The Siege of Amone, September 10th - 'What if I wasn't here?'
Clearly his sly attempt to slide into Diana's conversation had gone rather well as she seemed to flourish a redder tone than usual, blemishing out her brightest features with a single glow. A grin kept itself plastered upon Jean's sweetly cleaned face from earlier that morning, where he had a nice bath before the interruptions of the hallucination. He slightly missed being able to flirt casually with people like Diana and Reyna, which was something he didn't do that often in the most recent days of their time in Amone. It made his heart beat faster than it usually did and a fit of uncontrollable smiles would always encircle the regular calmness he rarely had. Diana was a sweetheart, no doubt, just like Reyna and Kalisa, but much like the other two she had her own unique personality and set of traits that was unmatched and different in its own way. Reyna had elegance on her side. Kalisa had a lovely aura of self-control. Diana? Well, Diana had the most alluring personality of them all, seemingly going out her way to actively let everyone know what she liked in as polite of a way as she could make it. It was like a slightly more experienced version of Lucia in that everything had to be straight forward and there was little restriction to what her filter went through, but in a way Jean kind of liked that about her. Honest did go a long way, even though Diana's first honesty was enough to make Jean stagger back in utter surprise upon Hill 58. Even then, Diana had a rather womanly figure to herself, which Jean hadn't actually taken any time to awe upon, mainly because of the highly embarrassing factor that Jean held some form of moral dignity when it came to his first triad of romantic interests. Here, however, it was hard not to. Diana seemed to have her uniform a bit more relaxed than before, as if only hours before she'd stripped them down completely and ignored the privacy they provided. Jean didn't specifically know that this was actually part of the truth or that her devilish failed bet with Luke was now a topic of discussion, but even then he smiled at her once he fully gathered and realised her physique.
Jean felt himself fluster slightly when Diana sweetly shot back with her true preference of Jean's flirting, finding it somewhat flattering himself that she thought that way still. At first, he didn't know how to react, knowing that Jean's first attempt at flirting with her was more of an embarrassment technique with a hint of passion laced within it, and from her response he felt a mischievous grin circumnavigate his emotions before he let a phrase or two slip out quietly, enough for only Diana and himself to contemplate.
"I'm more than happy to stare for longer then." Oh god. Jean had already dropped the ball and felt himself grow brightly red in the face. He pulled himself away from her quickly before exploding into a panicked state of embarrassment and confusion as to why he took the flirting further than he usually did. "A-Ahhh, sorry I didn't...I didn't mean to...uhm...So how are you?" It was definitely not a smooth transition, his attempt at changing the subject, and by all means was it as coarse as the memories previously flashing through Jean's broken mind, but for some reason it felt rather genuine of him to apologise. He was still far too inexperienced with this sense of courteous flirtation and romantic pursuit. Before his invitation to the 15th Atlantic Rifles, the Darcsen had no experience of friendship other than that of his very own flesh and blood, Olivia. It was a huge leap to be going after someone with the intentions of potentially committing an oath of love towards for the coming years, but Jean was still truly desperate to fill that empty hole still cascading his heart. It needed filling, and the longer it remained open and empty the more it would spread around the rest of his body.
Diana was quick to change the subject to, giving him a rather well-thought question that was sure to trip him up. Jean himself was thoughtful about what she asked, his impressions on everyone else to be specific, and instead found himself chuckling to himself with nervousness and a strange, coy smile. Was he really being asked this? Either way, Jean needed a good distraction, and thinking about everyone he'd sworn to protect seemed to be a good place to start, despite the fact he'd have to honestly open up some of his more radical feelings towards a few specific squadmates under his command. Her quizzing was carefully planned, or perhaps brought out of a state of random trails of thought, but it did help immensely with the previous melancholy he suffered from. Jean stared at her for a moment, contemplating on who to start with and how to give his honest opinion of Kalisa, Reyna and Diana herself. Eventually, he took a deep breath and nodded, finally finding his place to begin.
"How I feel about everyone? Well...I'll start somewhere dim. Luke: not a fan of him. Bigotry doesn't settle well in my stomach, if you hadn't of guessed by my...uhm...embarrassing outburst towards him. I can't deny that he might be doing his job as a soldier well, but that only gets you so far in my books. I guess I could come onto the Occies: Thomas is pretty calm and collected, only just met Victoria and Freya is a bit out-there but genuinely pleasant to converse with. Michael strikes me as a great guy, and I really enjoy talking to him. Haven't had many serious conversations because of him being swarmed by Lucia's adorableness, but he's a very philanthropic individual, and I can't help but relate to that." He paused for a minute, losing himself into looking at Diana again, her eyes and physique once more with a strange awkwardness to his mind. He knew he had to talk about Diana, and the other two beauties, very soon in order to answer her question truthfully. That was the part Jean was not particularly looking forward towards. "I...don't think a lot about the other new recruits, Gwyn and that lot. They seem nice, but I can't say I've spoken to them much. Franz is an alright chap, but has a lot weighing on his shoulders, same as me, so I can feel some empathy. Ines has her quirks, and...ability to be quite loud, I suppose. Isaac and Britta are a nice duo, and I enjoy Isaac's support that he's shown the squad and me personally over these last few months. And then..."
He stopped for a second, eyeing up Diana as she must've known her name was amongst the final three to be mentioned. Jean felt his cheeks blare a bright red once more as he tried to spit it out but failed several times, clearly embarrassed by the truth of his attraction. Why did she specifically have to ask about his honest impressions of everyone else? If she had just missed out that one word he wouldn't have felt so inclined and pressured to open up about something so secretive and benevolent as such. His face blemished more and more as the pressure built up. Oh god, this was really the true feeling of being put on the spot, wasn't it? He felt sorry for all those who'd been through this years and years before his life had even began. Eventually, Jean plucked up some small courage and lowered his voice to a gentle whisper, one enough to soothe Diana for sure.
"Well...w-well there's you, Diana, and there's also Kalisa and Reyna. I'm...well...I guess it's...it's only fair to say that...uhm...I may...just maybe, have...developed a really...really...really strong attraction to...all three of y-you." What didn't help was Diana's wholesome comment on Jean's eyes and how beautiful they were, causing him to shake his head and fluster wildly without any understanding of how to take the situation. Why was romance so hard and embarrassing? It felt as hard as Franz probably was around Ines, and that in itself was a rather discomforting thought to cross his Francian mind. Jean began to wildly apologise for the mini breakdown of his revelation, having shown that he was indeed attracted to Diana, as well as Kalisa and Reyna as much as herself. "I-Ignore that I...I am just being honest!"
Luckily for Jean, Diana went off on her own tangent about some revelations of her past, talking about the family she seemed to have bad connections with. Jean himself began to listen with intrigue and genuine curiosity. It felt a bit tragic that she had a family still around, yet the simple mentioning of their name felt more like a burden than an actual motive to keep pressing on. For that reason, Jean couldn't find any words to say then and there, instead sitting in silence and nodding his head as she continued. God, the weight of everyone's own separate burdens was enough to really unsettle Jean, making him feel more depressed that the world was treating these good people worse and worse with each passing day. It was unfair and downright sickening to imagine Europa being as sickly as it was to its own graceful occupants, even the ones who were not permitted to even bring any harm to a flower if they so could. He sighed heavily, before his eyes were caught off guard by someone standing beside him. Jean felt the tap on his shoulder and turned his head, finding that the small and innocent Lucia was stood before him with a somewhat eager look on her face. It was strange seeing that, as apparently only moments before she was drunk off-of-her-mind from a single pint glass. Either way, Jean could take the hint, and told Lucia he'd be just a second, watching her roam off on her own to another corner of the room, awaiting Jean's arrival.
With that now said, Jean turned towards Diana, giving her one wholesome smile to try and follow up from his minor confession of attraction towards her, Kalisa and Reyna in one go, before leaving an open-minded statement to keep her company as he begged his own departure. It was rather devilish of him to keep some sort of romantic undertone to what he said, but in that moment, Jean didn't care if she took it that way. At least there was some comfort in her, Kalisa or even Reyna taking any of his flirts into a romantic mindset.
"I might go to bed after I talk to Lucia, here. So, if you need me at all, and I mean anything at all, just come and find me and I'll see if I can help. Have a pleasant night, Diana, if I hadn't already made it that way." Jean placed his hand atop of Diana's head, patting it gently and ruffling around her neatened long hair with a large grin on his face. It must've made her a bit shy from the phantom head-patting that Jean could deliver. Either way, giving her one last look, and even contemplating waiting around to see if Diana wanted to take the conversation any further, Jean turned and made his way over towards Lucia, who was eagerly bouncing around in her seat.
"Sooooooo, Mr Robin-Charpentier...What's it like?" For the past ten minutes, Jean had sat in silence watching her guzzle down her night's meal with a happiness glowing all over her face. Every shovelling of food that entered into her mouth was followed by a strangely pleasured moan of satisfaction, one that was surely enough to turn Michael's head into a state of uncontrolled fantasy. However, these noises were just for the food she was eating for the moment. Some form of slab of meat, a steak of beef perhaps, and for the time Jean waited for her to finally say something she'd already cleaned half of her plate with immense power. She seemed to have a strangely elegant taste for food, as if she'd been starved for years before. Though the thought of that backtracked to something he'd been meaning to ask her, about a particular Captain of interest. Unfortunately for him, Lucia was first to draw her question like an outlaw fighting in the ranches of Vinland.
"I'm...sorry, what do you mean?" Lucia followed his confusion with her regularly girlish giggle, one that really brought out the youth and inexperience of her mind and body. Lucia really didn't belong here on the frontlines, probably the least of everyone else. Whilst Jean was mentally unequipped to handle the stress of war, Lucia didn't even have the correct age entitled to her actions. There was a shyness in everything she did, whether that was laughing or talking. Jean still couldn't shake the image of her crying in the trenches of Hill 58, back when she'd finally been relieved of her anti-coward duty that Middleton had forced upon her. Was that a common practice for soldiers who were considered weaker? Either way, there was a lot of questions that needed to be asked after this randomised topic had gone out of the way.
"Having a sibling, silly. I heard you have an older sister, and I read some of your letters the other night whilst you were on watch duty, asleep on Reyna's thighs." The adorable innocence of how she put it made Jean flurry into a straight crimson red, far redder than he'd been around Diana only moments before. Was it really that obvious for her? Why was she also snooping through his letters again? This must've been the sixth time, the previous five being on the train to Amone. Where had this habit and lack of tactful privacy come from? Either way, it suited her adorableness further as she giggled again at his response.
However, Jean didn't smile immediately, knowing that she didn't seem aware of what had happened to Olivia. Jean sighed and put one of his hands beneath his chin, resisting the urge to drop down onto the table and slam it harshly against the wooden surface. At least here, he could compose himself a little clearer than he could if he broke down yet again. For once, he tried to push out all the angry and sad thoughts considering her mentioning of her sister; clearly Lucia had no idea of what had truly happened.
"Uh...yeah...had a sister. She was killed in the first year of the war." Lucia's face instantly dropped as soon as Jean said so, which made Jean's heart melt immediately. She had a pure look on her face that made anyone feel guilt when her pouting of sadness or realisation of a mistake came into light. For a moment, Jean could figure out why Michael was so attracted to her, as her angelic representation shone brighter than any flare that was shot on the fields of Garnia a few days before the charge. Jean quickly shook his head and tried to defuse the situation by continuing with her question, hoping to shed some light on the situation. "It's...uhh...it's amazing though. You have someone you think you take for granted, wishing they weren't related to you, but when they're gone you truly understand why they were as great as they were. They are there whenever you feel low and defend you from any metaphysical thoughts and unpleasantness on a daily basis. Guardians, as my sister would always describe elder siblings as. And to me, she was and still is the best guardian that could've ever lived."
"Aww, that's so sweet Jean!" Lucia curled up on her chair, finally letting some tears slowly trickle down her face. Jean had clearly failed in preventing her tears, but she at least seemed to be smiling whilst her emotions once again started to take the best of her. An emotional wreck, she was, but Jean could relate. Suddenly, she chirped up and poked Jean on the face, causing him to freeze in confusion with what she had to say next. "I never had a sibling. Jean, can you be my older brother?"
The Siege of Amone, September 10th - The Nighttime Predicament
For a moment, everyone had been commenting on either their own escapades or the strange occurrence downstairs that had gone on during Jean's episode. Apparently Diana, Luke and the new-girl Victoria had all had a drinking match that went south very quickly, resulting in a naked Diana and some other strange shenanigans she apparently never wanted to think about ever again. Was this their idea of fun? Jean could never grasp the true behaviours of everyone that surrounded him on a daily basis; their strange attitudes towards relaxing was to intoxicate themselves with litres of unhealthy drinks, doing strange dares and really selling themselves short of humility and dignity. He'd heard stories all the time about how people acted when they were bored, but as someone who grew up with essentially no friends and within an isolated quadrant of Liege City, Jean was almost uncertain as to how to react to it all. On the contrary, there was a little bit of a sick kick of excitement that came with putting himself out there like an idiot as everyone seemed to be either having a laugh or a rather interesting conversation themselves. God, to think that Jean was upstairs with a rifle to his chin only hours before, and now everyone was blissfully unaware... It must've been nice not having much to worry about, or in Squad 1's case a way of pushing out those thoughts and distracting themselves with something else. If only he had that mental capacity and intelligence, common sense and folk psychology to really impress the world around him. To them, Jean was most likely a failure or one in the making. Years of isolation, only to be let out into a field of battle, was not an ideal type of commanding non-commissioned officer many of these soldiers, conscripts or volunteers had in mind. Before they left, several soldiers from Federation regiments within the White Hart stared at him, giving him odd glances at why he was the selected NCO when all around them were far more capable and adaptable warriors. Those who were new to the commanding scene were sharp looking, eager and had a brightness to their face. Those who were experienced to the frontlines and had established a sense of authority were rugged and muscular, or even sharper than their newer counterparts. However, Jean didn't seem to fit any of those quotas. He was some Francian, a Darcsen too, who'd looked like he'd been dragged through shit just to turn up in some militarised uniform and claim a rank he didn't deserve. These were the thought processes of Jean, at least, but in some regard their assumptions could've been seen as right. He was pressured into the war, chased by a white-feather movement that called him a coward and threatened the safety of his homestead. Ironic, considering his enlistment into the Atlantic Federation armed services proved ineffective at saving the doomed lives of both his mother and father. With a great sigh, Jean held the photo of Olivia in front of him, still sat in the dark corner away from his own Squad, who'd been celebrating and spending their time off with great enthusiasm, some more than others. And yet with such a happy environment, one that Jean himself was glad to see, he couldn't shake that emotion from his shoulder and continued to wear it upon his sleeve. Olivia's face looked so still and unrecognisable in the photographic format. What was previously a breathing face of happiness was now simply a strange black-and-white photo, showing a single emotion that never changed. It irked Jean. It scared him. It frightened him to know that she was gone forever, just like everyone else in this fucking war.
Thoughts of discomfort had once again circled his process of thought several more times until he finally did it. Jean looked far too stressed and stood up, almost slamming the photo of Olivia down onto the wooden table before him. He had to tell someone. Jean was no longer going to let it be bottled up, at least in solitary confinement. Someone had to know, but who? Jean would've seen the logic in turning to Reyna, but her happy and wonderful mood made his heart flutter to an extent that he didn't want to ruin it. Michael was already suffering enough on his plate, trying to deal with the horrors of Lucia's hidden past. Diana didn't always come across as the type of person who could handle such a dark story from Jean's heart, and Franz was most likely ball's-deep in Ines for the seventeenth time this evening alone. Gwyn was quite an innocent looking lad, and they hadn't properly spoken outside of the professional soldier's platform. Luke was an arsehole, so that would not go down well. Britta seemed to have a sort of motherly complex to her, but...well Britta was the kind of person anyone would get nervous when talking around. Kalisa had been rather shy or quiet in the recent days and Freya was still brooding in her own corner about something that was bothering her. Victoria too had not seen enough of Jean to really understand what he may have been going through, or had instead found another drink to guzzle down. Jean sighed, knowing that in reality there was only one person who should know during this time. There was someone who had checked up on him somewhat regularly, but never progressed past their level of a superior and subordinate. Lance Corporal Isaac Black. The Machine-gunner himself. The crusade he made on Britta's virginity had been finished ages ago, back when Jean was still trying to shoot himself, and so he seemed to be in a position of approaching.
However, Jean's manner was not out of calmness or subtle pulling over. The Francian instead moved over towards Isaac, gently placing a hand upon his shoulder and giving him a dark look. It wasn't a dark one directed towards him, but one that really sold the impression that he needed to speak to him. It was only necessary for him to equally tell his intentions before excusing his prize-soldier from his current topic of conversation. This, however, was of the upmost importance. If he wasn't going to talk to someone about it, he was as good as dead to the Squad. None of them were even aware he'd attempted, and that was what pained him the most. This time, it was for the sake of Squad 1, and not just himself. And so, when he was sure he had Isaac's attention, he looked to him, still sat down from his talk, and nodded.
"Isaac...I need to speak with you. It's...it's urgent, if you wouldn't mind?" For a short moment, he looked towards whoever was in the middle of a conversation with him and nodded quietly, bowing out of respect for his interruption. "I apologise for interrupting. This shouldn't take any more than five or ten minutes. Please, excuse us."
Jean waited for Isaac to begin following him, before the two of them went to the other side of the main bar room, far out of the reach of everyone else. Kind enough to do it for him, Jean slid out a chair as an offer to Isaac before taking a seat himself on another, placing a few notes and items on the table, though none of them were of any importance. A few pens here and there, as well as his pair of binoculars that he always carried around with him. Strangely enough, it was the very same one Jean had plucked from the dead Sergeant on Hill 58, which still had its few weathered features and scratches. Finally, Jean nodded and let the silence disappear once he first opened his mouth, his tone low and his face rather glum. There was a pain in his eyes that couldn't be compared to any other seen before. It wasn't fear, nor was it regret out of the stabbing of another woman. This time, there was some other emotion locked deeply in his graceful, yet disturbed irises. One that could have equated to guilt.
"I...I am sorry to pull you aside on such a wonderful moment and day, but I-I really need to talk to you. You are the closest to my rank after all and I thought it would be best to put it by you before anyone else." He took a deep breath, finding his words and place of comfort before he placed a hand on his own wrists, locking both ends of his arms together to avoid further discomfort and as a mechanism to press his words onward from their concealed veil. "Isaac...I...Around three to five hours ago, I...I hallucinated, something so dire and strange that I could never explain. The voices of my sister, the faces of her before and after her skin peeled from its own source. It was only a manifestation of my mind but...but...it started to get to me. It was around the time everyone was settling into the inn and having such a wonderful time, getting together with friends and doing all strange shenanigans, but...but I felt like it was necessary to inform you this in the rare case it happens again."
This was too hard for him to say. The pain and agony of trying to fumble out the words he never thought anyone would ever hear him utter was enough to strain his mind furthermore. Agony. Anguish. All of these adjectives were appropriate to describing how he felt when committing to this strange and random tale of disturbing truth.
"I'm...I'm not coping well, Isaac, I really am not. I'm stepping my game up, just as you said, as a Corporal and NCO that people can put their trust in, and all it is doing is making me lose my humanity at the same time. You want to know why I am scared? Five hours ago I held a gun to my throat, my own rifle, bolted it and pulled the trigger, expecting out of instinct to blow my fucking brains across the bedroom wall for one of you guys to find and laugh at, that's what I was expecting. After my hallucination, I changed. I wanted to die, in that moment. I wanted to end everything that had ever brought me to this fucking low-fucking-end of the spectrum and I just...just...can't deal with it anymore. I...I don't want to try it again and thank the fucking saviour of whatever fucking religion is dominant, but there was no ammunition in it. I regret it all, Isaac, and I really don't want to abandon the squad but if this ever happens to me again, as cowardly as everyone will now see me as if they hear of this, just know that I put full trust in you to take my intentions of the squad's purity and to uphold them to the end of the war. I want to see it through, I really do, but something tells me that if my body doesn't physically die here in Europa, then my humanity will first." After ranting, to an extent that nearly had him shout in certain places, he finally took a deep breath and sighed, burying his own head beneath his arms. There was a great release of stress and tension from his mind. The aggravation wasn't towards Isaac by any means and he wouldn't have been surprised if he suddenly got a verbal beating from his lesser-ranked comrade, but Jean was angry at himself. It was almost as if he were looking in a mirror and scolding himself for such stupidity and ignorance, such that made him feel like an inadequate waste of space and rations for the unfortunate group. He suddenly shook his head once more and placed a hand on Isaac's shoulder. "I...I know I've never spoke to you, or anyone, in such a way like this, but please understand that somewhere, something along the line might go wrong for me. And if that happens, I may never be able to turn back. I'll do what you insist, and try my very fucking hardest to get us through to the end of the war, trust me, and I will make sure I never break down during an assault, only after if I truly have to suffer that fate. I don't...I don't want you, or our Squad, to lose faith in me, if they even have any to start with. I just wanted to let you know, as a friend and Lance Corporal under my unfortunate command, to understand to truth behind the bleakness of our situation. In two days, we're going to head out of here and look for those tunnels...Just...let's just try to enjoy the moment we have left, okay?"
And with that, he eventually dismissed Isaac with a polite wave of the hand, burying his head beneath his hands again. Jean was going to follow his own advice and enjoy the rest of the moment, but he needed a moment to calm down. It was likely that someone would've at least picked up on his shouting, or at least his strange conversation with Isaac, but for those who had no clue it was up to the Lance Corporal to let them know from here onward. It would be logical and most likely appropriate for Isaac to relay the information of Jean's attempted suicide in the frantic disarray he was in, but at the end of the day, Jean could not will the intentions of a free man, not in his Squad. Here, Jean wanted to at least let those around him have a sense of freedom today. And tomorrow. And the day after, and forever more. Jean just...just needed a few moments to calm down, before he could plaster a smile back onto his face and to finally talk to those around him once more.
Another half an hour finally passed before Jean felt like he could face the music again. Slowly, he stood up from his table, having slowed and calmed his breathing down to a better extent, and walked towards the gathering group of his own squad. Several soldiers there were laughing and chanting together, or telling stories of their origins and further expeditions through life. Others were reminiscing of better times and simply indulging the brilliance of the White Hart's peaceful policies, not having to worry about another man aiming directly at their head. For a minute, Jean was clearly hesitant about choosing where to sit, but eventually he found a place and sat down near Diana, who was separate from the group, for the most part. Perhaps she was still embarrassed by her own incident of gambling, which Jean had missed (though whether or not it was for the good of him was another topic to debate). She'd smiled at him as he made his way over, which honestly gave Jean a strange warmth to his heart again. He hadn't had the chance to properly speak to her since Hill 58, and had shared a few small conversations with her on the way to Amone, but now was a chance for them to actually get back into one another's lives. Truth be told, Jean did still find an amazing attraction to Diana in her physical appearance. She still had that quirky aura to her, one that had stuck around since she had proclaimed an apparent love for Jean upon the first minute she laid eyes upon him. Something about that reality made Jean feel a little...happy? Was that the word? Jean did like Reyna a lot, and had made some form of informal and subtle confession towards her, but Jean still found a great deal of interest towards two individuals in particular: Kalisa and Diana, too. Even though in recent days and weeks he'd been far more attentive towards Reyna, it still was a lie to claim he couldn't see a future life with someone of the likes of the other two, who each shared their own sense of personality and qualities that enlightened Jean's soul furthermore. Freya had jokingly told him to get into a relationship with two at the same time, like Diana and Reyna, but Jean wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that. For a moment, he found himself gazing at Diana with a strange fixation upon her face and quirky smile. Her own eyes were seemingly more attentive towards her own physique, potentially seeing a strange anxiety about how she actually looked: though to those like Jean, those anxieties were not exactly something to be embarrassed about.
And then, she struck first. Diana questioned why he was staring and blatantly called out that she wanted to converse with him, finding comfort and a sense of sweetness to what he had to say. The game was on. Jean, finally found a sense of confidence within his heart, and began to grow a small smile across his face, thinking mischievously of how he could playfully interact with her. After all, Jean felt bad about giving her the impression that Jean wasn't interested in her after the abrupt confession she made in Garnia, and so it would only be fair to show some true sparks towards her own passion. It was embarrassing to think about, but Jean leaned closer towards Diana and smirked at her, roughly under half a metre away from where they were sat. Before then, he quickly shifted his seats and sat down beside her so that he didn't have to shout across the table, before chuckling to himself and playfully inciting a rather flirtatious comment.
"I thought you liked it a lot when I stared, Diana." He couldn't help but blush himself at his silly little comment, finding a sense of embarrassment and anxiety to its flirty manner, but he went along with it either way. Besides, time had shown Jean that Diana wasn't a bad person nor was she as crazy as he first thought. It was like Reyna: how could anyone turn down a lovely individual like her? "Well...if it's lovely to talk to me, ask away, I'm all ears for you, right?"
The Siege of Amone, September 10th - Half of a Confession
Jean couldn't help but let out a small giggle to himself, a rather innocent one in fact, when she remarked about how glad she was that the tea was soothing some of his pinned up emotions. At the very least, it was nice to see someone actually understand what Jean was going through. Before this, Jean was never with someone else, neither mentally, emotionally or physically. Everyone was his opposite and yet he was still considered the strange case. No one would look at him, at least in Jean's eyes, without a clue of what he was thinking but would just nod and get along with it. Reyna was...different, though. She was far more different. There was something about her elegance, one that showed only when they seemed to talk alone, that enthralled him and piqued his intrigue in her further. The way she formulated her words and sentences really gave the impression of what a high-status upbringing she must have had in the previous years of her life. Well, at least until she volunteered to join the Atlantic Federation's Vinlander volunteer corps. As much as he felt like it wasn't a good idea for her, there was at least some comfort in knowing that he had met her through that exchange of luxury to realistic war-torn homelands of the Europan Frontier. Jean took a few more sips of his tea before finishing the mug, placing it aside and making a rather well-versed expression to express his enjoyment of the beverage. She truly did make a great tea, and she knew it well too. He wouldn't of had to remind her more than she most likely already had been. Once more, Jean let out an innocent smile and returned the compliment to her expression of the tea's medicinal factors.
"I'd say there's more factors than just the tea that's soothing my pain, to be honest." Soon enough, Jean soon found himself flustered with a red tint splitting into his cheeks as Reyna finally commented on his passing analysis of the fun going on nearby. She put it in such a straightforward tone and said it how it was, making Jean feel slightly embarrassed as he began to nervously laugh. His clean hands rubbed the back of his head during this anxious chuckle as he looked towards her elegant and polite mannerism, which had blurted out 'the act of sex' ever so casually without any hint of regret. "O-oh...I guess you like to say it how it is, Reyna? But...at the very end of the day, there's kind of a small...well...it's embarrassing to admit but there's a small beauty to it. Soldiers coming together in the relief of stress, knowing some days might be their last. Has a nice ring of innocence to it. Well...except Ines' one. That seemed to be more...uhh...well how do I put it? It seemed to be a bit more primal."
He burst into laughter himself, suddenly not being able to contain the innate embarrassment of the conversation. It was in all intention to embarrass Reyna slightly for her forwardness, but the reality stood that Jean did see some minor beauty in the connections members of his Squad were making. The unfortunate truth, however, was that everyone had seemingly found someone to share moments so tender and special with, and yet Jean was copped up in his room, having tried to end everything as he knew it, alone and afraid of the future to come. Even with Reyna's amazing attempt at calming his nerves, Jean could still not imagine that words were ever going to be enough to change his seemingly sealed fate of homelessness, hunger and neglect that was to come. After his laughter had died down, he spent a short moment losing himself in Reyna's eyes once more, suddenly wiping away that previous worry of his loneliness once more. He felt completely outmatched against her brilliance, innocence, beauty and tranquillity, imagining himself as nothing more than a peasant to her queen-ship. Either way, the short silence that encompassed him allowed for him to fully appreciate the details of her untainted irises, losing his mind within their hypnotic and alluring attraction. It was only for a few seconds that he'd found himself trapped within their gaze, but Jean was sure it was an eternity. Everything stood still when he did so, but the pessimistic realisation that she may not find his company anything of a similar level of attraction drew his eyes into a frantic shudder, looking around the room eagerly until his mind was completely scraped out from the gutter.
She posed herself in such a way that wanted to make fun of him. He could see it in her posture and the way that she spoke. How important, she asked, was a wealthy woman to that person of significance? Jean was lost for a moment, feeling his heart stand still as he searched his mind endlessly for a solution. Was she teasing him or was it something she was using as a way to further blackmail him in the future? Was there any positivity to her alluring interrogation, one where her provocative words left a sinking sensation of anxiety within his heart? Jean took a large gulp and deep breath to calm his nerves, before he finally faced some sort of courage that he'd never came across before. His hands were trembling as he tried to formulate the sentence, but he didn't keep anything as direct. Instead, something that was missing from their conversation returned. Jean began to use the same tone and flirting mechanism he'd shown Reyna previously many times before, finally finding the question as a way to joke around, but also hint towards something far more real than any of them could imagine.
"How important, huh?" He began, before sighing fully and letting out a genuinely relaxed smile of gratitude and appreciation for the damsel of Vinland. Jean wasn't sure what to admit, or how far he should admit it, but he decided it was only fair to tell some truth instead of play by the tease. "So much so that the adjective of wealthy does not concern him, enough so that many other factors do. One that gives him a realisation that diamonds need pressure to formulate, and the end product of those priceless compressions in his life is standing before him currently. Like...like how a flower needs sunlight, but...but I don't know why it does, it just does. It gives life and allows it to breathe, to continue growing into something more recognisable and better. To age and to really place itself as an influential part of the life. Wealth wasn't the concern, but the...the..." He hesitated for a moment, shuddering in his speech as he realised how far he'd gone with the teasing. He wasn't going to say it straight and flat out, nor was he going to say all of his feelings about her, but he at least wanted to make sure something was said at the end of the day. "The concern is about her well-being, her happiness, her safety, her independence, her elegance and continuation of life. I guess that's how important the wealthy woman is to that specific person."
Once he had realised it, it was too late. He looked away, his cheeks flustering all bright and fruitful colours. His heart pounded with an endless thump precisely after the previous without any noticeable intervals. The mind he held within his skull pounded, punishing himself for trying to say something genuinely true about his feelings, which was something Jean didn't do often. Was it shame? Was she going to feel annoyance or shame in his strange answer to her question? It wasn't a full confession though, was it? It was only a metaphorical anecdote towards unsolicited emotions of a significant woman towards a specific man. Jean was unsure of how to process how fast the situation had gone by his own accord, but he eventually turned back around to face her, his face clearly full of anxiety and the insecurity of his honesty.
"I-I'm sorry, I didn't...I didn't mean to say as much as I...as I did. I'll...I'll go...go check on...I'll...I'll go check on Thomas a few rooms down...if...I...We can talk later, right? I still want to have the opportunity to just talk without being intruded by other soldiers, if...if you wouldn't mind? Ugh, sorry. I'll just head out." With some hesitation, Jean patted her gently on the head by the slightest and softest touch he had to offer, before he quickly ejected himself from the room, unsure of how she would react or process the newfound information he'd unwillingly spilt towards her teasing. Oh god, she was going to hate him, wasn't she? Jean couldn't live with potentially having lost someone he cared about so endearingly. It was true, Jean was set on finding a life and a future with someone special, but whether or not he'd just killed his own chances at experiencing that future was something else. And so, he turned the corner, retreated down the corridor quickly, past the exasperated noises of love-making from Isaac's and Franz's rooms, and then approached to check on Thomas' condition, using it mainly as an excuse to escape the sheer embarrassment he felt from opening up about Reyna, to Reyna.
The night had settled in well. Parts of the Inn were now only occupied by Squad 1, as those there before had gone back to rejoin the fighting elsewhere in the city. There was a strange quietness around the entire building once the darkness outside had engulfed the once bright rooms of the White Hart. However, there was still potential activity downstairs. Freya was indeed singing to herself with some old Oceanic folk songs she knew off of the top of her head, whilst Lucia was barely awake, her head and upper torso sprawled across the bar table. Drinks were still being served, but Lucia couldn't muster any more than the single drop that caused her to go tipsy. Michael was likely to not be too far away, having apparently whispered something to her that she didn't even hear. Jean couldn't help but smile at their connection, seeing the beauty of their blooming relationship in the midst of a revelation. On the tables was an aftermath of a drinking match that had happened earlier that afternoon, where the barmaids were still tending to the bombsite of empty bottles, tipped over bar-stools and pools of spilt alcohol. Jean partially shook his head, having spoken to the owner of the Inn about a potential prohibition for tomorrow, especially considering how wild everyone seemed to be with their alcoholic tolerance and control. Jean didn't tell anyone yet, as they all still seemed to be drinking the night away with extreme prejudice towards their own self-control. He shook his head again and then sat himself down around a large table, with plenty of spaces for the others to join if they so wished.
He was still in a confused state. He requested to at least talk to or see Reyna alone sometime either tonight or the following date, just to at least give him some appreciation and ability to talk under normal conditions. Unlike the tea incident upstairs, Jean had never fully had the opportunity to learn anything about her specific past, which he wanted to in order to preserve the beauties behind it. Or was it Reyna trying to preserve Jean? Either way, she was still wearing the amulet he gave her, the pendant of his sister's name, and that in itself was enough to give Jean a sense of ease. Now was a time of celebration, yet he didn't feel like celebrating. Jean knew that either tonight or tomorrow, he would have to tell Isaac about his...his attempt at ending his own life. He had to tell someone. He just had to. Isaac was his second in command, so it was only natural that he'd approach him, despite the differences they had. Jean wanted to make sure he built a connection with his NCO to maximise their efficiency, but even trials of fire had proven that their commanding ethos were both different from one another, and that they weren't one in the same mindset in terms of combat abilities and strategy. Either way, he had to tell someone, before he would try it again. And after saying what he said and seeing Reyna in all her glory and elegance, he didn't want to pull the trigger ever again.
The Siege of Amone, September 10th - The Thought and the Beauty
Everything was dark. Nothing was light nor was it filled with any colour. Saturated emotions infected his system as his eyes were left staring at the ceiling, empty and devoid of all life. Without any sensation, his irises seemed to drain themselves of their acute glimmer and seemed to fall into a state of grey decay. Monotone, covered in senseless ounces of shame and undying indignity, Jean was alone in his thoughts once more. The voices kept ringing out, begging for him to try and return to a state of composure. Nothing of meaning had taken its place within his heart for that moment. The bed beneath his back didn't feel soft anymore and instead was like the splintering fragments of glass and wood chippings back during that fateful incursion between himself and the married Imperial couple. These last few days in Amone had been a nightmare, one that showered him with endless regrets to haunt him forever more. Life was no longer going to be the same, was it? He'd descended down the depths of the Europan's war of corruption and violence. Nowhere was that glorious promise that all the recruitment offices gave when he first put his name forward for Olivia's sake. With everything he once held close to his heart now gone forever, the world was a different place. Reality had hit the previously isolated child harder than ever before. Pain was common. Suffering was the normality of the world. Courage was a fleeting excuse for hiding fear. Manifestations of anger were hiding around every corner and preparing to gnaw at Jean's neck, tearing him until he was nothing left but tissue and bone, not that he was far from it already. His breath was now far more long-winded and drawn out, having really taken in the reality of the situation. Only an hour or two ago, Jean had held a gun to his throat, to his chin perhaps, bolted back the chamber and pulled the trigger with the intent on blowing his brains all across the walls of this bedroom. They were due to scatter, dripping from the walls until some unfortunate soul were to enter and find the aftermath of his situation. There would be no need to rescue him, for he was already due to be gone. But fate had other ideas, not allowing him to load a round in preparation for his own demise. And now, he laid silent and crippled against the sheets of his bedding, still somehow intact without trying again to claim his own life.
All around him, he heard muffled laughter and seemingly strange muffles of pleasure coming from down the hallways, upstairs or in the bar below. Everyone was blissfully unaware. Jean seemed to find some comfort in knowing that there was no one who would ever care or know that he'd forced the barrel of his weapon to its breaking point. In reality, there was a great deal of sadness, knowing that everyone had already established a close ally and friend to depend on. As the moans indicated, Ines had clearly found a place within Franz's company whilst Britta and Isaac were carefully embracing one another in a seemingly more passionate fashion further down the corridor through the course of Jean's silent breakdown. Michael and Lucia had been well known to find comfort in one another, and it was perhaps only a matter of time before their potential love for another would eventually shed light on the dimness of the battlefield. Freya was already flirting around with many others, Diana and Ines included, as she tended to her best friend Thomas in his own trying times. Reyna had been somewhat solitary and Kalisa sometimes kept to her own, but he...still cared about them. From what he knew, the night before with Reyna, his head resting against her pillowed thigh. Oh, what a beautiful moment that was for him. She even pledged that he didn't have to face his burdens alone, but who would truly accept and understand the attempt at suicide that Jean had forced upon himself recently. Who would sit down beside him and actually comfort his uneasy mind, making sure he wouldn't pull the trigger again, this time with a loaded round. Jean, himself, couldn't imagine trying it again, but neither did he expect to have nearly attempted it the first time. Burdens were something that were always locked up, no matter the reciprocate. Everyone had their own fair share of demons to hide, and Jean's were seemingly more well hidden than everyone else's. Well, everyone knew he had his unhealthy wave of sorrow, but no one knew what specifically it was and how badly it was getting to him, or so Jean imagined.
There was never a worse feeling than being alone in a time of need. Wishing you had a shoulder to lean against, a hand to hold or a heart to share, Jean was in that moment himself. Never had he felt low down. Whatever cruel devils had intoxicated his food, his water and his air were sure to get a promotion from the barons of hell themselves, having done a fine job in ruining the will of a single man's ability to maintain happiness.
However, something new came through. A knock at the door suddenly came, to which Jean slowly tilted his head towards the door, having heard it slowly begin to open. There wasn't much evidence to find, minus the odd positioning of his rifle slumped down in an untidy fashion against the hard wooden floor, so in reality he was not rather concerned about what they'd think. Everyone already looked down at Jean, and no one ever showed him the appreciation that a stable NCO required in order to understand if they were good at their job. He waited for the door to slowly open further and further, taking its longest amount of time for whoever was to stand on the other side. The best guest was some unnamed barmaid or cleaner just ready to take a plate or two out from his room, ignoring the actual presence of the Corporal by all means. Or was it someone who wanted to just say hi, then leave before engaging in more loving acts with a partner of their choice, one that Jean felt rather out of place being surrounded by. For someone who wanted it so dearly, he was definitely crippled by the unending love that came from all around his squad, throughout the past few days, whilst they all began to grow closer as individuals. But as his thought was about to turn blank once more, the door opened to a rather familiar light, one that began to brighten up the room completely. Clearly without him opening it, the door was easy enough to open up just from her knock, which made Jean question its integrity, but he didn't seem to care once Reyna's eyes became far more visible from his downed position. Jean slowly sat up on his bed, almost immediately after noticing her with the pitcher and tray in hand. There was a silence, one of hesitation and simply being taken back by the sight of her. He couldn't of imagined what sort of mess he might've looked like, his hair being left all over the place and still rather moist from the inability to dry it after his hallucination, but he didn't care. For a moment, he sat waiting, before standing up and hesitantly walking towards her with a small tremble in his wrist.
His shirt was barely buttoned up to say the least, only reaching just above his chest, the neck-height ones being left to gvie him some breathing room within his compiled clothing. Eventually, the cleaner uniform, now devoid of the blood that no longer stained it, gave him a somewhat fresher appearance. With him now drawing closer, he suddenly let out a somewhat hesitant stare into her eyes, locking onto her pupils with a strange magnetic attraction that wouldn't let go. He nodded slowly and eventually gave her some room to move inside,a t least to put the tray down and to pour whatever she had on offer.
It smelled sweet, whatever she had gifted him in that moment. Not one of them had uttered a word just yet, but Jean could feel himself begging to speak. It was a nervous state of disarray and miscommunication. Did Jean make her uncomfortable or was this a case of simple politeness? It was a painful experience for Jean. Unknown as to why, he wanted to hear her sweet and soothing voice once more. The previous night had given him delight, happiness and a sense of calmness for once. She was there, by Jean's side, and encouraging him to continue the fight in the name of the Squad. And with that, she was right. There was no one else to fight for but the comrades around him, the ones who foolishly followed him into the breach of every unknown danger surrounding their location. There was no one else to turn to, except for the sense of fighting. But, something didn't feel quite right with how she said it. Jean didn't know what came after the war, if the war were to ever end. If he survived the entire bloody siege and exchange of bullets over the course of how many days, months and years, who would he have left to live for? There was a difference between leaning on those you care about in the field of combat and the aftermath of rebuilding that comes next. Jean was for certain doomed to roam the streets, alone and cold, without a home or without a friend he could simply embrace within his arms, tightly and closely. As much as he wanted someone for that, his hopes for achieving such a powerful ally were thin, especially for something that came after the war. Everyone wanted to go back to their lives, becoming singers, writers, politicians, shop-keepers, street thugs, businessmen, lawyers and more, or perhaps going back to finally live the lives they missed with friends and family. Jean was...Jean wasn't going to get that luxury.
The tea began to trickle softly into the mug she'd brought with her. A small smile began to flicker on Jean's broken face as the smells began to sweetly tender his nerves, having an almost medicinal touch to it. Part of it seemed fitting for the beautiful girl stood within his room, as both of them held similar attributes. They weren't products of feeling better or nourishment, but they were instead companions or things that could be seen as perfect. Rich in taste, or personality, they didn't share a lot with the horrors that consistently thrived in the outer world. It was as if they'd held their own bubble. And to be honest, Jean wanted to be a permanent part of that bubble. Once she was done pouring, he raised the mug to his mouth, embracing the sensual smells of the tea leaves previously used to create it. Suddenly, he felt himself going into an uncontrollable grin, one that reminded him of a home that he once lived within. The smells and the first taste given when he took a sip was enough to bring a tear to his eye, one that was strangely noticeable. He didn't comment on the sudden flourishing of emotions, but his bright smile spoke plenty of words. This warmth was a great refreshment since the previous act of self-hatred, but it had a special sort of love catered into its mixing. Jean liked that. He liked it a lot.
And in that beautiful bliss of the tea's succulent and enriched warmth, he placed the cup down for a second and suddenly began to speak up, finally breaking the silence as he gave her his complete happiness. Jean thought she perhaps deserved to see him at his best, without the seemingly annoying temperament of his spiralling depression and trauma.
"R-Reyna? Did...did you make this? It's fantastic. It's...it's just perfectly sweet and exhilarating at every single gulp. I've...I've never taken a drink that reminded me so warmly of...of home. Of a home I still wish to go back to. It's...it's really nice and amazing." He instinctively took the tray out of her hands and placed it down on the same chest of drawers that his mug was laid on. At first, his motives seemed to be rather unknown and mysterious, but he soon revealed what he at least intended to show as a notion of his gratitude. Slowly, and rather elegantly, he drew himself close to Reyna and wrapped his arms around her smaller height, giving her a rather gentle hug. It was an embrace that suddenly Jean felt enthralled by, one that gave him a sense of accomplishment and comfort. He held it for quite a few seconds, letting his grip not engulf Reyna but rather embrace her sweetened manner. A strange surge shot through his heart as he did so, before he whispered gently to himself, though enough for her to hear. "Thank you for a lot of the things you've done, Reyna. I...I was worried that after the war fighting for the Squad is no longer applicable. I can't live for the squad and...instead I want to live and fight for-"
Quickly, Jean drew himself slightly away from her, just to not engulf her with the hug as he realised how much she could've hated his straight-forward influence on her simply delivering tea. He let out an embarrassed sigh and sat back down on the bed, reaching for his mug again before quickly apologising.
"U-Uhh...nevermind. I'm...sorry I kinda leapt in there, I was just...I've...had an emotional day, I guess. This tea does really help though, thank you." His face was bright red, redder and thicker than the blood he'd been spilling in Amone throughout the past few days. There was a clear sense of embarrassment over his action, one that seemed to make him more nervous than he previously was. Still, his eyes darted away from hers and he seemed to be grinning slightly to himself, before he finally changed the subject to try and make light of the situation. "Let me guess, you've...uhm...heard the activity down the corridor? I guessed because of the spare cups and all. It's been a bit of a nightmare having to...well...be an audible audience, I guess is one way to put it."
He tried hard not to chuckle too loud, hoping to at least give Reyna some form of giggle to divert her attention away from his awkward blushing, but even then, he continued to make a few more jokes about the situation, it being recent and Reyna clearly having experience of hearing it, per se.
"Let's just hope we don't get a new recruit in nine months. Don't think we have space after the new girl joined..." He finished his tea finally, placing the mug by his bedside before he looked back up at Reyna with an endearing glisten in his own gaze. Slowly, the brightest and warmest smile he'd ever produced slowly came out, making sure to give all its wholesome effects that came with it. And with a confident and really delicate tone, he finally uttered out another quick quip for her actions. "Thank you, Reyna...You're a blessing to the Squad, and...well...to someone in particular."
The Siege of Amone, - Healing from new wounds, looking over old ones "There's a place I know, Down the River Éntro, Where the fair missus waits for me. With her hair in amber clad, Her eyes show her glad As I am ready to come home from war."
With his had fixated on the photo tightly clutched between his fingers, he smiled to himself as his Oceanic accent slowly splintered out beneath a coarse and roughened voice. The harmonics weren't necessarily as Ines' had earlier, but the more traditional and folk-style of his solitary performance to himself made him rather happy. It helped pass the indefinite time. Unlike Freya, Thomas was a bit more patient and was used to being left in unsanitary conditions. With a bed beneath his back, it was rather nice knowing that he could just relax. The previous time he'd been shot was back at the Southern Frontier, where he spent nearly two days in a dugout, waiting for the more experienced medical practitioners to figure something out about his health. It wasn't nearly as serious back then, and was more of a blunt shot just above the hip, but the pain was more-or-less the same as it was now. He remembered the nights were he thought he was going to die, knowing that perhaps one of the many Imperial nightly trench raiding parties would come across his dugout on their way across No-Man's land and would silence him once and for all. It wasn't like that though. Eventually, he made the decision to physically crawl back to the trench line by his own accord, favouring the prone position to minimise his silhouette. A charge that had gone wrong became a wonderful story of breaking the tradition of being left out to bleed and die. Freya was so happy that day, having thought she lost her wise tutor as the two Oceanics had with many of their other friends. The numbers of the original group who'd signed up with them were mostly gonners, sitting either in a makeshift grave behind the frontline trenches, lost and never found after an assault or yet to be located amidst the seas travelling to Europa.
God, what a journey this had all been. Thomas was more than happy that he lived a life full of what many considered horror, but what he found as an educational adventure. Sure, there were many treacherous things that even made him question his own confidence, but the brunt of it all was that Thomas had grown as an individual. Where his family couldn't cope nor sustain a full appreciation for the hard work he'd put in, the frontlines was seemingly where he belonged. Natural charisma, natural leadership. All of these characteristics that had been passed on through generations of the Carter family name were finally applicable where they were meant to be. Thomas was the first and definitely not the last in this batch of soldiers, ready to do what they thought was right. For Thomas, he didn't know the Empire as the brutal enemy that the Federation seemed to perceive them as. He respected them quite a bit for their tactics and superiority in technological advancements, but having them as an enemy was something he simply had to expect. No questions could be asked from him anymore because no one would listen. So, he got on with his job. And he was bloody good at his job. All the payments went home to his family, those who were not yet wanting to join him in the fight. Thomas was truly here on the frontlines so they didn't have to. It was part of his code of brotherhood and familial respect.
A knock came at the door, stopping him from singing. Still slumped in his bed, barely dressed except from some scruffy nightwear below the torso, he grumbled a few words before announcing their permission to enter. Slowly the door came to, and to his relief it was only Freya stood in the doorway, dressed down far more casually than she usually did, which was saying a lot in all fairness. The two stared at one another for a brief moment before Freya sluggishly came inside, closing the door behind her with a slightly off-note chuckle. Her voice seemed to be less like her chirpy persona indicated and more like the day it all happened, back in 1913EC. Eventually she walked to the side of his bed and slumped onto it, avoiding Thomas' legs in case he'd miraculously been shot there a second time.
"How's it going, Frey'? You don't seem like you are up to your usual self." At first, she didn't answer, and so Thomas gave a heavy sigh, attempting to sit himself up. Without a shirt on, his rather weathered body was seem peppered with recent patches of field dressing and first aid assistance kindly given by the trained inn staff, all who were rather well versed in the art of treating all sorts of wartime wounds. It was quite clear that by his build, Thomas had done a fine job in keeping his physique up to the same level, if not better, than he'd boast of when they first met in the training camps back home. He waited until Freya finally turned her gaze towards his before he cracked a smile, one that instinctively made Freya smile out of her own pure inability to remain unhappy. The two randomly chuckled to one another after the strange silence before he asked a different question, nodding sympathetically. "Come on Frey'...I know you're still thinking about...well...her."
This time, Freya couldn't maintain her silence any longer, and instead let out another grand sigh. Letting her hair spread out across the sheets of the duvet was rather relaxing and made her feel somewhat free, but there was truly never any freedom for the two subjects to someone else's war. They couldn't complain though, they did volunteer, though under many false promises. With her top button finally unbuckled, allowing her inner skin to breathe more fluently, she eventually began to nod and speak, having a melancholic smile to her face as she did so.
"Thomas, if you could stop reading my mind for one minute, that'd be nice, cunt." Another short pause briefly filled in with a few patches of laughter ensued, however this time Freya didn't let it hold and instead continued to answer the question he had put forward gently. "Yeah, I'm still thinking of Naomi. There were a few girls downstairs who reminded me of her in every way. That...beautifully carefree nature, filled with unending smiles, the banter-filled flirting and occasional desire to just put everything that was serious to one side. Some even look like her, but I imagine that's my mind playing on me, Thom. I still miss her, every day and every night. Naomi, I'd say in my sleep. Pretty sure Jean heard me spill the name out once or twice in a rather lucid dream of us reuniting."
"You two reuniting in a dream? Knowing you that's probably filled with a rather lewd endeavour, am I wrong, lass?" Again the two chuckled, Freya even trying her hardest not to blush at the fact she'd been proven guilty by their empirical experiences of one another. Freya was the kind to sort of think in those certain lustrous ways, especially after all that she and Naomi had been through together. It was most likely what drove her flings, single or double chances at exciting or giving other soldiers around her a chance to relief the stress they had built inside with her expert intimacy. Thomas had questioned it in the past, but she simply shrugged and told him even female soldiers need relief from duty, casually winking at him when saying it. "I...I think it's good y'still think about her, Frey'. She was the best thing to ever happen to us, even as a friend to me, and we can't change the fact she's now gone. I know part of you still blames yourself for putting her on that boat, but just remember that promise we made together."
"What, the plaque?" Thomas sat up, getting close enough to flick her hair with his injured arm just to piss her off. It worked enough for her to swipe it away, but she still couldn't help but smile before getting back to the topic at hand. "Y'know, as much as I appreciate it, everyone back home calls you the Pride of Oceania, not Naomi."
"Pride of Oceania, my arse. I'm just a guy who runs, get shot a few times, brings important messages and orchestrates a few good tactics that kinda saves a few or more lives. Nothing too special, ey?" Again, both of them laughed together, knowing full well that Thomas was indeed the more prospective soldier of the entire Oceanic Expeditionary Forces. For a moment, they fell silent a final time, looking into one another's eyes with a sort of paternal and sibling-esc gaze. Well, Freya's could've been seen as something more, but nothing ever came of the two's extremely close compassionate camaraderie for one another. After all, Freya did still love Naomi. Who could argue with that? "Now, do me a favour, you cheeky cunt, and get me the local nurse will y'ah? I think my bandages need replacing again, and my leg feels fucking shit. Won't be able to do much running for another week or two, or a month, but I'll get by in combat."
Stood on the verge of the encampment, with his arms folded tightly behind his back, he stared vigorously at the plumes of smoke towering from within the city. Still, even after two years of siege, there was still more for the fateful city to be destroyed. Seeing its barbaric treatment from both the Imperials and some Federation artillery teams alike made him frustrated, angered and disappointed with the unholy treatment of the sacred towering walls. Amongst the peaks of fire and occasional flares spotted from within the city's depths was the indestructible bell tower of the Cathedral of Light, the standalone foundation of the Cruxist faith. Not being a man of religion himself, he still found beauty in its huge stone structure, admiring all of its significance that it had to Assen. This battle was deeply important to him, as it must've been for Lucia without her fully realising it yet. Breaking the deadlock and stalemate that had plagued this city for years on end would finally open a straight pathway into his homeland. He promised everyone in the days of the golden past that he would return home, with an army behind him, to liberate the homes he had once lost. Those were some of the few promises he meant, truly. There was no initial malice to its meaning, but Alexander wanted the best for Assen. This war had brutalised his people, his homeland and the Federation weren't fast enough to act. Why else had he become the strategic genius he was regarded by today by his superiors? To him, every death counted and every use of manpower was vital to his sacred movement back into the lands he missed greatly. It wasn't that he admired the people behind him, only those who shared the same incentive as him. Plenty of members of the 15th Atlantic Rifles showed too much nerve and not enough prowess for his liking. Their personalities meant human emotion. Human emotion meant hesitation. Hesitation meant death without the effort to break their enemy.
A thunderous sound of artillery fire seemed to be coming from the left flank of the city walls, just on its outskirts. For once, they weren't being launched directly into the urban area, as it was incredibly easy to catch their own comrades in the bombardment as much as it was the enemy. Damaging the infrastructure to brutalise an enemy was one thing, but Amone held a key significance for the rail systems of the Europan front. Breaking its roadworks and buildings too much could break the supply chain for both factions. Unlike the ransacked fields of no-man's land spread all across the frontier, this was something that both sides needed to keep in at least some form of functional status. The bombardment wasn't of a heavy classification, mostly medium style Howitzers tearing Federation dugouts, scouting bases and patrols to pieces. Brutal as it was, there was at least a sense of admiration towards their ability to remain on the defensive so effectively after a long campaign of aggression.
The chill in the air caused him to adjust his trench-coat and tighten it up. Blast the cold weather, it had been a bane for the logistical team for months now, and here it seemed to be at its worst. Whilst observing the siege unfolding before him, much like he did every day since his Platoon had ventured in without him, the sound of nearing boots came from his rearward direction. As he heard them reach critical distance, they stopped, and the shadow of a man saluting allowed him to finally detract his attention away from the ruins of Amone. Awaiting his attention was none other than Staff Sergeant Baker, a resident NCO who'd stuck in the regiment ever since Alexander himself had taken command as a Lieutenant. For a second, the Captain gave a long stare at him, looking at his dreadful state. Even with his seniority and rank, there weren't any decent sanitary facilities nearby for him to clean, and so he looked like he'd been in the deep end of one of Amone's muddy puddles for months. Truth be told, Baker had been there since the war started. At the very least, Middleton seemed to respect his ability to continue on, despite how much he'd been through at the Maren River's crossing, the establishment of Garnia's bombardment, the Imperial Cavalry charge at Beumont and the close-quarter's engagements in the Francian chateaus, to name a few.
"At ease, Staff Sergeant." Slowly, Baker lowered his hand from the salute, showing many signs of muscular pain up and down his body. He'd been up all night again, potentially, going through filing off the letters mostly written back home to the parents of the deceased. It was a tough job, but with three years of the Europan war taking its toll on him, Baker was quite good at being honest about the true fates of those who'd fallen. Censorship required for him to spare a few details, but at the very least he never wrongly stated that they died a heroic death if they didn't. Not many did these days. "You look and smell like horse-shit. You better get yourself cleaned up soon."
"Very good, Sir." Baker answered with the regular formality the Captain expected from his subordinates. However, despite the leverage he gave Baker, it was still a necessity for him to set the example of the hierarchy towards the lower soldiers of his company, regiment and platoons altogether.
There was a brief silence, with Middleton raising his eyebrow before giving a strangely out of character chuckle. Baker was slightly taken back by the rising mood of the Captain, which was never a common thing for anyone. He only seemed to have acted that way during his first year or two of service, before...well...before he turned into the man he was today. Baker at least knew there was some reasoning behind his unjustified actions, and as his Staff Sergeant he wasn't one to idly sit by and watch as the situation devolved into further chaos. Baker was, indeed, slightly older than his Captain counterpart. It didn't mean anything by rank, but many soldiers, even ones who'd never spoken to him before, saw Baker as a figure of communal hope, finding wisdom in his words that cared for even the common man and woman. So much so that he'd gained a nickname that even the Captain himself referred Baker by.
"You know, whatever you came to tell me, Uncle, you won't get very far without actually opening your mouth." The two shared a meagre chuckle to themselves, breaking the silence once more. Baker did it more out of courtesy, but he still found a level of sympathy for the Captain's downfall. Being called Uncle though further solidified why he went out of his way to try and fix the Captain, returning him to his older self before the war had taken its aggressive toll on his mind. Eventually, Baker nodded and let his standing stance relax and ease itself once more.
"My apologies, Sir. 'Was just thinking of how to start my query." Alexander gave him a look, as if to telepathically question him on what he meant, or to pressure him into continuing. Through reading that facial expression, Baker nodded and let out a quick puff of air, clearing his lungs once more. "It was within my best interests, as one of your senior NCOs, to take my time to ensure you're well-being. These last two days have had you isolated from the remainder of the staff and brought a bit of curiosity towards your muse, Sir."
Alexander thought for a while. It was true, everything that the Staff Sergeant had inferred. He kept his distance away from the other Officers mainly because he did not resonate well with them. They all had different interests. Most were pursuing the advances in their careers, looking towards themselves over the Federation as a whole, whilst others were too spineless to even orchestrate a plan that had less than 1% fatality risks towards it. It was a well known fact now that Alexander was far different. No one knew the exact reasoning as to why he did the things he did, especially considering his brutal treatment of his own troops, but everything he did was in the interests of the war's completion. His studies and cryptic notes that were sometimes left lying around his tent spoke of a pursuit he'd been following, one that was able to turn the war in his favour. He wrote of home, of Assen, and the fact that he had taken a girl under his wing from the same city he grew up in. Private Farris; the name had been coined around and became something of a strange insignia for someone close to the Captain. Nothing was really known about her. From the outsider's perspective, she was a innocent 16 year old girl, with her mind out of the gutter of reality and floating in her dreamy palace of the romanticised mind. However, it was individuals like Baker that seemed to know the capabilities she was now full of. Through submissive and dominant treatment, toying with her fragile emotions, Alexander had managed to implant a sense of loyalty into her that was undeniably unbreakable from first glance. In training, Baker had seen her pull of aggressive killing moves that seemed unnatural and unsafe for someone of her age. Movement and rapid pace, mixed with the skills of the small service blades often given to her by the Captain made for a lethal predator in the face of her own safety. She was yet to actually kill an Imperial, but everyone knew she'd already shot a retreating, traumatised girl during the Garnian Salient's breakthrough, her first official battle.
Eventually, the Captain finally found the appropriate answer, pointing his finger towards the destroyed city with his gloved hands. Baker looked on longingly and sighed himself, finding a strange nervousness from its corrupt sight. There was never the chance to get used to all the destruction, even from a veteran who'd been there since day 1. But unlike the usual expectations of simply dreading over the backdrop scenery, Middleton seemed to have something more focused on his mind.
"Two days ago, I sent Lucia in there. She's not with me, and this is the first time she's been without me since we first were united. There's also another boy out there who seems to have taken some peaked interest in her well-being, unaware and ignorant at how much interference that might cause for my programme, my experiment." Even with the true darkness of his undertone, Middleton was left with a quick chuckle from Baker, who seemed to capture the Captain's curiosity without any anger being bestowed upon him. Alexander was genuinely curious as to why he had reacted in such an unexpected way.
"S-Sorry Sir, it's just that you reminded me of my wife's father, the first time he found out about me being a suitor for his daughter. Just brought back a few happy memories that I regularly don't get to dawn upon." If it were anyone else, Baker would've been thrown under a bus, drowned in mud or shot on the spot, but this was Baker, and so nothing came about of it. Alexander, strangely enough, managed to find a broken smile of his own and nodded towards his remark, finding an emotion that had been locked away since the day Yuri was killed by the blasted marksman in Amone. To Baker, this unlocked emotion was a success, part of his potential rehabilitation that the Captain didn't even realise was going on. Changing him back to the human he was, in reality, was Baker's goal all along. It was hard, but caring for his soldiers, superiors and fellow NCOs was part of his true brilliance and kindness.
"I remember you talking about your wife once. Showed me that picture of her. I must say, Staff Sergeant, you are a very lucky man, luckier than most. The men look up to you, but not in the fearful way they do to me. That's something I cannot control, however. I'm...dead-set on my goals, driven by...by Private Farris' success that it just..." Alexander suddenly growled to himself, snapping back into his harsh reality as he turned away for a brief second. "Nevermind that, Baker. I'm just a bit anxious about Lucia. They say the Imperials deployed some sort of armoured vehicle, a mechanical beast with automatic guns riddled atop of it."
"Is that so, Sir? I'd say, then it might seem like Project: Land-Creeper might need a bit of speeding up if we want to regain that dominance. But if the Imperials are that far ahead of us already, then I presume they might have something along the same lines in the near future." Baker was one of the few lucky enough to know about the Project, the scientific breakthrough to try and create something that could dominate the battle with movement, armour and complete firepower on his side. If it was true, that these armoured vehicles were being deployed into Amone's ideal territory, then perhaps a new age of mechanical warfare was just around the corner, by a few months or even weeks. The world was demanding more and more capable weapons to keep up with the developing strategies, ideologies and doctrines. The world was a strange place, and Europa was the centre of it all. "Reminds me, Sir, you heard the news?"
"The United States of Vinland, declaring their final justification of war against the Empire and to side with the Atlantic Federation. Inevitable, but we could really not use their Generals. All incompetent and cocky bastards, I'll tell you. Did I ever tell you about Brigadier Roger Wallis, or whatever it was? Absolute arsehole. Doesn't think we know how to fight the war and thinks just charging them without artillery fire will be a good strategy."
"We've always had our differences, Sir...But at least we have the manpower we need to win the war. Imperials have been baking on them not joining the war for three years, and now we're in with the big league. Only a question of time, I'd say sir." He looked to the sky, seeing the doves gently drift above in florescent white shades. Baker smiled, dismissing himself from the Captain with a sharp salute, before muttering to himself. "I might be home in time to see you, my love."
The Siege of Amone, September 10th - The Drop of Shame
Upon arrival at the White Hart, Lucia didn't know what to think. Michael had made himself useful by ending up in a seemingly endless debate, or rather a discussion, over ideologies, mechanical beasts and other strange topics she couldn't properly fathom. It all went over her sweet little head, having on idea what the big words were. It reminded her of her first few days spent with Middleton, back when he seemed to be unexpectedly protective and compassionate about her own safety. He always threw around terms that the isolated angel had never heard before. Conduction of military strategy, and all that sort of random nonsense that never truly resonated well with the Asseni girl. Those were the times of building their empirical trust, which obviously led into the brutal reality that was their connection. She was still blissfully unaware of the extent she'd been brutalised, but her radicalised mind said otherwise, stating that what Middleton had done for her was in the best interests of science, the Federation, the army and the progress of the war. She'd lost her parents to the early days and now she was alone, with no one else to turn to. If Middleton wouldn't have provided her hospice or a sense of purpose, no matter how cruel and abusive it was, where would she be? Laid face first in the bottom of a ditch, most likely. To her, as wrong as it was, she believed that Middleton had saved her. He'd helped her ascend out of the ditches of her very suffering and lifted her into a salvation unlike any other: purpose. A meaning was enticing, nearly as enticing as a burning passion she seemed to have grown since her time within Squad 1. Potentially striking against the very crisis that had subverted all her expectations of a happy future, each slam of Middleton's fist that launched against her face was often perceived as a reminder of how lucky she was. She'd faced death twice, and nearly felt starvation come to her. In her mind, Middleton loved her as a daughter, as a subordinate and as a friend, where the truth was very much the complete opposite. She'd received several beatings when it came to talking to Michael more and more, but the pay-off was far greater, as she suddenly felt more compelled to talk to the enigma of a boy.
Her mind wandered in many directions as she lost some interest in the depths of Michael's conversation, forcing her legs to almost straggle around in strange and sporadic fashion. From table to table, she would watch from afar and study what people were doing. It was strange, all of this. Never before had the girl ever come across a bright and cheerful environment, one that even blew all expectations of recreational activity out of her imagination. People were laughing around, playing strange games with cards unheard of in her mind, and drinking their livers into oblivion. Lucia's mind was fixated on the smells and sounds of liquids washing around gently in their mugs and flasks. All the scents seemed to clash, creating one vile scoundrel of a foul breath tickling her senses. Her face began to crease into multiple forms of disgust, intrigue and appreciation. Some of the alcoholic incenses seemed to trigger many memories inside her fragile mind, mimicking the same sensations she'd felt when in the company of her superior Captain. Part of her smiled, and the other part of her was broken at the thought of those tough, barbaric nights. She'd always seemed to have a mild curiosity, however, and Lucia was very much aware that it was beginning to brood once more.
What...did this alcohol taste like? Were there many forms of it? Was it a really refreshing drink? Many people and soldiers seemed to chug them down in large quantities and made for their ever-lasting evenings to be more enjoyable. It seemed quite mystic, didn't it? A small potion of sorts that could calm the nerves of one and bring out the best, most bubbly and giggly individual that was tucked beneath layers of sadness, boredom, sorrow and many other emotions. Plentiful options of exasperated potential seemed to be tucked within the spiralling flavours of these beverages so widely distributed around the world. Europa was apparently a fine place for these drinks, and many men and women alike enjoyed them as much as anyone else. It caught her attention without much effort. Her body was trailed onto its vapours and suddenly brought from table to table, sniffing away at the many different flavours on offer. Some had a hint of apple, which was cider most likely. Others held strange tastes that were either comparable to a wet fish or some other sort of deprived-of-dryness creature. Hydration was a key part to her life cycle. She imagined that Michael would be upset if she wasn't properly fuelled up with such necessities for the human body, and so she struck herself a big-girl post and began to march towards the bar counter. One boot stamp at a time, she eventually drew close enough to sit on one of the stools, leaning against it in a predominant, yet clearly false, representation of prowess and importance. It took a few seconds for the barmaid to catch her attention, but in a few seconds, and after a rather patronising clearing of her throat, Lucia looked up to the fair lady with an unintentionally hilarious attitude about her.
"Yeah I would li-" With a short stammer, she quickly cleared her throat once more before starting again. The second attempt, however, was built upon this small and pathetic squeak, attempting to make her voice deeper to sound far more important than she really was. Her heart slightly sank when she saw the barmaid trying not to laugh, stifling a quick smirk to herself as Lucia continued down her poor facade. "I was coming through Amone, you know, petty fighting...Was looking for a sort of, sweetened beverage. I heard this place was the finest in town, and I wanted to know if-"
With a quick giggle, the woman patted Lucia's head suddenly, catching her off guard and causing her to blush wildly as she had been caught out immediately from the poor man's attempt at being masculine or prominently powerful as a small Asseni girl could be.
"Aww, want a drink, Hun?" Lucia's face growled the most pathetic growl ever witnessed on the face of Europa. She had tried desperately to preserve her tough-girl attitude and remove all suspicions of her youthful existence, but she'd been caught onto within a few seconds flat. Her small pout brought a big grin to the barmaid's face, who seemed to be getting some enjoyment out of her deductive initiative.
"O-oooh yes pl-" Once again, she stopped her bright chirp of excitement and replaced it with her now staple deepened voice, one that made her sound like she'd only heard of someone who'd been through puberty fully and not yet heard what they sound like. The demanding tone of her voice was enough to finally catch her attention and keep it at least on a mutual understanding, but the grin of the barmaid never dropped away. "I-I mean...Yeah I was waiting for you to offer me one."
A few more minutes of embarrassment came out, and Lucia eventually got her drink. The glass was far larger than she though, pushing the boundaries of a safe level of drinking. For a second, she looked over to where Michael was, and there was still a detailed conversation in place. Lucia jokingly rolled her eyes and watched from the sides, feeling rather proud of the fact she managed to independently get one of these popular beverages. But, what should she do now? She got the thrill out of at least acquiring the drink, but now she was stood around lazily with the watery container locked tightly in her grasp. Michael still seemed to be busy, so perhaps it wasn't going to be a bad way to pass the time? A few sips wouldn't hurt here would they? After all, Jean was seemingly encouraging a more relaxed behaviour amongst the Squad, giving them the benefits of relief and release of stress to ultimately preserve what little morale the squad had left. The lively environment began to persuade her more. She took one last look at Michael, figuring out that they were definitely going to be a long while in their detailed conversation. And so, Lucia snuck away to a corner of her own, and with a strange and hesitant few minutes of staring at the glass, Lucia took her first drink.
Time seemed to fly by effortlessly. Or was it slowly now? She couldn't tell. Her eyes and her ears were all drowsy. Minutes and a few hours began to pass, Imperials seemingly becoming less of a demographic than the Federation soldiers posted here. Most of the Federation troops were probably from Squad 1, and her blurry vision didn't really help her ability to identify them all. It had been two, no three, long and painful hours spent hanging her head in strange nausea. A thump came about her head, and even without anyone talking to her, Lucia could be seen giggling to herself as she had strange thoughts of many different situations planned out in her mind. Many of these situations were rather over the top, but some felt a bit more achievable. Getting a secret letter or stealing Jean's poems again? She could do that. The thought of it brought her into an uncontrollable drunken giggle. Her tolerance ability was so low that the single large glass of alcohol was enough to put her into this strange state of incomprehensible tipsiness. Slowly, she rose to her feet, staggering as she did so, once she saw a familiar companion lose his company. Michael's conversation seemingly had ended for the first time in...forever. Lucia cursed to herself with a strange giggle before walking over, doing her very best not to stumble over. With a sly and mischievous grin on her slurred face, she went to surprise Michael by approaching him from behind his seat. In a strange fashion, she pushed herself against his back, creating a tight friction between the two as her head went beside his. Knowing that at the very least his serious muse was being interrupted by her strangely forward return, she began to drunkenly stroke Michael's face with her very fingertips, smiling with one eye closed and unable to open from pure laziness.
"M-Miiiiickeeeeeeeey!" She smiled with more sly intent as she pressed herself tightly against him once more with a strong hug. For once, a strange strength had seemingly come out of nowhere since she'd had her drink. Before he could answer, she began to circle around his chair until she was in front of him, quickly placing herself down on top of him as if he were the chair itself. Her back was now to him, but she still sat upon his lap and seemingly coughed a few times, showing her true drunken self once more. Only from one drink... "I...acshidentally had a driiiiiink. Proteeeeect me p-pleeeeeeeeease." With a strong giggle, she suddenly let her eyes close and sprawled her arms to her side, her head leaning against Michael's shoulder instinctively as she drifted into a state of half-consciousness, still able to respond and listen, but unable to fully move the rest of her body away. How...strange of her?
The Siege of Amone, September 10th - The Vision and the Empty Cartridge
The water was hot, very hot to say the least. His hairs upon his arms stood on their seams as he lowered himself into the eerily relaxing bathtub, allowing the warmth to engulf him entirely within seconds. It was blissful and almost surreal to say the least. There was never something so refreshing as sitting within the lovely confinement of this reservoir. Every slow second to creep by gave him more time to adjust to its indulgence and succulency, until Jean finally let out a large exhalation of air and calmed his nerves. Finally, he'd managed to find a piece of mind once his body had fully adapted to the sudden change of heat. Upon a request from one of the staff, his clothing was already being washed and was soon to be done, giving him enough time to really uncover the true potential of the watery bedding he now resided within. His eyes closed and his head rested against the back rim of the casket of water, letting his muscles finally find some ease in tension. Everything around him was silent. The sounds of the great parties downstairs had been notably quieter now that the Imperials had left without as much of a trace left, leaving most of the Federation soldiers alone. A few Imperial stragglers were sitll lolling about without much consideration, but for the Atlantic natives it seemed to only be Squad 1 left, at least with a booked place of slumber here in the White Hart. With that silence in mind, his breaths became nothing more than vaporous echoes that reverberated around the room at immense speed. Slicing into that previous anguish that intoxicated his body with lactic acid amongst other things, the relief was a payoff he'd been needing for months now.
But, was it really relief as such? On the table across the bathroom was the crooked door, which seemed to whistle in the winds outside. Perhaps a window in his bedroom had been left open, but the shuddering of the door suddenly put his ease of mind out of the way. His eyes darted to one side and he suddenly felt himself drifting away, his gazing, beady eyes patrolling every known corner of the room around him. Every tile on the wall and floor was explored whilst the sound of nearby footprints gave way for his nerves. Someone had stopped by his room to clearly drop something off, but it was most likely the cleaner returning his uniform. Jean, however, didn't feel like that was true. Something felt off about the atmosphere. Why was he this way? Earlier he was enjoying himself all around, even with the embarrassment of his poem being read out, but he couldn't help but shudder in the silence he was left within.
His head suddenly snapped into a risen position as he seemed to hear a feminine whisper chilling through the air. Jean's face felt pale as he turned around, silently making sure if he had heard such trivial hallucinations properly, and indeed the incoherent whisper happened again. Shock surged down his ankles, and the warmth of the bath felt almost like the coldness of an icecap's peak. Moving his eyes from side to side, rolling them in their strained sockets, his breath grew short. He mustered a short inhales and a few nerved exhalations but still felt like nothing was right. What was this demonic presence suddenly lurking around him, trapping him below the surface of relaxation for all that he was unsure of? Jean's mouth trembled in confusion, his mind growing weary of such strange noises. They didn't sound like the familiar and friendly tones of the staff who worked at the inn, nor did it sound like anyone of any human origin. It felt...other-worldly? Was that a real sort of imagination? Was he losing his mind over nothing? Jean slowly rose himself out of the bath. Without realising it, his body and face was mostly clean, since he'd seemed to have drifted away into a short nap before having heard these strange ethereal chants. Once he was fully out of the bath, Jean quickly dried himself off, his face locked onto the door, where the source of the noise seemed to lead towards. Now dry, he put on the fresh pair of trousers and a shirt, nothing of any major military issue, and slowly began to walk towards the door in his bare feet, quietly hearing the whispers get louder and louder.
He hesitated. His hands locked around the door-knob to the bathroom connecting to his own bedroom, but he couldn't bring himself to turn the handle. What was holding him back? Was it fear? Was it shame? Was it anxiety? All of them sounded plausible, but he felt a strange empowerment take within his fractured body and the handle began to turn, eventually leading out to bedroom. Jean's face, sure enough, went pale, broken and violently turned into a deathly whitened tone once he saw what was upon his bed. Was it...what was going on?
Olivia?! Was...what was this machination? It was an illusion, seeing her, waltzing about the room with a gentle hum going about her. She twirled in some sort of fancy flowery dress, patched with small drops of mud and worrying blood stains. Jean's face grew stone cold, out of the pure shock of the apparition before him. This wasn't real, was it? Jean slowly began to walk forward, as carefully as he'd left the bath a second ago, and tried to place his hand upon her shoulder. The room suddenly was plunged into darkness, the only light seemingly illuminating off of her coarse body. As soon as his fingers scraped by her ghostly appearance, her body became overwhelmed with a strange watery substance, breaking off into patches of mud. Her casual clothing instantly shifted into the brash military uniform she'd worn at the start of the war, and spurts opened up in her body, revealing bullet wound after bullet wound. Her eyes became bloodshot and soaked in the tears of her own suffering, a scream coming out at the highest pitch. No one else could hear her delusional scream, being only a fragment of Jean's mind playing him over, but he clutched his ears as the ringing began to persist. Jean himself began to speak, finally uttering words of sheer confusion and panic.
"O-Olivia?! D-Don't cry, please. Don't leave me! Stay with me, please sister! Sta-" His words were thrown onto deaf ears as the face of Olivia began to crumble, shattering like dried sandstone in the midst of a violent storm. Parts of her flesh seemingly decayed before him, dropping onto the floor as the mind-dependent scene continued to reach its climax. Her scream grew louder, words like join me or save me being repeated, over and over again. The trauma of his suffering was finally toying with his mind and Jean tried to reach out. The darkness in his room grew thicker and thicker, his vision more blurred and more muffled as his hearing drew to a final closure. The squeals became nothing more than pain striking through his head, causing him to tremble and clutch his ears, despite there being no real presence of a noise in the real world. Eventually, he collapsed onto one knee, and closed his eyes, before crying out a final phrase to the apparition. "I...I'm sorry, don't leave me alone, Olivia!"
And just like that...silence. Jean continued to mutter for a second, unsure of whether or not to open his eyes to whatever sights he'd just experienced. His breath was unending in its pacing, speeding up and croaking slightly as his throat became dry and bruised from his cries. Feeble fingers sat upon the now clean skin of his hands were trembling with every given second that passed. His loneliness settled in and began to sweep him from his feet, making him fall completely onto the other knee and crouch down. Eventually, his eyelids began to flicker open slowly. The light of the room had returned. The silence was now back to its regular self. Had he dreamt a terrible nightmare, or had he actually seen these illusions caused by the trauma lodging deeper into his mind. Jean's body was in shock, once more. Not from the dangers of the bullets, but from the realisation finally sinking in. All this time, all the time he'd spent wandering the streets of Amone, the carriages of trains, the trenches and hills of Garnia, and the training fields of the army, he'd never fully pondered the fact that he was alone, alone in the world and in the face of immense devastation. All around him, the world had crumbled by every gun sight. Every artillery barrage was enough to wipe him clean, as a mimic of tabula rasa. Jean looked around the room, seeing it as the normal self it was. His bedsheets were messy and some ornaments must've fallen over in his blind panic. Things that were out of place that hadn't been during the apparition were clear, tumbled onto the floor in barely dense fixations. Jean heard the whisper once more.
"Don't leave me..." He leaned his back against the wall, letting his eyes and hands fumble around aimlessly in his fatigued return to sanity. The traumatised disorder settling in within his mind had suddenly began to whisper its final words, mimicking the soothing tone that was Olivia's past voice. Jean's mind went blank. He instinctively started to move his hard across the room, over to the table just beside the bed. Once he wrapped his hands around the surface and pulled himself to his feet, the whispering continued, begging for him not to leave her. Jean's mind went blank again. He saw the rifle he'd brought with him to Amone, sat on the desk. Quickly, though with much anxiety, he grabbed it in his hands, and began to stare down the barrel. There was nothing but darkness within the muzzle, nothing he could make out. And without thinking, Jean's hands went for the trigger. They closed in on it, getting closer and closer, his breath suddenly growing shorter and shorter until...
CLICK.
No round came out. Jean's face suddenly dropped once more as the rifle fell from his hands. What the fuck did he just try and do? Had he gone insane? Why...what toll had this war had on him for his instinct to turn to...to that? Jean's face reeked of horror and fear, his body stumbling back onto the bed desperately as he sat, contemplating what on earth he'd just tried to do. There were no tears this time, for the first time in a while, as he simply stared, condemning himself in his own head. Was this trauma? Was this the effect of a coward? Was this what everyone would look down on him for? Could anyone find out about this sudden reaction he had no control over? Jean's hands trembled, his voice speaking to himself in a quiet whisper.
"N-No! No no no! No, Jean...D-Don't...don't you...fucking...dare. They...they want me to live. I...I want to live, I want to survive. I want...to find someone and give them what I couldn't have. D-Don't you...fucking...dare." His mind rested at ease as he realised the rounds were far from his grasp, having been taken in by the inn-keepers upon arrival to ensure no gun violence truly broke out. Jean's face melted into another state of pale whiteness, him now sitting in silence. His door was slightly ajar open, and he wasn't sure if anyone had listened, but Jean suddenly looked at the mirror across from his bed, staring at the mess he had become. "Y-You...don't do it. Ever. They...no...I want to be alive for them. I want to...I just...I want to."
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 were 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 'fuck off' 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.
"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?" 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. "I take it back, sometimes I think I'm not the only weird one."
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: Slasher. 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.
"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." 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. "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 Marathon. Currently he's asleep, got stabbed and shot about six times in our last skirmish yesterday."
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.
The Siege of Amone, September 10th - Unwanted Company
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 Green Fox's 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 actually 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 important 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.
"Corporal Jean-Robin Charpentier, is it?" 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. "Been here just over an hour and your Squad seems to be settling in quite nicely. Some better than others, perhaps."
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.
"What's that you've got there, if you don't mind me being so terribly intrusive?" 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. "Don't be embarrassed, Fed. I've met a Sergeant in my own regiment who writes erotic scripts to underground theatricals."
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.
"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." 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 one 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.
"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..?" With a cursive flick of his finger, he finally managed to pinpoint the memory and infamous name he wanted to know. "Ah! Belfried Bassoon, that's him. I'm sure you've heard that name before, Corporal."
"Indeed I have!" 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. "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."
"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." 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. "You look like you're about to burst? Got something to ask, Corporal?"
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.
"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?" 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.
"I don't know. They seem like a wild bunch to me." 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. "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."
And with that, he stood up and left Jean alone, heading to the other side of the dining hall where the associated Veronica 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 glistening, 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.
"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?"
Jean saw a few of his own squadmates begin to emerge from their cover and align themselves with the Imperial's unfathomable request of peace. Even though he'd been excited and led on by the mentioning of proper bedding and the sanitary conditions to wash, clean and relax within the confines of a large inn, Jean was still sceptical about the entire credibility of the remarkable situation at hand. It was enough to profile the Imperial as an enemy from first glance, mainly because they'd spent years fighting one another will little to no rest. This one being an exception amongst a sea of bodies and bullets made the Francian uncomfortable and unknowing of what the potential ploy may be leading the Squad towards. Nevertheless, he turned back to the officer, eyeing him up and down. He didn't have his helmet on, seemingly, and instead was wondering around with a large and fierce cape, draped from over his shoulders, similarly to that of the Oceanic troops. Unlike those expeditionary forces, however, was his grey tone of his own accessory. In one hand he held a small ceremonial drill-cane, one used for measuring foot paces and positioning of marching drills, not for the more obvious walking assistance one might think of. Jean knew these from his own training days, back when the Drill Sergeant would make sure that their muscle memory was close enough to near perfection when it came to standard ceremonial drill. Seemed like quite a waste of time, at least for Jean, as there wasn't really any time or places to engage in such formalities. With a closer gaze, Jean couldn't make out what his medals and awards seemed to be for. They were all of foreign formations, names and reasoning most likely, especially in comparison to the Federation's list of medals. Brass buttons polished to the brim were also dotted all over his officer's attire, until he eventually found the regular grey overcoats that most soldiers wore in these damp, cold nights. Jean narrowed his eyes slightly before lowering his rifle, now looking at him in his eyes directly.
"But...how am I supposed to trust you, Sir? I don't meant to be the pessimist, but the benefit of the doubt can sometimes be crucial in such obligatory encounters, wouldn't you say?" Jean's manner of speaking was mildly polite and formal all of a sudden. It mirrored the same tone that he would always use in the vicinity of Captain Middleton, worried that if he ever was to speak up without the proper use of dialect then he'd only be beaten again and again, like the past had shown. From first impressions, the officer before him seemed to be a far more coordinated, well-versed and emotionally stable individual than the dreaded Captain of the 15th Atlantic Rifles, but these could all be parts of the ploy, the facade that they presented.
"Do you want the honest answer, Corporal?" Jean felt a shiver spring up his spine, causing him to shake with discomfort at the direct address. The enemy was always this faceless being that never interacted or talked to their enemy. That's what they were told in their training camps. If you treat them or view them as humans with emotions, it becomes harder to pull the trigger and can cost someone their own fragile life. Him identifying his rank meant that the Imperial was well-versed in the native military ranks and insignia of his foe. Perhaps that left someone in Jean's position vulnerable to being a primary target, as officers tend to be better pickings.
Truly, what he meant by the honest answer flew over Jean's head. How often had someone on the frontlines been offered the full truth of a situation? Was it a blessing for someone to stand before him, let alone an enemy, and speak with the intentions of hiding nothing other than the reality of the world? Jean had known for a long time that people back home, all the citizens, workforce and children who played in the parks were lied to, given the glorified alteration of what the war was really like. Whilst in the recent year or so the details on how awful the conditions were had started to become more mainstream, there still wasn't anything less than a strong sense of honour and glory to go with it. The truth was not a natural thing to expect. People had become so accustomed to the lies that it seemed normal to appreciate them. Soldiers and civilians heard what they wanted to hear, not what reality had on offer. Why ruin morale for the sake of a few bloody lives or the deaths of those sitting within a six-foot trench, knee deep in watery mud with infections crawling around every corner they turn? No, the world was not that sort of a simple place. Jean knew that there was a sense of liberty and importance to being offered a true answer, knowing most likely that it would be dark, grim and full of bloodshed in its details. And in reality, Jean was not wrong.
"I can tell by your glare that you're intrigued to know." The Imperial officer gave a jovial grin and chuckle, showing some of his friendly nature once more. Jean felt slightly embarrassed for having such an easy-face to read. Was he really that emotional? Jean at least thought the majority of his squadmates were tired and loathing of his emotional distress, and so he'd worked hard to try and suppress it, but here it was like picking up a blank sheet of paper with clear writing on it, allowing the officer to easily analyse his thoughts. However, Jean's mind was then taken from that thought when the officer looked more grim, darkening his glare to fulfil the wish of honesty. "Reason in, Corporal, I would've already picked you off without you ever knowing you're life had been claimed. I will admit that I do even surprise myself with how many targets I can silence before my marksman rifle runs dry of bullets."
Jean froze, staring him blankly in his eyes with a sense of anxiety overruling all previous impressions he'd had. The man had given him his honesty, and at the very least it helped ensure that there was still a tension between both sides. Perhaps he was right in saying that if they were truly in the free-fire zone, the chances of Jean's squad even being alive were minimal. Something in his glare persuaded the Francian to really appreciate the peacefulness in this moment. They were enemies, and even their host seemed to be well-aware of this reality, to the point where only a fragile unspoken rule of politeness was stopping them from opening fire at one another. With the truth being lodged into his mind sharply, Jean turned around to look at his comrades and followers, a distressed look on his face once more. He felt scared for their safety, as his decision now could be the end of them all. But for that, they relied on a Corporal who could stand by his word and do what was best for himself and the Squad at hand.
And so, with a defiant nod of his head, Jean turned back around and let his body ease up in his muscular stress, finally letting out all the negative thoughts he had for the scenario they were plunged into. His mind was set on providing the best outcome for his squad, and so he decided to take the gamble. With a deep breath, he finally gave the order out.
"Gwyn, and Luke, seeing as you two s-seem to be ready to prepare, I want you to take Michael and Thomas inside, and to find them a room pronto. They need the attention. Everyone else...I guess we'll be going inside." Jean heard a minor cheer come from Freya's mouth, who was clearly excited by the fact that an inn usually meant food, beer and other little desirables for her Oceanic needs, which brought a small smile to Jean's own face. He turned back to the officer, who too shared similar intrigue and interest in the relief of the Federation soldiers, before Jean held out his words with pursuing query. However, his heart stopped when he finally received the answer. "May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, Sir?"
"Of course. Captain Wilhelm Von Harkvald...But you may know me better as the Green Fox."
Banned
