[hider=The Day Before] (With permission from [@LetMeDoStuff]) Freya seemed to be back to her genial demeanor, a significant improvement over what Inès had to see from yesterday. Her humor...well, Inès admitted she was far from a comic, for what her rather serious neutral expression could purvey only lightly ceased as she raised her eyebrows, and even her smile - while beauteous, make no mistake - could not avert her naturally sharp glean. Such acuteness made Inès doubt her appearance, addending to her other hesitancy; If clearly not humor, what else could Inès have to offer her? For what could Inès possibly hold a candle to that would make the ecstatic see virtue in the sullen? Even so, Inès loved Freya. Who would one be to deny that? Her acquaintance dressed in a way many would call "scant", yet Inès paid no mind on two accounts; Her own attire was far from proper, focused more upon ease of comfort and allowing her skin to at long last breathe, and that notion that Inès was, again, frankly accustomed to seeing people with few garments on. She had trained every day in naught but the lightest of apparel, for hours upon end. Thus, decreeing that Inès "averted her gaze" would be falsehood; there never was a gaze to begin with. [color=ff0202][b]"Hey!"[/b][/color] Freya interjected. Inès was thankful; it saved her a brusque insertion to the conversation. [color=4682b4]"Hey."[/color] Inès reciprocated. Her voice was a fair bit lighter, clearly a bit keen on talking. [color=4682b4]"Looks like Jean is finally having fun."[/color] She snickered. The two turned their heads back, exchanging looks back at one another, then to the scene of Jean enjoying the first - and what was hopefully not the last - dance with Reyna Hall. [color=ff0202][b]"Ooooh, Charpentier’s out on the prowl~!”[/b][/color] Freya cooed, fawning over the couple’s lively jig, [color=ff0202][b]“It’s time Charpentier took her around. He wrote about her in his little book, going on how stunning she is. [i]“Oh her darling little face, every detail in place!”[/i] After this, he had better take her to a room upstairs and finally give a girl a proper evening.”[/b][/color] [color=4682b4]"Don't hold your breath."[/color] [color=ff0202][b]“Aww,”[/b][/color] she frowned - if done so with the same reciprocation to Inès’ own playful dismissal, [color=ff0202][b]“You don't wanna see Jean finally pop her cherry? If I were her, i'd have already taken him around and shown him that Vinland treatment. I'd take his trousers and give them a good yank so he'd be showing what God have graced him upon his birth."[/b][/color] [color=4682b4]"I don't think Jean could even get his trousers off without apologizing."[/color] She laughed. Jean could be a sweetheart, of course, but sweetness and spice? A combination he, in Inès' opinion, was unaware of. [color=4682b4]"Maybe she likes the awkward and cute boys, so, either he gives it to her while kissing and holding hands and his first time is this special magic moment...or, it's a disaster and turns Jean away from sex for another year."[/color] Freya laughed, pivoting chuckling glances between Inès and Jean, then back to Inès, who she returned to sharing her laughter in a more hushed presentation. Her arm positioned back to the bar's counter, leaning herself back in such fashion that her body canted intersectionally to each pair, such that neither her view of Jean and Reyna nor Inès herself were obstructed by her positioning. [color=ff0202][b]"He might have some bite down there. He can't keep so puckered up for so long, because if he did, he'd be spinning around all the time looking for a way to pop himself off, if you know what I mean. If you don't, I mean that there's no way someone like Jean can [i]really[/i] go without getting his drops off from his hose. Look at 'em, he can barely take his own eyes off of-"[/b][/color] [color=4682b4][i](“She really doesn’t stop, does she…”)[/i][/color] Inès knew even from side conversations that Freya was a loquacious sort. From even in her moments where she had refrained from an entire rogation regarding any tangent, Freya went on into her famous commentary. When only a simple response would do, good enough was not, and Freya would then interject with an experience if only to hone her point. Inès found the small, shared soliloquies quaint. Cute, she might say. Certainly flavorful. And endearing enough to force a smile from the sulky Darcsen. It was [i]because[/i] of that insubordinate determination by which Freya adhered to that Inès admired. Who but the strongest of spirits could withstand the austerity of belligerence on such scale, and through pain and perseverance, find it within herself to do naught but be a beacon to others? All things considered...it was a feat Inès found herself jealous of. Never before could she truly find it within herself, in spite of what she knew to be truth for the matter, that her mien extended far beyond naught but a determinant, defiant smirk. [color=ff0202][b]"-nd when he finishes off, I can bet he's sitting there with twinkles in his eyes, too!"[/b][/color] [color=4682b4][i]"C'est la vie en rose."[/i][/color] Freya squints, chuckling with Inès' retort. Pursing her lips, she repeats: [color=ff0202][b]"Say la vee in rose?"[/b][/color] Inès poses upwards, Freya naturally responding by more directly facing her. Lessons began, as whole as they could be, and if Inès were capable of instruction by accord of a fighter's glove, then perhaps a lesson in pronunciation may be a test of extrapolation. [color=4682b4][i]C'est."[/i][/color] [color=ff0202][b]"Se."[/b][/color] she giggles. [color=4682b4][i]"La vie."[/i][/color] [color=ff0202][b][i]"La vie."[/i][/b][/color] [color=4682b4][i]"En rose."[/i][/color] Last one. With Freya's last improvement, Inès spoke quicker. [color=ff0202][b]"Ahn rose."[/b][/color] Inès smirks, holding up her leftmost, dominant hand. Posed, she broke up each word, each syllable, each accent: [color=4682b4][i]"En. [b]Rose."[/b][/i][/color] [color=ff0202][b]"What's that mean?"[/b][/color] Freya asks through her interlaced laughter. Inès turns her hands over, visibly fidgeting whilst Freya bounced about in her seat. Topicality was chore for her, not withstanding any desire to give Freya what she deserved. And she deserved nothing less than an explanation. Darcsen rocking her head back to back, side to side, her neutral face seems to stare off, slightly down, eyes just missing contact with Freya's by a hairline. [color=4682b4]"It's...hard to explain."[/color] Inès simply opens, [color=4682b4]"It means, "That's life in pink", but "life in pink" is..."[/color] [color=4682b4]"It's when you start to look at things differently, like, when you look at things and see how wonderful they are. Like, nostalgia, except...not really."[/color] Freya squints at first, smiling while Inès took her time searching for the correct train of thought. Inès' eyes flashed with the Freya's striking blues, and with a focused blink, found Freya to have moved herself to meet Inès' natural stare. Why did Inès like her? What did Freya see in her worthwhile? Inès wasn't anything like Naomi - not by any stretch of the imagination - and Inès could never be a Naomi. A Naomi was a beacon of light so illustrious her mere grin outshone the sun itself; If one were so insistent upon getting Inès to so much as smirk, they should sooner consider taking up waterboarding as a hobby, if they wished to indulge in such a harrowing hobby. A Naomi was the day by which conversations drew and the events which transpired did enjoy themselves while their time lasted; When Inès came, night fell, and what might remain were the brave, few, desperate souls whose wishes for eyesight no longer transpired. Yet...therein lie the intrigue. Inès was distinctly different. Freya was distinctly different. Inès in so many ways didn't remind Freya a thing of Naomi, and in so many more could Inès never hope to emulate any bearing of which Naomi could bring. And in so many ways, that was most certainly a positive. Naomi talked. Inès listened. Naomi [i][b]was[/b][/i], but Inès [i][b]did.[/b][/i] [color=ff0202][b]"Aah,"[/b][/color] Freya adjourns, nodding along. [color=ff0202][b]"Yeah...[/b][/color] [color=ff0202][b]"It's...fucking awful, really. And...well. We all have our own reasons for fighting. Tommy up there has his whole family back home, and you know, being the older brother of his lot..."[/b][/color] Freya looks up, flashing an uncharacteristic grin as she turns back to the swaying couple. Her eyes flash for a moment, Inès almost instinctively knowing she wasn't looking at Jean nor Reyna, but...she was deep in thought. Inès related. [color=ff0202][b]"He's got a good lot to come back to when everything's over, you know?"[/b][/color] If the so affectionately-named "Tommy-boy"'s own phrase were to be used, even in ways Inès couldn't herself admit, she was, "The best thing to happen". Maybe not to anyone here, or even now, but she was, at some point. For what it was and what it will be, Inès was someone who meant something. That alone amused Inès, just how has-been champion ringfighter a thousand miles from home meant something to someone out there. In a quaint sense, it was humbling, that someone Inès never knew and likely would never know was their idol, their champion. [color=4682b4]"That's good."[/color] Inès softly responds. Turning to Freya, a tilt in her gaze, she asks, [color=4682b4]"Who do you have back home? You know...your family."[/color] [color=ff0202][b]"Just my mum and dad."[/b][/color] the Oceanic dotes back, [color=ff0202][b]"Getting letters back home is a bloody nightmare. But...well, from what I last heard, they're doing well. The war doesn't help anyone, yeah, but...they're okay, yeah?"[/b][/color] Inès nods. [color=4682b4]"Good."[/color] Perking up, Freya blinks rapidly, settling in the thoughts of just what she was fighting for. Down there, she imagines Inès not necessarily having it any better, with her seeing her home country torn asunder, just like the North Territory the few years ago. For something that had happened so long ago, Freya felt it so...closely. So much had happened between then and now. And Freya had to stop herself from shaking when it clicked; That was why she remembered it all. In a way only Freya could, she set in a polite smile to mask the thought. Politeness and Oceanic demeanor known to foreigners never coincided the same thought, but Inès judged it not. That she was willing to put up with all was reason enough to undo suspicion. [color=ff0202][b]"What about yours, love?"[/b][/color] Freya inquires. Her polite smile bursts into a wide, mouth-agape grin. [color=ff0202][b]"Do you have a brother? Is he [i]haaaandsome~?"[/i][/b][/color] [color=4682b4]"Sure. If you happen to be into who run off and never send money back."[/color] Inès chides. Freya pouts, yet maintains her smile at the same time. Pity was what it was. [color=ff0202][b]"Fuckin' tosser, huh? What about your mum and dad?"[/b][/color] A query such as that had not an "easy" remark to it. There weren't many particular ways even one so clever as Inès could dodge the inquiry. If Freya had shown such amnesty thus far, why would Inès reject it? She looks up, casting her sight just slight away from Freya, and glances a sideways frown. [color=4682b4]"I...never knew my father."[/color] She slowly answers, [color=4682b4]"I don't think my mother knows him, either."[/color] [color=ff0202][b]“Oh, he was just a cunt.”[/b][/color] Freya cheers up, [color=ff0202][b]“Not like he would have been a good dad if he hung around. Nobody needs a drongo like him in their lives.”[/b][/color] Inès shrugs, her eyes conceding to Freya's prudence. Freya spoke true in her words, and for whatever muse or sorrow came from a life spent without a father, Inès herself always dismissed as another case of wishful thinking. Even if he had stayed and discovered that Inès was born, there was no guarantee that a man who had so irresponsibly laid with a woman on a one-time drunken escapade was, by any stretch of the imagination, suited for fatherhood. Even Inès thought that dealing with her own mother was a handful; Another like her mother? Unthinkable. The Darcsen's line of thought found itself perturbed by Freya's nudged knuckle; followed by a short tilt of her head. In which direction she did point lay a lone, near-open book, folded downward and only slightly ajar, yet unmarked and bearing the softer, more hewn binding of a journal. Writings and note-taking in any setting were bound to be filled with something of remark, Inès did figure, and had both possibility to be either mindless drivel on the days gone by, or perhaps a most important documentation of troop movements, inventory, ciphers, and likewise. A real gambler it took to leave such out in the open, indeed. [color=ff0202][b]“Whose is that?”[/b][/color] Inès shrugs. The girls exchange glances at one another, each returning back with slight smiles to their faces. Silently, they agreed; They’d need to look it over to see who for certain. Inès certainly knew right from wrong, and wrong it was to look through someone’s belongings without permission. Yet from what there was - or rather, what there was not - to rightfully discern whose journal this was on outward appearance alone was an impossible task, and thus finding its rightful owner necessitated drawing upon the innards of this little drawing. Freya, with the famed initiative of an Oceanic shocktrooper, flipped open the little tome, the two young women leaning into one another as they flipped page after page of... ...of... ...both women turned to another. Grins etch. Eyebrows raise. Freya suggestively motions hers, a coyote's perverse smirk coming across her face while Inès laughs, and obliges with a dirty, subdued smile of her own. Certainly, whoever took to jotting their ideas down in their free time had an...[i]active[/i] imagination, indeed. [hr] (With permission from [@Bushman501]) Be the virtues of public conversation as they may, Inès and Freya were - even after brief investigation - under the thorough impression that privacy was in their mutual interests while they indulged in the contents of this journal. Any vow of secrecy, however, was declared void by line after line of gaudy giggles from each of the women along their ascent along the stairs. Freya's lodging from the previous evening went unshared, it so seemed, and thus, a perfect place for an evening of indulging in the secrets of others perhaps best left unopened. Or, perhaps not. [color=ff0202][b]"What's a good one!? What's a good one?!"[/b][/color] Freya asks and laughs at the same time, the bolt of the door behind her sliding with a slight [i]click![/i] [color=4682b4]"Hrmmm, let's see..."[/color] Inès flicks through the journal, incessantly scanning every line and every saucy detail for finding the right one to indulge in. A literary critic Inès was [b]not[/b], yet had read well enough to know that the author in question was...far from accomplished. Breaks in flow, syntax irregularities, jumbled names, to list a few errors. What, then, was so important? Just another search for trashy erotica to lighten the mood of war? [color=ff0202][b]"Let me see!"[/b][/color] Freya nudges in, Inès obliging, tilting the text to her right side. Pages flip and the women mutter, scanning over each page while searching for the right fix. [color=4682b4]"No."[/color] [i]FLIP![/i] [color=ff0202][b]"Not it."[/b][/color] [i]FLIP![/i] [color=ff0202][b]"...maybe?"[/b][/color] Freya suggests, turning to match Inès' nonreciprocating eyes. [color=4682b4]"It's too...stiff."[/color] The blondie giggles; Inès shoots her an approving, disapproving smirk. [i]FLIP![/i] [color=ff0202][b]"There's gotta be [i]one[/i] in here-!"[/b][/color] Page after page flips, two pairs of blue eyes beading over every verse and each corny line, written like a true dilettante of sexual affairs. Deviant smiles were shared thoroughly, yet nothing quite satisfied the urge t- [color=ff0202][b][i]"Oh."[/i][/b][/color] Inès nods. The two turn, expecting shared grins from one another, and to what they expected they did receive. This would be the one. A most...[i]fitting[/i] title, as it was. [color=ff0202][b]"It's not hard to figure out. I don't know any 'Cassi''s or 'Naej''s in my life."[/b][/color] Freya laughs, brightening with her next line: [color=ff0202][b]"Ufu~...maybe they [i]wanted[/i] to be found out!"[/b][/color] [color=ff0202][b]"Which one do you want?"[/b][/color] Freya inquires, giddy in her tone, almost brimming just to recite the entire piece of her own accord. [color=4682b4]"I'll take Scarface."[/color] Inès declares, just as soon clearing her throat. She had always found the Edinburgh accent arrogant; To Francian demeanor, to be more arrogant than a Francian was, as they said, [i]panache[/i], or in more common tongue, overzealous flamboyance. Freya, for all the bravado the Oceanics were famed for, smirks and emboldens herself, ready to put on her haughtiest display of stereotypical Francian-ism yet. Inès needed a clearance of her own; Whether this was of some coy reciprocation or her unfamiliarity with an Edins accent, she made opaque. The first page flips to light, Freya presenting her hand upon her bosom in elegant contour, as if about to sing. Inès herself sparsely contained her own amusement at the lines within. Chuckles were sealed to minute giggles, Freya opting to channel what potential laughter to flamboyant vigilance. [color=ff0202][b]"Monsieur Black~!"[/b][/color] Freya did mimic, lightening her tone and lisping her verbiage so slightly to create the stereotypical Francian accent, [color=ff0202][b]"I have...a proposition, yes?"[/b][/color] [color=4682b4]"Jean, my [b]dearest[/b] old mate!"[/color] Inès recites, a wide smile plastered on her deepened voice as she did imitate - many would say [i]mock[/i] - the voice of Lance Corporal Isaac Dog-Shagger Black, [color=4682b4]"Why the long face? No need to lull about, lad!"[/color] [color=ff0202][b]"Fucking hell...!"[/b][/color] Freya turns in pure harmonious, blissful convulsion, Inès soon following. It felt cheap to take so low blows upon the writer when they so clearly hadn't the slightest clue of affairs in the bedroom, yet the couple did make it at the foremost of their attention to make the most of this [i]faux pas[/i]; If not of true literary value, then from lack thereof. [color=ff0202][b]“Oh...I-Isaac, I was expecting you to be...well endowed…”[/b][/color] [color=ff0202][b]"Isaac, [i]mon amour![/i]"[/b][/color] Freya cries pompously, [color=ff0202][b]"Is...is it in me? I-I feel something! B-but it's...aaaah! Oh [i]mon dieu[/i], I-I-I've felt more intensely in a room thinking o-of Diana![/b][/color] [color=4682b4]"Hyou~! Think~! Hrun-I~! Can-rngh~! Make~! This~...rougher~? [i]Oh[/i] Jean!"[/color] [color=4682b4]"Even [i][b]tphou-"[/b][/i][/color] Ah, the Francian pronunciation of the word, "though" came to place. Inès' mouth contorted into a near-perfect circle, eyes widening and face forming to a near-perfect V-shape. And yet, her exercise in phonology was cut abruptly by Freya's outburst, having the Oceaninc nearly keel over from her - self-aware - expression. [color=4682b4]"It's hard!"[/color] Inès roars in laughter back, barely catching herself falling forwards, [color=4682b4]"It's a lot of sounds we don't usually make!"[/color] [color=ff0202][b]"You look like you're sucking someone off, love...!"[/b][/color] [color=4682b4]"Fuck. You."[/color] Inès whispers back. Oh, that laugh on her face concealed itself in no fashion, her cheeks redder than cherry tomatoes in spring and so wide a grin hyenas would find themselves ashamed. Freya flipped a few pages too many. And how her face did change with that revelation, too...she did escape her concealed exhilaration, now in signs of clear, delirious euphoria as she cries, [color=ff0202][b]"OOOOH~! FRANZ AND INÈS TOGETHE~![/b][/color] [color=4682b4]"Oh [b]no[/b] you do not!"[/color] Inès snatches, pinning down one of Freya's limbs as they tussled and twisted, laughing while Inès manages to pull Freya down. Squirming her way up, she cries out a starting passage from the fic, only to cushion herself between soft mattress and Inès' topside. She giggles, barely fighting her way upwards as the book slips from her grasp. Inès remained on top, pinning the woman down. She smiled. Freya laughs, slowly steaming down to a warm, comfortable smile. How she did play with her, from actions to movements...Inès did enjoy it. And for those brief moments, Freya saw the Naomi in her. [color=ff0202][b]"...i'm supposed to be the one on top."[/b][/color] Inès chuckles. Her hand brushes just a faint strand of blonde away, not ruining Freya's precious image one bit. [color=4682b4]"And?"[/color] Inès teases, [color=4682b4]"Does that [i]bother[/i] you? Mmh?"[/color] [color=ff0202][b]"I dunno...I kinda like the view."[/b][/color] Inès warmly smiles. Their hands loosen, slowly cusping about their priceless expressions. The Darcsen's cool hair dripped in meld with her warm blonde, yet both pairs did brush away any strands which threatened their view of the other. Each saw a reflective shine in their eyes. Calm. Steady. Perfectly sided in their beautifully curvy frames. And as they notice details, it got...warmer. Blushing. Breathing. Huffs and giggles escaping from their mouths. Inès leans down. A slow exhale blankets the two in mutually-assured warmth. Closer. Warmer. And a zip across their spine, a shiver through their body. Warmth as their softness met one another. Wet. Deep. A kiss. Another. A shared hold upon their necks, and an entire evening to explore. Sex. Dreams. Sunset. [/hider] [hr] [center][h3][i]September 12th, 1914[/i][/h3][/center] Bird song nor sunshine graced the small hours of the morn, and neither seemed to dare test the patience of the city of Amone. For however their remnant occupants would have found the occasion, the dreary setting seemed to insistent upon some dolorous scenescape that defied weather or mood. In the slightest hours of the morning, the rain appeared to let up, yet for whatever small pittance the weather did allow for the denizens of that sepulchral city, it could perhaps only mean another slog through mud or cobblestone. Yet, to Inès, this was, for the time being, a faraway illusion, the likes of which not to be tested. She had a beautiful woman by her side, and her own life to be thankful for - if not thoroughly intact, then as a shattered, reforged mosaic. t It was not to the sound of birds that she awoke to, but the light pitter-patter of the Corporal himself giving his dues. Voices muffled themselves through the creeks of wood, to where even that light conversation came as nothing but a hushed drone before her. Yet that was enough for her to know that morning had come, and the time for their mission came afoot. Inès rolled to her side, Freya still maintaining but one arm around her, and lightly nudged her companion's side. [color=4682b4]"Freya."[/color] Inès calls, Freya lightly nudging back with her own motions, [color=4682b4]"Freya, it's morning."[/color] [color=ff0202][b]"Mmh, i'm uupp..."[/b][/color] she responds, rolling her face into a pillow. Inès smirks, hovering her hand just over her shoulder, just to plant a light rub, back and forth, back and forth, right until another mumbled moan came from the blonde. Jean had told them to go to sleep in their uniforms, true, yet their activity for the light necessitated all garments be off. When the two grew tired and retired for the night, they threw the most important bits back on - pants, smallclothes, and socks - yet the bigger accessories to their wear still hung themselves from either walls or hangers. Inès' helmet and Freya's hat suspended themselves in couple along the wall by the door, while the Oceanic's bandolier lazed about the floor like a sprawled-about cat. Their jackets lay just beside, Inès picking hers up, and beginning with the lowermost button. One by one, she would work her way up, securing her top while she watched Freya fop about in bed. As Inès herself could tell, the energy exerted last night got to Freya. So much for that "Oceanic prowess" as she did proclaim, while Inès smirks at the sight of her making attempts at awakening. Assistance would be required, certainly, and in that closest corner lay the kerosene lamp. She slid open a dresser, fumbling and feeling through its' papered contents, until the coarse edge of a matchbook did her fingers meet. Between two fingers, she plucks it out, just as quickly, striking a match to flame. The lamp's lowermost chamber opened with a [i]*crick!*[/i], and with a tick of her fingers, the room radiated with firelight. Of course, the last thing she desired was for Freya to be responsible for the burning of the White Hart Inn, and thus she kept it well in her mind to have it hover over her while she did call Freya's attention. Freya, however, was a responsive sort, no stranger to awakening at dawn's first call, and as Inès turned about, found the blonde upright in their bed, if her hair was splintered and let loose with no hair tie nor hat to restrain it. [color=ff0202][b]"G'morning, love..."[/b][/color] She greets in a tone some might say "exhausted", yet clear from her droopy eyes that she was still in the "awakening" stage of her morning. From corner to edge, her fist rubbed her exhausted blue eye, descending to look to her right. [color=ff0202][b]"Hand me that?"[/b][/color] Freya requests, pointing lazily in the general direction of her decorated coat. Inès swoops down, grasping it with her left hand, then kneeling on the corner of the bed, perching the coat along her shoulder. [color=4682b4]"You forgot something."[/color] Inès reminds her. Freya looks up. A hand reached around her back neck, running through the underside of Freya's morning hair, before her lips felt that familiar softness of a morning kiss. Freya huffed a short laugh. At very least, the day for her would begin with a smile. Inès was sweet...in her own unique way. Freya knew Inès wasn't normally her type, but even that wouldn't dismiss her from interest. At most, Inès was rough around the edges, but as soon as her icy exterior melted, her insides flowed rich from her heart of gold. Then...something familiar sounded off. It...whistled. High in pitch, screeching to ear. It flew, and it fell, like the rise and the fall of a siren if it were to be put into a vulture's tune. And as it did foretell, it was unmistakable as it grew lower, and louder. It was an artillery shell. [color=ff0202][b]"SHELL!"[/b][/color] And for just one second. One perverse moment. One demented frisson, hanging by a moment Freya would never forget, Freya grasped hold of Naomi's jacket, and pulled. And never dared let her go. Not once. Not ever again. And the only thing that was missing...was the impact. The whistle came - they had both certainly heard the same fell whistle - but no shockwave nor sonorous roar erupted through the sky. Freya held on still, her grip slowly loosening as they breathed in unison for what was. Inès held her back, not knowing if this were her last moment. But, as their holds upon one another secured into comprehension, they still knew not what wait before them in the earliest hours of twilight. The Darcsen nudged her companion, even with what light they had, looking over her in the dark. A silent response exchanged, staring into one another's shaded blues, and without exchanging words, knew they would have to wake up and face the day. Inès creeps so slightly toward a window that not even the floorboards squeaked. Mice's attempts at silence did her actions no justice, for Inès moved so carefully that she expected a sharpshooter to be aimed through. Her head slowly turns out, eeking out whatever was possible in the hour before dawn, even Freya as an observer did wince and wish to retreat. From the listening of the sparse moonlight did shine the cloud. A sickly cloud, of color Inès had only heard of in the whispers of industry workers and other urban fairy tales. Then...it came together. [hr] [i][color=d2b45a]"Someone said they found it in the city, here. I think they're supposed to be antiques. Mining masks."[/color] [color=d2b45a]"Yeah. Back in old times, deep underground, there'd be buildups of sulfur or monoxide-"[/color][/i] [hr] [color=4682b4][i]("Those...little...")[/i][/color] [color=4682b4]"Freya...go...get Marathon and make sure he's safe..."[/color] She only checked to see if Freya had followed her instruction, and by whatever time Inès had to rogate her command, the sound of a once-drunken Oceanic flooding the halls with cries to put on her mask came clear. Even from what was a normally soundproofed upper floor rung with the unmistakable sounds of chaos from below. Windows screeched while their panes shattered. Shouts of all voices reverberated while squadmates flooded out. Many headed downstairs, yet Inès dared not go anywhere without her "mining mask". Inès looked upon it and saw only death, for nothing good came for when their masks were given. And that good nothing came to, like all sins do, in good time. Much of her time hazed by like a distant fog, growing only more obfuscant as the gas crept in. She would heed the Oceanic's demands, immersing herself into a choking claustrophobia all its own as she embraced the gas mask. The slight weight of the canister below her hung like a noose dangling below her, that device which kept her breathing threatening to strangle her with every movement she took. And as she did proceed downstairs, after the pleas of Jean and his compatriots, she saw what the meaning of the masks were for: Nothing. Nothingness came in the form of Imperials, much like the ones she learned this information from, as they stormed in the building, masks brazened as their own. Inès had behind her Freya, and upon her - she imagined, as she dared not take her eyes away from the faceless before her - Thomas, whom she could only imagine came with a mask of his own. This faceless before her beared arms, much like the faceless she was, and so too, made flight upon her life. No matter how insulated her face may have been, it returned no such favor to mute the roars of gunshots around her. Instinctively, even while the lenses gave way to a cracked, permeated twilight, the glistening nickel of a handgun poised her way had her duck behind whatever cover she found, and whatever she did find did that bullet graze overhead while its whistle did ode to the symphony of battle. There were no thoughts to her lunge, to how she found herself throwing the entirety of herself around one corner. As soon as she thought, she noticed, and there to any [i]crack![/i] of the glass shattering nor the wheeze as he did crumple, Inès saw the faceless become faced of her own doing. His mask tore, ripped right with red, as the noxious mist ran his eyes red while he grasped onto his purple-bruised throat. What breath of life that remained sputtered out in crimson, hopeful a hand clutching a gun might clear a throat for a walking man who knew not he stumbled only toward his grave. Who was to come next? Another. One faceless. Yet Inès thought not, for thought and emotion in the moment paved no way to the moments. Moments and memory came as soon as they left, and for what Inès did sense did blank out immediately. There was another, she knew. People around him. Some alive. Some not. There was chaos, turmoil. A bar. One of many... ...one of many. One of too many. The sounds which rung, of battle, of discord, rung deaf to the world which she could tell. No cry of a corporal nor the shuffling behind her, the wheezes of those impaled by toxic cloud, all did blend to incorporeal shroud. The moments came...so soon. Warm one second, then suddenly gone... There was a faceless before her, yet no sound did emanate from the horrified eyes which would fatefully puncture his filthy lenses. Inès recalls little; Only the shot of a pistol, and the last gasp of a dead man. [hr] [color=4682b4][i]("Est...o mon dieu.")[/i][/color] Was it anger? Disappointment? Disturbing nostalgia that brought Inès' full focus forth to the sight of a fellow Darcsen. He so decided to drench himself in the ichor of others that he partook so religiously in how he so seemed to devour the Imperial below him, as each stab descending did the blood fly like a scene from horrific human sacrifice. Yet Franz did seem to compound his fury with every shattering blow, every ripping, tearing, piercing thrust carving a new cavity into his target, as each new wound did seem to reflect those he knew. Inès, for what was that moment, co- [color=ffa500]"Franz?!"[/color] [color=4682b4][i]"PUTAIN!"[/i][/color] [color=ffa500]"He's dead! He can't hurt anybod-!"[/color] [color=4682b4][i]"Éloigne-toi de lui, imbécile!"[/i][/color] Inès darted forward, brushing off any comment whatever the dirthead could dare throw her way. "Positivity" and his pathetic attempts at morale showed their worth in the moments it was most needed. At very least, Inès deserved it to Franz that she look after him. She promised. He did no such thing. [color=4682b4][i]"Franz?! Franz!! [b]Franz![/b]"[/i][/color] She kneels to his side, grasping to him, nearly restraining while her unmistakable huff permeated the mask. Even through the hearty respiration, those...breaths...were...familiar... [color=4682b4][i]"E-est-ce que tout va bien pour vous?"[/i][/color] It was the only way Inès could think. They were the words which erupted from her mouth. She cared not if any could understand her, for her voice was the only one in a hail of fire, and the siren to dawn's break. [hr] [center][h3][i]September 25th, 1914EC[/i][/h3][/center] [hider="To Pvt. Inès Lévesque"] [i]Dear Inès Lévesque,[/i] [i]To whatever it may be worth, I hope this letter finds you well. First and foremost, as your former lieutenant and commanding officer, I bid you the best of luck in your future endeavours in service of the 15th Atlantic. Captain Middleton is a peerless strategist before he is a brother or a son. Though his years of service, I have heard much of him throughout the words of the officers. At times, I have seen him show limitless compassion; At others, heartless brutality. I do not understand that man. Yet, I have no doubts that you will serve finely no matter your station, and that you may evade or persevere through any injury that may come your way.[/i] [i]If it so interests you to know, my reassignment had me in command of rear echelon troops, serving as vanguards for our flanks. Many among the officer corps would have called it a thankless task, yet I took pride in my work all the same. Yet as I did the morning rounds one fateful day, an Imperial marksman - perhaps by the grace of God, or perhaps by Lady Luck - missed my spine by half a centimetre. I was immediately hospitalized, and thanks to the steady handiwork of Monsieur Vivier, I only now have trouble on occasions breathing. If I am to be forthright, I have found the alleviated stress of such a placement has done wonders for my esprit de corps.[/i] [i]I'm sorry about what happened to Marie. She was a fine soldier, and an even finer woman. Her family has been notified and reimbursed for her unfortunate passing, and her body has been sent back to the State of Lafayette in Vinland for burial. Wherever she may be, things will be easier for her. If it brings you any solace, know that she no longer suffers as you last remembered her.[/i] [i]If you happen to be in Loudeac, come by for a glass of wine, anytime.[/i] [i]Sergeant Dostoyevsky sends his regards.[/i] [i]Yours truly, Pierre Saint-Martin.[/i] [/hider] [hider="Happy Birthday Inès!"] [i]My Dear Inès, Joyeux anniversaire, mon ange! To think that my little girl from all those years ago is a 20 year old woman, valiant and strong. It's a feeling that brings joy to a mother, no matter how old or where in the world they are, and it's a feeling I know one day you'll be able to cherish as well. To see my angel sprout her wings, and soar in the air, in the heavens above among the cherubs of Taranis is a feeling indescribable. I knew from the moment you were born you were destined for great things, and I know as your mother that you will aspire to more than I did. I know the war must be hard on you, but you must never lose faith, Inès. We the Darcsens believe in the good air and bountiful sky, and with pure water and hardy land, our earth is bountiful and joyous, yet everchanging. In all walks of nature, there is brutality, yet like the rivers and mountains, we carve our ways into our world while everything else may change. We know, as Darcsens, we are to be the river. We are to be the sky. We must persevere; We must survive. For a long time, you have been my sky, and never for a moment have I doubted you. I know we fight, like all mothers and daughters fight, and like I fought with my mother before me. I know I am not a perfect mother. I'm a deeply, deeply flawed person, Inès. I've always had you there for me to keep me from leaning too much one way and going astray, but I don't want you to worry about me. Ever since you've left, there have been no more debtors coming to our door, and the Berangers have been quiet. Sometimes, the city is uneasy with the effects of war, but I remain safe. Guy has offered me refuge in New Belfast if the Imperials ever invade or shell our city. Perhaps unlike me, I have money set aside for this occasion, I should say, inspired by your insistence upon my protection with your leave. I think about you every day, Inès. Every mother wants nothing more than to see their daughter come home safe and happy. There is nothing more in the world that I want more for you than to be happy. Years ago, I would have never pictured myself saying this, and yet if you are to find yourself a suitable woman who treats you well, then I will accept them with as welcome of arms as though they were a wonderful man of strength and integrity. It breaks my heart to see you upset. I hear much about the war, unfortunately. Madame Glancour has lost five of her seven sons throughout the war, in addition to finding herself widowed early on. I cannot imagine being a mother to a deceased daughter, Inès, no matter how dignified your death. If nothing else I say can persuade you, then I would prefer you to leave knowing that I could not imagine my life without you. Please, before anything else, promise me that you will take care of yourself. I love you, forever and always. Meilleurs vœux, Joan Lévesque. [/i] [/hider]