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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnian Salient: Front Line, August 25th - [b]The Battle of Hill 58[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	During his solitary snivelling, Jean was first approached by the blonde man who'd been caught in the small exchange between himself and the supposed Michael, one of the Platoon's other sappers. Since their last encounter from behind the church rubble, it had been rather demolished with the sights of faces being caved in from bullet cackles, bodies deformed by the explosives thrown by his own soldiers and the endless sounds of screaming coming from both the Feds and Imperials alike. The man had a sort of glimmer in his own words and speech he decided to give, and for the first time in a long time, Jean felt his own belly boil and mind cramp up. Optimism was never a strong point for Jean, and this was one of those periods in which he couldn't help but wonder why someone was simply accepting this fate. Jean was merely a broken young man, if his age could even qualify for adulthood, who was trying to escape. It was the first battle, one that many of the veterans back in the homelands would always rumour to be the worst. It was filled with irreplaceable images of death and decease all around them. The skies were lurked with an endless barrage of gargled screeches chirping from the mouths of many. Jean was scared. Many were scared, and perhaps this man was too, but he showed little appreciation for the situation they were in, as if he were accepting the fate.

	It was a surprise to see him lift his head, his hair slightly ruffled from the scuffles of the first charge. His helmet still had its scratch across its factory paintwork, where the bullet had narrowly missed gaining the appropriate angle to kill him. A slight annoyance was in his expression, one that required the tenderness of another to calm down.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"Get...through this?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Clearly appalled at attempt made, despite its good intentions and happiness along with it, Jean had muttered loud enough for those near to hear them.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"Is that all there is to do, now? Are we already at the point, on some of our first days, in which we agree to conform to such atrocities? By what this war has proven, friendship will be only temporary at this stage, and yet we will be separated by the cold bullets of one another's barrels; whether that be the Imperial's or the Federation's armaments. I appreciate your efforts, mate, but the...everything is not good. Is it not fucking good enough to just turn ourselves in? Are you saying we should sell our bloody souls to the damned devils and chain our limbs to their puppeteer-like fingertips? And I don't drink either, not that I will live long enough to even see the bloody pub."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Suddenly, Jean was forced to spit a small splutter of blood from his chapped lips. He'd never been this harsh before and it was indefinitely due to the stress he had just endured. Part of him was completely sorrowful for Archibald, who clearly had some good intentions himself. Jean saw his religious prayers before he was approached and it slightly unnerved Jean, but as an atheist in his own rights Jean was very much in denial that he could be mentally healed from such undoubted violence. He unfortunately didn't know the irony that these men and women around him were to grow into his greatest comrades, ones that would last a lot longer than the simple months of the first Europa War. It was dramatic irony at its finest, and yet the writer could not ever predict it.

	He was in dire need of calming down, as Jean was slowly beginning to tighten his fists in a blind rage. The imagery all around him struck a nerve so violently that his innate appreciation for like-minded stability left him in a constant state of plucked anger. However, suddenly, but surely, after his quick outburst at Archibald that he so regretted, a divine spectre descended upon their position.[/color]

[color=Silver]	Jean was blessed when an angelic apparition appeared before him. She had a rather crisp shimmer within her eyes, despite the murkiness of the bloody battlefields they were surrounded by. Her hair was yet to be stained by the grudge of the world, still shining as brightly as it had likely done many years before. Though they had slightly met for a second behind the church's rubble, they hadn't yet exchanged such conversations as she was about to press upon him. A sweetness in their Edinburgh accent made the impact of her words tenfold their original amount. Jean's breath drew short simply because her words were suddenly calming his outburst, reminding him that it was nothing more than a false facade of his true personality playing tricks upon his soul. She fluttered a small feeling inside of him when she clearly claimed she wanted to get to know him better, using a great technique to calm him down, and claiming that she was conscripted. It made him feel even more poor-minded, knowing that fair maidens and lords from all around Europa weren't just volunteering, but being forced into combat by the threats of legal imprisonment.

	Jean looked down for a second when her hand lent onto his shoulder. For once, it was human physical contact on these new frontlines that didn't involve holding the blade at one another. It wasn't the choking of an Imperial's mud-stained hands grasping at his throat. It was the tender and bittersweet graze of a pure-blooded girl, one who knew nothing of her fate. It saddened Jean's heart for a second, making him wonder what was really in store for them. He suddenly hesitated, nodding slowly and looking up towards her with a pale glance of hope. With intentions to even set-aside his Darcsen heritage, Diana was awaiting his response.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"I..."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean was unsure of what to say at first. The words she used were far more impactful than Archibald's, mainly because of the tender voice she held. Archibald wasn't a bad person, from what he could tell, but the choice of words simply switched Jean into his mistreated explosion of emotions. Jean politely took Diana's hand for a second from his shoulder and placed it beside herself, freeing himself of her gentle grip.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"I...Apologise. I lost a nerve there. I...I can't express my anxiety more than anyone else can, but...I'm sure you truly meant well, Archibald. And, well...Thank you Diana. I guess I really need to pay attention to the true nature of those around me. Perhaps we are stuck here, and no matter how painful it's going to be for us I seem to have a cast of...people. I don't know anyone personally yet, but I guess that's something I should work on."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Jean looked up at Diana and finally let out a rather wobbly smile. It wasn't a very charming one, he imagined, but it seemed to be one that complimented her adorable kindness. Maybe these were people who may stick around long enough to help Jean through the war, but Jean himself was still sceptical of the true potential. The speed and rapidity in which bodies fell into the trench reminded him every minute, through ruthless memory, that at any minute of every hour one of these acquaintances, or even himself, could fall in the face of battle.

	But before Jean could continue to talk to them, knowing that there was supposedly some time to rest in this bloody trench, which would likely require the emptying of its deceased, something caught him and the others off guard. As it slowly came towards them from behind the trench walls, a feminine, youthful pant of terrified vocals broke free of the silence of the battlefield before she, the small angel of the Federation, fell down into the trench. Jean looked and even jumped in place, trying to gather his place on his feet once more, before he saw that this was the same small girl from before the charge...[/color]

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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnian Salient: Front Line, August 25th - [b]The Battle of Hill 58[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	During that moment, when her mind fell blank, she could not fear anything else other than her own violent capabilities with a rifle. Lucia was a damsel in distress, in which she had caused herself the pain and horrific origin story to that predicament. Her eyes were of a bloodstained red when she eventually dropped into the peak trench of Hill 58. She hadn't joined the initial charge but Lucia was more than aware of the aftermath as she ran the silent fields up there. For her, there weren't any machine guns or rifles aiming towards her as she made up the small reserve force called to fortify the newly capture position. Yet despite this, the soulless and lifeless eyes of the Federation's newly deceased scattered themselves across the battlefield. Mud engulfed the stretches of land and hid some of the more gouged of corpses. Lucia had even tripped and fallen over some of the bloody messes left behind from that first wave.

	No one apart from her truly knew why she had joined that reserve force in the first place, but ever since the final girl, most likely of the same age as her, entered the trench in retreat from the battle, things went downhill. Lucia never felt so guilty as to have executed someone of her own ethnicity and allegiance. On the orders of her superiors, as well, she'd taken her rifle and unleashed all she could upon a fair maiden in brown drabs. Regret had coursed through her fragile veins to the point of wanting to escape the scene of her immoral objective. Lucia never wanted to see that girl's body ever again.

	When she fell in, a few soldiers instantly surrounded her, questioning why she was in such a panic, asking if she was okay and courteously helping her to her feet. It was a kind gesture, but nothing of that small compassion could ever bring the beautiful maid into a state of calmness. Tears constantly flowed from her eyes and the overwhelming power of self-hatred tore her mind from the realities of purity and light. Lucia was crying alone, once more, and soon an unfamiliar face almost crawled towards her. He bore the Lance Corporal's insignia, and he spoke quietly to her.[/color]

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[sub][color=Silver][i]Garnian Salient: Front Line, August 25th - [b]The Battle of Hill 58[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Aqua][b]"S-shh...Hey...It's okay. Hey..."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]In that moment, Jean suddenly rose to a strange sense of sympathy. He took the words of Diana and Archibald to heart, knowing that there were people relying on his imitation in order to find morality on their compasses. And so, Jean, despite not being a young man of physical kindness and confidence, felt his own arms wrap around the smaller girl in a comforting way, attempting to quieten her nerves and tears. Some could have called it a fatherly gesture, but Jean simply did it out of instinct for the similarly broken girl.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"S-Shh, we're here. Our Platoon is here, your platoon...Lucia, is it? Don't cry, we'll find you some way to ease the pain of your head."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Jean quickly took another instinct in caring for his whimpering comrade, one he barely knew too, and pointed towards one man he knew the name of. Despite blood dripping from his uniform, Jean knew his name from the words of others. Michael, he remembered.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"Michael...S-Sorry to be a pain, but please take Private Farris somewhere...somewhere warm and calmer. Go with the Can-"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]And for a second, he paused as he looked upon who he nearly chose to accompany Michael with. She was drenched, head to toe, in Imperial and Federation blood. Crying in her own boots, quivering perhaps of the crimes she may have committed in her outburst, the supposed Candy Lady was a hesitant choice. Jean honestly was a little frightened of what she'd done, and so quickly shifted his fingers away, trying not to make it any more awkward than he suddenly made it. He pointed to Isaac instead.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"G-Go with Lance Corporal Isaac and take care of her...p-please?"[/b][/color]

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