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[sub][color=Silver][i]The Siege of Amone, September 10th - [b]The New Girl[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	The sudden appearance of Ines went unnoticed for the first few seconds, as Jean continued to cross our and change many words on his list of verses. It was a lovely little poem, he thought to himself, and it at least helped him go at ease over the strenuous battlements of Amone's agonising presentation. It was a way of telling the people back home, if there was even a home still left waiting for him, that the war was not how it was made to be. The ignorant fools of the political agenda could've taken it as a plea for cowardice and a resonating pulse of nerve stricken against his forehead, but Jean was not writing the first half from his own perspective. The last two verses and stanzas were the only two that seemingly [i]were[/i] from his gathering perspective, though in reality they too could've been from the perspective of this imaginary narrator he'd come up with. A few names flickered through his mind as to what this narrator could be called, from David to Charlie, Oscar to Alexandre. There wasn't a necessity for it, but having the ability to think of imaginary people, or real individuals coincidentally thinking the same things in their own minds, was a great thought experiment that kept his attention at its peak. Jean had thoroughly enjoyed his conversation with Wilhelm, actually feeling a strong shift in his emotional distress previously felt surging through his veins. Now, the mindfulness of his poem was starting to come to life. Images flashed beneath his eyelids as he saw the dreamy landscape of heaven, looking down upon the battlefields from above. Even in death, there was a sense of relief from the torment that happened on the Europan soil, one that defecated the true meaning of the countryside. Jean wrote the poem for that special individual who may either be dead or still alive in the war, recollecting the sense of hopelessness whilst still having a singular reason to fight. Jean, though, didn't just have one reason. The main concern was his Squad, not himself. He never fought for himself, not anymore. But it was very clear that the segment he wrote was likely derived from his feelings for...well...the innocent beauty.

	Overwhelmed with surprise, he suddenly jumped up in his place, even hitting his knees against the table when the paper was swiped from beneath his very fingertips. Ines had taken it wildly and cleared her throat, inexplicably counting down without any form of warning. Jean's heart froze for a second, along with his expression, as suddenly the rough-neck Darcsen suddenly started to open her mouth and sing aloud. It was...unimaginably beautiful? It was the very last thing he'd expect from Ines, the one who seemed to show a lot of brash fidelity towards her moral compass in the war, directing herself to eagerly ending a life or two. It was almost quite reminiscent of the harmonic justice both Jean's mother and Olivia did together. His heart, at first, stopped because he felt the emotions reign through him as every vocal chord strung a perfect note. How was this hidden talent hidden so well? Squad 1 was full of surpr- wait was she singing his poem?!

	Jean suddenly started to fumble around nervously when he realised that she was reading the lyrics of his poem, formulating her own tempo and time signature, key and harmony as she went about doing so. It was impressive yes, but embarrassing. Jean's face began to flush a straight crimson red, especially when she got to the dreaded final stanza. Whilst it didn't mention Reyna's name explicitly, anyone who knew Jean enough would easily guess who it could've been referring towards, putting his fictional narrator aside. He tried to find the words to stop her amazing performance, blended with his rather anxious writing habit, but words could not escape his fragile mouth. Jean was in full swing of nervousness, sinking his neck down into his collar slowly as she twirled around with the paper in her hand, almost taunting him from her point of spotlight. To grab it would be far too suspicious already, and Jean could not risk any more suspicion coming his way. He could feel the beady eyes of many Imperials and some familiar faces, voices and regiments lay upon both Ines and Jean. It didn't seem so bad for the singer, seeing as she relished in the thought of attention coming her way when the singing grew more and more passionate. Eventually, she finally ceased her closing line and sat down briefly to hand the paper back to Jean; he was surprised not to see a big [i]'fuck off'[/i] grin plastered onto her mischievous mug.

	Stumbling for words, Jean lifted his finger and quickly tucked the poem away into his breast pocket, fumbling around whilst he searched for proper articulation. What on earth could he say? How could he politely show his annoyance in her unforeseen performance, but at the same time congratulate her for the ability to provide an angelic atmosphere with her audible appraisal. Even her review of the poem came across as genuine, but Jean's mind felt the hint of sarcasm potentially laid within her words. She was an enigma, one never to be properly understood by any known geniuses.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"I-I...I, uhh...Well that was...uhm...Very very good, of a performance, uhh...Ines. But...u-uhm...please ask next time, o-okay?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Jean's breath finally let itself loose when she turned to seemingly make her own way for the hygienic facilities nearby. With a great sigh, he leaned back into his chair and unwound his mind from the twisted state of panic it had once been in. For a few minutes, there was nothing but silence from the embarrassed Francian. Knowing Reyna, there was a potential chance that she may not have gotten the hint of the poem, which was both good and bad in their own ways. He didn't dwell on the matter too much as he mumbled ferociously to himself, letting his breath steady and compose itself once more.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"I take it back, sometimes I think I'm not the only weird one."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Eventually, another individual sat herself down opposite Jean, looking at him eagerly with a strange glisten in her eyes. Jean opened his eyes when she sat down in his darkened corner of the inn, comfortably placing herself in the position of acquaintanceship before Jean had even the appropriate amount of time to scan her attire. All he saw was the wonderfully and iconic dressage of the Oceanic troops, unmistakably wearing the bush-hat and cape that all of her brothers in arms wore. It was quite amusing at first, her dialect seeming to be far heavier than that of Reyna or Thomas'. In a way, it put them to shame, but Jean seemed to get by in understanding her tone. As a Francian, Jean was used to many Edinburgh soldiers and tourists finding confusion towards his Europan accent, despite its vast popularity. When living on an island, it was harder for them to adjust to the accents of their fellow Federation allies, yet he understood completely why it may have sounded pompous or sophisticated for their own normality.

	Despite this, she looked like utter shit. Jean didn't mean it to any offence, but stating it aloud would be atrocious. A mixture of deep alcohol whiffed off of her clothing and her face seemed to be a little tipsy. Of course, there was no complete loss of control, but she still seemed like she'd already comfortably sat down amongst the group. Some of the Imperials around her gave strange remarks and looks towards her when she wobbled over, seemingly sitting opposite the now well-composed Corporal. With casual instincts covering her tracks, she explained the disaster of her previous squad. Well, Jean could refer to it as a disaster, as death in general was, but she washed it aside like a regular occurrence in her life. The theory of such brash intent was also reinforced by her nickname: [i]Slasher[/i]. Terrifying, it seemed. Jean had thought about giving nicknames to his squad mates to try and add a bit of banter amongst them, but something as violent and graphic as her name implied was not what he had in mind. It was quite comical how she toppled around with such laziness in her limb-movement, but it was obviously from either a lack of care or a potential lack of happiness left from the brutalised frontlines of Europa. He wouldn't have blamed her if it was the latter, but eventually, Jean finally sat back up to talk to her with a friendly smile, something NCOs usually didn't give to such informal requests.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"Well met, Victoria. I...I hope you don't mind me referring you by name, I tend to not like the whole formality of military ranks. But...I'm Jean...Corporal Jean-Robin Charpentier. You don't need to remember the long bit, people tend to screw that up quite a tad."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]With a nervous chuckle, he placed his arms back down onto the table, finding himself getting back into the emotion and mindset of being a general officer, giving an insightful input on the dire situation. He decided to at least give his empathy and condolences, whether or not it was clear if she felt any true emotion towards their deceased status.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"I'm sorry to hear about your previous Squad. If it's refuge until you can find reassignment, I would be happy to offer you a place. There's...well there's a bit of paperwork I don't want to fill out, because that's a boring as shit, but a human life is more important than my will to write. We've got two Oceanics here already as well, transfers. They might mix well with you, culture and all. A certain Private Freya Baines and the, I guess popular, Corporal Thomas Carter, going under that weird alias of [i]Marathon[/i]. Currently he's asleep, got stabbed and shot about six times in our last skirmish yesterday."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	As he spoke clearly, and with higher confidence than he really intended, Jean realised that he was rambling on for quite a short while. Eventually, Diana came over with a blissful grin on her face, as she always did. As he saw her, Jean felt a small bit of grief stick into his lungs violently. He had essentially turned her down, hadn't he? The two hadn't spoken properly in a short while since Hill 58 and the train to Amone, where beforehand she'd confessed a sort of innate love for the Corporal before they'd even learnt one another's names. Part of Jean did feel a slight sense of appreciation, but as of now he didn't feel those same emotions back to her. Who knew that in a potential future or alternative timeline, he may have fallen in love with her too. She was attractive, no doubt, but Reyna was Jean's main interest. All this time, Jean wanted to have a nice conversation with Reyna, but had been caught up with several individuals waltzing over and discussing a multitude of topics in rapid pacing.

	Diana gave her approval for Victoria joining the squad, which worked well with Jean's decision to potentially take her on board. As long as Victoria wasn't going to be a liability like Jean felt he had been himself, they could have a useful shocktrooper on their hands. Since the death of people like Mila, a long time ago now it seemed, they'd taken a huge hit to the numbers of shocktroopers they had. The Oceanics that had joined before Amone were a good fit, but their small scale in numbers demanded extra hands. Eventually, he stood up for a second, offering Diana a seat out of the courtesy of his kind heart. It could have seemed like Jean went to approach Renya, perhaps to strike conversation, but without fully knowing what she wanted to do, it was best to perhaps give her some space. A few times Reyna had been the one to approach Jean first, including the beauty of their first ever meeting where she comforted his broken mind, but the majority was from Jean taking that initiative. He didn't want to seem too attached to her, and he wasn't, but that didn't stop him from having a complete falling for Reyna at the end of the day. Love was a confusing word to put into perspective, especially when he wasn't sure if Reyna even thought he was a good person to start with, and so he felt the need to not call it that just yet. Instead, he followed his way to the room he'd been allocated, where an en-suite side room gave way for a bath, filled already with hot water from what he requested. And with that, Jean closed the doors behind him, preparing to take a relaxing wash for the first time in months.[/color]

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