't exactly do without a stride of hypocrisy. Thus, he tried to remain lenient on the matter and just give them a general reminder instead of a warning as such. He hoped she'd take it well and that it could help ease his own nervousness of her presence, but Jean was quick to be swarmed by yet another soldier. His name was Mikael, a marksman by all means. They were usually selected based on their shooting training and accuracy from within the camps back in Edinburgh, but whether or not those skills held up in real combat was a feature to be tested and trialled. There wasn't much to respond with, so Jean simply gave him a courteous nod and smile with glee.

	Britta, the golden girl before the group, still spoke about her upbringing and misunderstanding of the poetry concept. By all means, this did not irritate Jean at all. Poetry was the only thing Jean had going for him, and intelligence was a battlefield trait he could not muster. He didn't want to alienate her with such trivial questions, but instead tried to reassure her that he wasn't anything special or was he ever going to be.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"You'll be as capable as everyone else, regardless of your or mine upbringings. Poems aren't going to help be at all in this war, it seems. What platoon would want some soppy degenerate of a Darcsen who likes writing to lead them into battle?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]His attempt at cheering her up only seemed to distress himself more. His eyes shifted into a somewhat dull angle and were poisoned by the faintest memories of what life had brought him and his people. He didn't mean to go off on a slightly emotional tangent in praising her, but Jean's tendency to ridicule his own abilities was more than enough to rile up his feelings. And so, he tried to force the conversation back onto a happier path.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"U-uhh...I'm happy to have you with me...us. All of us. Yes!"[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Everyone had been chatting away for a while, more than he realised, when suddenly a booming tone broke their conversation. It was a familiar one, one that had been present only twenty or so minutes before. His undeniably strong prowess in the manner of speech he chose must have been satisfying for his own personal ego, but everyone else may have found it irritating by the sheer noise it created. Definitely an officer, alright...[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"8th Platoon, gather your gear and webbings. Plans have changed. Advancement commences in 15 minutes, so haul-arse over to the frontline steps! Anyone who refuses to come is to be court-martialed, so let's get a move on!"[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Time had passed, only five or so minutes, and now here they were. The once chattering noises of the platoon were strangely silent over the composition of pattering raindrops and precipitating clouds from above. A gloomy atmosphere engulfed the depths of the trenches whilst a strong stench suddenly erected onto the frontline. When Jean first arrived, leading his group behind Lieutenant Middleton closely, the smell was horrendous as a first impact. It smelt of rotting faecal manifestations, like the corpses of the thousands of undead warriors had all combined and collaborated into one horrific monstrosity. In comparison to the rear-lines and communication trenches, this frontline felt more and more unsanitary than the last. Grubby rows of men and women who'd been here for months and weeks beforehand were staring them down with dark looks, knowing that something awful was to come in less than 5 minutes.

	It was quiet, far too quiet for Jean's liking. He'd heard news of the unrelenting orchestration of gunfire on most occasions, but the tides of war seemed to be all but still. Many were whispering amongst one another that the [i]trek[/i] would be smooth-sailing. Some whispered that the boys back in Arty-town, a nickname given to the emplacements of heavy barrage cannons west of the trench, had knocked two bells out of the Imperials and sent them running from the hills. Jean had no idea how reliable these cannonades were, but he trusted their word enough to feel a little bit of confidence come back into his soul. To his left was Paloma, who stood shortly against him. Again, that warming aura she let out seemed to calm him like a fire in the wintry harshness. On his right, Isaac also stood, all in silence. Jean tried to start the first conversation, seeing that the pre-show speech wouldn't be given until Middleton had fully inspected his weaponry.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"Here we are."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean nervously shuddered to himself, partly from the cold and partly from his temptation to lose all control of his breath. The wait was a hard bargain to deal with. He had no idea whether the topside of the trenches were to be glorious and full of royal pleasure like most stories went by at the home's broadcasting services or whether it were to be nothing more than a nightmare awaiting his attention.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"We're fine. Should be fine. Right, Paloma? Fine...Fine fine. We're going to be absolutely fine. It's how we lose our combat virginity, anyway. Right?"[/b][/color]

[centre][sub][@Ambra][@Symphoni][@Sync][@Rigmarole][@FalloutJack][/sub][/centre]