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[color=Silver][sub]December 30th - Trebín[/sub][/color]

[sub]Interacting with: [@Landaus Five-One][/sub]

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[color=Silver]	The narrow labyrinth had been engraved into his mind. In. Out. Left. Ten posts that way. Don't take that final right turn. Up the little mound and down past the first response medical dugout, and then he was on the road back to Trebín. He drifted away from Diana and Lucia along the path, leaving them together to serve as one as one another's pairing, but he did stay within earshot. The day had just dragged. He'd done his time on the frontline again. Rumours had it that something was going to happen. Nothing big, just something. There were no words coming from the Imperial line. Part of him, knowing full well the patterns of the Federation, that a raid to grab a man or two would come through. Last time Jean went out on one of those he came back with half the size of the original party and with a younger Imperial who said he knew nothing, with eyes wide and fearful for the demons that had descended upon him. God, it pained him to see those soldiers. Anything that tried to humanise the enemy, he hated it. He knew what seeing them, their flesh and eyes, up close did to a soldier. It stopped them, maybe it made them second guess. Those who cared all too little made no complaint, but no one could really say that the first time they killed a man they felt anything but the shock of how easy it was.

	Jean still had those nightmares on occasion. A phantom pain was still carved into the palm of his hand and it felt like the fragment of a mirror - no, a glass shard. The one that went in the woman's neck, where her blood leaked onto his face and her eyes became cold. Every time he thought of that, he reminded himself of how easy it was for him to be in that position. The wrong move was just waiting to be made, and he thought about how close it'd be until he slipped up. On the contrary, he'd become a better soldier, by the Federation's standards. He was more in line with some of its formalities and didn't do as much as complain unless it was a necessity, which it rarely was. He had far too long of a way to go. The respect of his peers was next to nothing, so long as they were still talking about a leader.

	Without much energy left in him, he turned to Diana around the halfway point back to Trebín. To him, she looked a little paler than she usually did. Lost a lot of that sprite in her system, she had. Lucia had faded a little herself but that one-piece smile barely changed. He rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. He'd have shaved it off if there was still a mother around to disapprove of it. If it meant feeling like a child again, then he'd take it any day over the trauma bestowed on them.[/color]

[color=03DAED][b]"Once we get there, what're you planning on doing?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He just wanted smalltalk - something to just break the mould of his dwindling thoughts. And though Diana was usually far too blunt and innocent to drag him straight out of hell, it was something for the walking time's being.[/color] [color=03DAED][b]"Maybe talk to the bar girls or something? I don't know. I'll probably go relax for the first time in a while."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Part of him wishes he took leave when he had the option. He could still request it if he were desperate. So long as there was no big offensive in the works, there was a chance he could get a week out of the area, maybe into one of the Valois cities far behind. Yet that compelling feeling in his gut still told him to not go back. A strong, sickly taste was on his tongue whenever he spoke of the lights and happy faces back home. They were all deservedly joyful of the war going in the Federation's favour, for the first time in many years. Jean just didn't like the idea of facing a world he couldn't fully integrate back in. He'd go back when the war was over, or in a coffin, but never for a break. Not unless it was worthwhile.

	Eventually, they arrived at Trebín. The hustle and bustle of the settlement was at an all-time low for once. Somewhere in the village, there was a sweet sound of music. In fact it was a unique tune, one he'd never heard anything like. It was a unique strain of notes and whistles that went beyond the normal shanties and soldiers' tunes. Usually, the cynical yet comedic nature of Federation songs helped permeate the bitterness around them. But the off-side performance really sold a different atmosphere. Jean didn't stop too much to say hi, but he walked past it, slower than usual, just to preserve that drizzled goodness in his ear.

	He disappeared off to the side, eventually crossing into the South-Western parts of the village. There, one of the small collections of rooms for booking was in place. Jean had paid two packs of cigarettes for the higher-quality place. Wasn't so much private in terms of being away from the village, but it was there to just have a lock and a key to rest at. And it was always the same room for Jean. Same bed, same sheets, same pillows. If he wasn't anywhere else, and it wasn't during an offensive, he was there. It was the closest thing to a real bed, or what he considered one. Jean was handed the key and threw his stuff inside, before he went and lounged outside on one of the nearby chairs. The weather was still bitter and he froze a little in his seat, but he was comfortable enough. The music was still on the cusp of his ears and he closed his eyes, waiting for something, as the distant tune gave him but a brief moment of peace. How short-lived it was to be a happy soldier.[/color]

[color=03DAED][b][/b][/color]