Oh good God, this was hurting him. She had been so honest with him so she wouldn't hurt him, and all she bought was more pain. Franz couldn't even bear to look at her for just that moment, nevermind anymore to come. What was she supposed to do? Lie to him again? Suppress how she felt? It wasn't as if she didn't like Franz! Quite the contrary! Inès dared not to carry the burden of another one's life in shambles because of her own mishap. And...dammit! Why could she not so callously decry him like she did a foe in the ring, on the battlefield?! Why did these things matter?! Why couldn't she just not care?

Nothing. Silence. There was a pause for a moment, just while Franz tormented himself over the "truth" Inès brought to him, wondering why love itself was so fleeting he almost seemed undeserving of it. That was never the case. Ines tried - and failed, it seemed - to ensure Franz could still be that one. Franz was no miscreant nor sycophant. Awkward, unsettling, perhaps even morose, yes, but...behind blue eyes, Franz was...in many ways, a beautiful soul. A poet. An artist. He saw things nobody else could see, in shapes undiscovered with wisdom unfathomable. Admittedly, those feats were difficult to view. Yet Inès [i][b]had[/b][/i], and what is seen is not so easily unseen. Clenching, gripping, a tightening grip welled up around her chest, progressing up through her spine, with every minute motion of Franz's fingers twining itself within her gentle gesture, searching for comfort. For answers. That feeling chased after her, pulsed through his twitching touch, but was that hate, or love, or envy? It melded together like the scent of a rose lost in the haze of a city gale, and entangled it in an opaque cauldron of ever-changing, ever-clashing emotion.

Ines swallowed. She hated this moment. She felt like apologizing, like taking it all back. That action almost came, and Franz's motioning mouth put an end to what petty drivel Ines would have to reconcile.

There was...a girl. From some time ago. A face as sullen as his found the softness in which he spoke simply oxymoronic, yet Franz remised his melancholy gently. Gracefully. The grave image of the self-proclaimed "Tour guide to Hell" with his one special angel, from so long ago, with such dedication to his maiden that he might save himself for their special moment...well...it was like Inès had despoiled a nun of their sacrilege, almost. Not on any higher virtue, no, but of how Franz spoke of her. Still he cared about her. And still she cared about him. And...well...

...he wanted her to be happy.

[color=4682b4]"You're not losing me..."[/color] Inès comforted. Her eyes slant down at their hands, a lugubrious look to her, [color=4682b4]"It's not like we're dead. I'll still be here. No matter what happens."[/color]

She sighs, her eyes returning up as her brilliant blues met his awe-striking azures. Glances exchange, hanging by a moment there with them. 

[color=4682b4]"I...I just want us to be sure. And, I know, it's not easy, but...y'know. We've, kinda...met and had sex..."[/color]

[color=4682b4][i]("Fuck, there isn't a good way to say this...")[/i][/color] Inès visually disappointed herself with her phrasing. Veracity and amenity often worked in antagonism to each other; that itself reminded Inès of why the right words were so very elusive to her.

[color=4682b4]"...[i]sigh[/i]...Franz. You're...you're..."[/color] She paused. A smile etched. 

[color=4682b4]"...I think that girl hasn't forgotten you. And, you know, it sounds like you still love her...so..."[/color] 

Inès held their conjoined hands with her opposite, cradling it softly. Tugging it close to her, Inès lowered it, such that nothing would distract the duo from their shared gaze.

[color=4682b4]"We should just make sure about...how we feel about other people. See other people. And...you know...i'm not going anywhere. We'll still talk and see each other. Because...I don't want to lose you, either."[/color] 

It came slowly, but still did it envelop before a reaction could partake. Inès let go of their grip, wrapped her arms around Franz, and hugged. Her exhale came soft, assured, relieved, while Ines slowly held the back of his hair in comfort. That little bit of warmth, of compassion, so true an expression was that of understanding. Franz wanted her to be happy; Inès wished likewise. Even so, that could not come at the expense of his own vivacity. Her own feelings couldn't be denied; She enjoyed Franz's company, certainly, but for now, her romantic feelings lay elsewhere. She dared not impression baggage upon Franz for which she could not truthfully provide, like she so regrettingly did to Cèdric. Above all, Inès needed to be honest. 

[color=4682b4]"And...if you need to talk about anything, come to me. I won't hold anything against you."[/color] Inès promised, slowly breaking from her hug. 

Rolling over, Inès slowly rose from her prone position, and as she turned about the sights of the likely-ruined bathroom, Inès laughed at so grand the mess they had made. A fine piece of work they wrought about it, setting forth havoc like the tempest of emotions they so lasciviously stormed while in the act. She looked around, then looked back to Franz, first rising to her own feet proper, then extending a hand to her companion.

[color=4682b4]"Come on. Let's get some sleep."[/color] she offered. If nothing else would soothe Franz's anxieties, then a good sleep in a bed proper might. They'd share a bed for one last time.

[color=4682b4]"...where the hell did I put my panties..."[/color]

[hr]

[center][i]Morning of September 11th, 1914 EC[/i][/center]

Who knew how late the two got to bed? Ines awoke with her smallclothes on, at least, and Franz right by her. The first rays of the day were her alarm to awaken her, even as a lifestyle regime of demanding training tuned her internal clock to awaken at the earliest hours of the morning. Even so, there was a certain liberty in awakening to her own accord, rather than that to a morning bugle, or if the day felt particularly daft, artillery fire. She pushed herself to upright position, the blankets beneath her slowly falling off. The beds were quite the luxury; in tenement lifestyles, beds were seldom afforded to their space, and it was more common for a bedroll and comforters to be stashed in either a closet or hung from the walls or outside clothesline, then brought indoors when the time to sleep came, where their owners simply slept on the floor with their sheeting separating them from cold stone. A bed wasn't something Inès was used to. It was...oddly soft. She'd gotten the best sleep she could recall in a long time, even with the bright reverberance of gunfire and grenades permeating the night. 

Inès rocked Franz slowly by his shoulder, nudging her Darcsen friend awake. 

[color=4682b4]"Franz, it's morning."[/color] she said softly. Inès rose from the bed, allowing that to be her advisory, and instead relegating herself to preparing herself for the day. 

It was force of habit that she stretch her legs within 15 minutes of awakening. Front, back, up, diagonally, calves, thighs, shins; Inès was no stranger to contorting herself in all manner of odd directions with her years of practice, for if she wasn't able to, one of her many instructors would certainly throw a fit. Within minutes, Inès found herself done, her muscles lithe, nimble, and ready for the day. She threw on bare dressing for the day; A simple singlet, her trousers, and her boots in the event she needed to go outside. Retrieving a small dish of water, she splashed the cold water in attempt to refresh herself for the day to come. Truthfully, it was a way to refresh herself on the now. Inès, as soon as she had awoken, enveloped herself in memory, in muse, and it never ceased, only shifted direction. As another wipe came to her face, she thought of her old unit. St. Martin, Lèon, Antoine, Dostoyevsky...Inès couldn't help but wonder if they were doing alright. How they held up in their new standing...if they were still alive, grim as it may be. People came and people went, as they did while fighting in Ostend as well as in war, yet that made it not lighter as grievous wounds took to people fighting for their lives. 

Inès descended from her muse, wishing Franz a [color=4682b4]"See you later."[/color] as she departed for breakfast. Not many people were at the bar at this hour. Her favorite loser sat at the bar, partaking in a voracious consumption of sausage. Quite something, considering his little show for display last night. Embarrassment for the sake of everyone else's delight was, in her eyes, just reparation for Luke's famed acts of jerkassery. 

Yet, the thought of poking fun at him was overturned by what he had on offer; A full course of breakfast. Even outside the theater of war, Inès had few selections for what to eat, at most typically being some combination of fruit and some form of grain with little else on selection. The itinerant style of the military left little to be desired, and was not dissimilar to the bland tastes of working-class breakfast. A full selection plate on offer? Inès hadn't had a complete breakfast like this in what felt like forever. Even when she was able to afford a complete array of ingredients, Inès often didn't have the time in her hectic schedule to make it all herself. 

Inès pulled up a seat, sure to keep a seat between herself and the apparently starving Earthhead. She rested her forearms on the table, and waved over the attending barkeeper.

[color=4682b4]"I'll have that."[/color] Her head tilted towards Luke's plate.

[color=00a641]"Coffee?"[/color] The barkeep offers.

[color=4682b4]"I hate coffee."[/color] she sighed.

The barkeep looked at Inès and got her resting bitch face. That would be a firm [i]"No."[/i]

In due time, breakfast would be served, Inès expressing her gratitude with a simple enough [color=4682b4]"Thanks."[/color] Flipping a nearby fork into her left hand, she begun her dig into the most important meal of the day, taking her time to enjoy the ever-so-cherished contents of fresh, home-cooked food. She didn't care much for making conversation with Luke, although he could swear her casting occasional glimpses at him, and just immediately after, he almost could hear her giggling. 

And in more due time, the Corporal himself would descend down from the staircase. His appearance suggested he, unlike so many here, it seemed, attained what was least similar to a good night's rest. Last night, for how much she drank, and for everything that happened, still resounded. She had [i]promised[/i] Freya that she would check in on Jean, and now, more than ever, was the time to make good on that promise.

[color=4682b4]"Morning, Jean."[/color] she greeted. She seemed oddly polite, for how informal the ruffian Darcsen seemed to personify herself, [color=4682b4]"How are you holding up?"[/color]

Inès pulled up a stool next to her, off to her right - she didn't particularly think Luke hearing this conversation would be a match made in heaven - and so averted situating the two adjacent to each other, with Inès acting as the shield between the two. Motioning him with a slight nod, Inès offered up the seat at the bar.

[color=4682b4]"Spend some [i]quality time[/i] with [b]that special someone[/b] last night?"[/color] Inès quietly queried, her face positioned at her plate, but eyes clearly glancing sidewards at Jean, as not to draw attention to him. Say all he want about her being loud; she could keep a lid on it whenever she very well pleased.

[color=4682b4]"Lighten up."[/color] Inès snickered, turning back to him with a hushed, subdued smile, [color=4682b4]"I know about it, and no, I haven't said anything to her."[/color]

Her hips pivoted, her body more directly facing Jean now. She leaned slightly to the side, and slightly forth, not to be intimidating, no, but in a clear attempt to offer some privacy between the two while it lasted. An earnest, down-to-earth chat.

[color=4682b4]"Come on, i've seen you write. It's good stuff, you know. And you know her; A real 'proper type' like her would melt her heart out over a sweet love letter. You don't have anything to be ashamed of."[/color] 

[color=4682b4]"You might not be the bravest or fearless, but...you have something not a whole lot of people out here do."[/color] Inès drew her off-hand, hovering it over Jean for a brief second, before giving him a light touch upon his left-center chest. Right above his heart. 

[color=4682b4]"At least you're not my last officer."[/color]

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