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[sub][color=Silver][i]The Siege of Amone, September 10th - [b]Unwanted Company[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	It had been two hours. Two long hard hours since they'd arrived at the Inn and yet Jean was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable already. It was true, everything that had seemingly come from the infamous [b]Green Fox's[/b] experienced lips. Part of him still felt like this whole endeavour was a plot to intoxicate the Squad, force them into a deep coma and then slit their throats in their undisturbed slumber, to which Jean himself shuddered. It didn't seem to match up right. Here he was, sitting on a table inside the main dining room of the White Hart, with several Imperials and an occasional Federation soldier co-existing without their guns raised towards one another's hearts. It was surreal, and unfathomable. Truces were unheard of on the gruesome fields of Europa, where no one had the chance to mutually agree to a relaxing sit down. Jean took notes that some of the Imperials were already shitfaced from the ground up, tumbling around one another with their arms locked around each other's shoulders carefully to ensure they didn't crash down into the tables beneath them. In a bittersweet way, Jean found the scenery truly unbelievable, like something out of the medieval fantasy books his mother used to read to him in the middle of the night on windy days, where storms and rainfall stopped the poor and scared Francian boy from having a decent sleep himself. It was ironic how even with the coming of age, now on the verge of hitting adulthood at 18, Jean was still full of anxiety and temporal dismay. To call him emotional would've been an understatement, and truly would've insulted those who were of moderate sensitivity. Jean was an entire basket case of thoughts and expressions, feeling most of his general decisions being thwarted by them on a regular basis. It was true that he'd been improving in general on whether or not controlling the anger, sadness or fear was an easy task, but it was still something he'd show every now and then.

	It was strange to think back to the morning that had just passed. Jean had sat down with Reyna, very early into the morning's early hours, and poured his thoughts out relentlessly without any filter. In reality, it made him uncomfortable upon reflection of his own behaviour, and it was clear that if it were to damage his potential poor impression with Reyna then he'd have honestly shut himself off a long time ago. Already Ines seemed to have tucked in on her own drinks, indulging her own sweet dreams of the alcoholic roadmap, washing away a lot of her pains of a problematic past. Well, on second glance she hadn't [i]actually[/i] started drinking, but she'd already stocked up on her own bottled friends for the time being. It was quite a quick settling in, one that really surprised Jean quite a lot. This was her first battle, at least in terms of a military career, where jumping into Amone was her way of finally joining in on the seemingly brilliant action of the Europan war. Those who'd been present at Hill 58 seemed to hold a more glum look, or had taken their time to prepare their R&R status within the White Hart. Jean was part of the former, having sat down in the corner table, which wasn't brightly lit like the rest of the room. The main dining hall had quite a lot to offer, having space for the regular patrons who'd have stopped by before the war came to Amone's doorstep. Electric or small ragnite infused lamps sat atop of the walls and dangled from the ceiling in an almost aristocratic fashion. It was very well furnished, even with the debris and destruction only outside. Anyone inside would've thought that a war was ridiculous or non-existent. Perhaps Wilhelm had a good idea of relaxation, seeming as he'd come here regularly apparently.

	Speaking of the man himself, Wilhelm was a surprise to be sure. An enigma, perhaps, but a strong headed soldier and leader nonetheless. He held his infamous marksmanship and was dressed only in his formal attire to impress the men and women under his command and within the inn. It was all a psychological thing, no doubt. By proving his expertise, people would think twice about attacking him, no matter how large of a target he may have seemed. Jean was only waiting for the minute that Franz, the Imperial of the Federation's Squad, would come lapping at his boots, asking all about his adventures and triumphs for the Empire's war movement. Even as an enemy, some of the Federation's officers had learnt to respect his methods, being a shining beacon of propaganda and victory. In a strange sense, Jean saw him as an almost opposite version of their very own Captain Middleton. Both had the namesake and popularity back home, but only Wilhelm's, from first impressions, was genuine and heartwarming individual, bringing a wholesome morale to his men. For a while, Jean stared from his dark corner with admirable thoughts crossing his mind, musing over the true value of his commitment to his team. In a way, Jean began to start aspiring to be like how he was to his soldiers. He was loved, idolised and trusted with full responsibility under his belt. He had the looks, the awards and the talents to prove and justify why they loved him so very much, but Jean had nothing of the sort. So far, the Corporal had organised a suppressive covering fire on Hill 58, allowing the infantry to get to the top and also orchestrated the ruthless defence of the building against the Imperial street patrols. They sounded quite impressive on paper, but they were nothing in the face of true adaptability. Even now, Jean hadn't heard much appreciation or praise over his efforts as a Squad Leader or an NCO, and so he'd simply gone with the apparent consensus that he was indeed a disappointment to the chain of command.

	He let out a sight and dug his face into his own knuckles, letting them barely hold up his head from the table's surface. Before this minute had passed, he'd previously spoken to the apparent landlord of the White Hart. He was a bold man, one with a plump composure and a jolly laugh to accompany it. It was almost like the sort of individual you'd expect at the top of a syndicate regime, or a capitalistic monopoly preying on the weaker organisations still trying to get a foot in the waters of his market. However, with his dimly dressed coats and scruffy look, Jean felt the humour and surprise of not seeing this man walk around in a sophisticated top-hat and wielding his own walking stick for the soul purpose of feeling important. For some reasons, the White Hart was thriving. It had exploited a market of traumatised, fatigued, drained and scarred soldiers who'd been fighting anywhere between a few days to a few years, giving them a place to stay, wash and breathe freshly without the looming threat of a marksman's bullet. Apparently, according to one of the skinny and lean waitresses that waltzed around in her polka-dot shin-lengthened skirts, he did it out of the kindness and sympathy of his own heart, not for a lust of money. Perhaps there was barely any money to gain from the usual patrons of a civilian life, but the satisfaction of being a hostel for those in need truly meant a lot to them, even for the invading opposition. For a minute, he heard the voice of strange limbed boy seemingly talking at a rapid pace. Jean eyed him for several minutes, unsure of how to respond or how to really answer any of the questions. Secret substances? Rations that weren't usually given out? Was this man some sort of drug dealer? Well, to call him a man would be a bad statement to men, to say the least. He seemed kind enough, but far too overly enthusiastic for what the war really was. Before Jean could fully formulate an answer, the familiar voice of Wilhelm, waltzing up to Jean's table, told him to leave, giving some space for the [i]important[/i] ones to talk. Obviously he was joking and only trying to poke fun at the logistical teen, but it seemed to get a laugh out of himself.

	Jean felt a hand tap him on the shoulder from across the table. Looking up, the descending of a man into the opposing chair caught his undivided attention and forced him to snap out of his trance. The transition between slouched and attentive postures seemed to amuse the officer before him, giving him a sort of empathetic smile, as if to say he too felt that same stress and lack of energy after fighting for so long.[/color]

[color=31FF0A][b]"Corporal Jean-Robin Charpentier, is it?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Wilhelm nodded politely whilst taking a small sip from a neatly engraved flask of his own. The smells of his liquid were perhaps of an alcoholic substance, but not of the usual rum or beer that seemed to be popular amongst the common soldier. It smelt of the sweet and sour grapes found only in the Francian vineyards, close to where Jean himself had grown up. Liege City was known for that sort of thing, anyway. In response to his prediction or addressing of his name, Jean nodded meagerly.[/color] [color=31FF0A][b]"Been here just over an hour and your Squad seems to be settling in quite nicely. Some better than others, perhaps."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	With a chuckle, Wilhelm nodded his head towards Ines, who was striking up a conversation with Freya whilst holding her own drinks in her hand. Jokes about getting drunk, bathing or doing both at the same time even brought a faint smile to Jean's usually broken expression, making him feel like there were a lot of small things to appreciate here in Squad 1 over the rest of the war-mongering regiments of the Federation and Imperial allegiances. Jean nodded himself, pulling out a pencil and a piece of paper before writing away, scribbling with a strangely passionate form and font. Wilhelm was silent for a short second, watching intensely with great curiosity.[/color]

[color=31FF0A][b]"What's that you've got there, if you don't mind me being so terribly intrusive?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He monitored Jean's face for a second, noticing the strange hesitation to tell him out of embarrassment, to which Wilhelm smiled and patted his shoulder again with a joyful guffaw to go with it.[/color] [color=31FF0A][b]"Don't be embarrassed, Fed. I've met a Sergeant in my own regiment who writes erotic scripts to underground theatricals."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	For a second, Jean went red in the cheeks, surprised to even hear that there was some sort of underground erotic theatre business in the Empire. Whilst the idea of it didn't interest Jean one bit, though he could imagine Diana or Freya playing a lead actress role down there, for a place so notoriously strict and build upon traditional imperial ideals to have such a scandalous, yet niche market was very surprising indeed. Jean found himself smirking uncontrollably at the small anecdote presented to him and was joined by a mutual chuckle from Wilhelm as well. They were getting on quite well, it had seemed, and that made Jean quite uncomfortable on the inside. As soon as both men would step out of the neutral zone, carefully marked with a few street signs, it would be a test of strength and dexterity over who killed who first. For now, though, he thought to just keep his mind on the compassionate peace these two had managed to find in the bleak midst of a war torn city.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"W-Well, I wouldn't put it as low as that, but...it's poetry. I write it q-quite often and use it as a way to sort of put my feelings out clearly before my very own eyes. Sometimes it kinda helps for therapeutic reasons, I guess. A state of mind."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean turned the paper towards Wilhelm and gave him the opportunity to read what it was. He made it clear that this was a prototype poem, and not one that was anywhere near completion. For a second, Jean held his breath as he looked at Wilhelm's intense eyes glare down at the paper, sitting nicely between his two gloved fingers, with intrigue and interest. It was strange having his work analysed by someone else. Beforehand, the only other person who'd he known to have seen his poetry was Freya, which was its own level of embarrassment when the [i]one[/i] play she revealed happened to be the one he wrote for Kalisa at the time. God knows what would've happened if she'd managed to find the one about Reyna either, which seemed to be more close to the reality of Jean's feelings. Eventually, Wilhelm handed it back to Jean with a nod of appreciation.[/color]

[color=31FF0A][b]"Certainly a good passion to follow. There's good money and fame to go with it too, if you seek that, but in recent years the market has skyrocketed, especially in the Federation. What's that chap's name..?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]With a cursive flick of his finger, he finally managed to pinpoint the memory and infamous name he wanted to know.[/color] [color=31FF0A][b]"Ah! Belfried Bassoon, that's him. I'm sure you've heard that name before, Corporal."[/b][/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"Indeed I have!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean spoke with enthusiasm for once, seemingly brightening up like a Christmas tree on the very dawn of that festive season. If anyone were looking, surely they'd be pleasantly surprised to see the miserable Francian he was known to be talk with confidence and passion over something, which was a rare occurrence apparently.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"Tutor of the great Owen Wilfredson. Both of them have been inspirations for me since I was a boy, and with the war having broken out, they're honesty and true depiction of the war is unparalleled to anyone else. Voices of reality in comparison to the romantic poets who live comfortably at home within the propaganda department, you could say."[/b][/color]

[color=31FF0A][b]"You seem to know your stuff, I can see. Seems like you know the right path too, of where to put your ideas and mind towards when expressing such interests of yours. Whilst I may not be a writer myself, I can appreciate a good piece of literature. Sometimes they go unnoticed in the modern world."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean nodded intently, looking at him with a great big smile on his face, finally finding the time to talk about something he had been passionate about since he first learnt to read. No one had really talked to him about his writing before, ever, really. It was a depressing factor that he never could hold a decent conversation with his squadmates out of the fear that he would bore them to death. And it was completely ironic how the first person to talk about it was...his enemy? Or was he? Well, for now they could be friends, but until their time at the White Hart was over the positions would flip to their more realistic approach.[/color] [color=31FF0A][b]"You look like you're about to burst? Got something to ask, Corporal?"[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Jean fumbled at his words, greeting him with the intrigue of Jean's tightly concealed face. He was trying to ask something, or at least conjure up the confidence to ask the supposed war hero before him about what there was. This wasn't like Thomas, who seemed to really go against his infamous stature amongst the Oceanic Troops, where Wilhelm was exactly as flamboyant, sophisticated and well-versed as his tales mentioned of him to be. Eventually he spat it out nervously.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"Don't take this the wrong way but...how do you earn the respect of your soldiers so easily? I...I feel like a bit of a burden to my squad, not being able to associate with them outside of the battlefield. Many of them seemed to have forged their own friendships, and two of them seem to already have their adorable little relationship awaiting to bloom, but I've just kind of been seen as the one who panics, falls under responsibility and can't control his emotions, being the one to subside to trauma. I...How do you face that?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Wilhelm looked at him for a few seconds, pondering his own answer from the strange tonal difference in his enquiry. Eventually, he simply shrugged and patted Jean on the shoulder again.[/color]

[color=31FF0A][b]"I don't know. They seem like a wild bunch to me."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]And with a large laugh, chuckling at his own joke and even cracking a smile out of Jean once more, he stood up and grabbed his flask, turning towards Jean with a quiet wink.[/color] [color=31FF0A][b]"Anyway, I'll leave you in piece. I've only got a few more hours here until I head back to the frontline, but there's a sweetheart named Veronica behind the counter who's been giving me some looks the entire night. Might as well see what I can do for the next few hours. Enjoy yourself, Corporal."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	And with that, he stood up and left Jean alone, heading to the other side of the dining hall where the associated [i]Veronica[/i] was, dressed in her own blouse of pink and lime shades resonantly contrasting against the grim backdrop of the war, Amone's streets and the rugged looking soldiers around. Some of his Sergeants seemed to chuckle and clap when he went over, reminding Jean that the general Imperial social barrier was that there was a competition for claiming a loved one. Whilst Jean didn't really follow their methods of...recreation, he could at least see that they were enjoying themselves, and with the darkness of the war at hand it wasn't exactly an misunderstanding as to why they craved so much need for a retirement. With that, Jean leaned back into his chair and continued to scribble his next notes of the poem, this time listing off the visual representations of love, compassion and camaraderie around him. It wouldn't be complete without the bleakness of his usual Belfried Bassoon-inspired writing style, but this one started to show a bit more colour and light into it, as it reflected the reminders that he should appreciate the small glistens of hope he had left in the world. And synonymous to the word [i]glistening[/i], in Jean's peaceful mind at least, was the name Reyna.

	Near Ines, Freya shook her head and sort of gave a rather nervous chuckle. For once, she didn't seem herself, but she at least tried to compose herself whilst fumbling around within her pockets for something or the other. She seemed to be a little off-put by the absence of Thomas, who'd been brought upstairs by the staff working at the White Hart, giving him a place to lie down and rest, whilst getting proper medical attention from their staff. It was remarkable that there was this kind of treatment hidden away in the middle of Amone, ruthlessly known to be a battleground for desperate survival. It had her mind at ease a little, but still, Freya was nervous without her.[/color]

[color=FF0202][b]"D-Drink and bathe? I...I don't think that's wise, sorry. Though I used to drink whilst under constant fire, whilst on a beach in the Southern Frontier, whilst swimming in the sunny waters without anything other than my undergarments on so...I guess I'm not one to judge, right?"[/b][/color]

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