Jean's feet were planted firmly in place as he spectated the showdown between the Captain and the Private. Lords above, it was terrifying to watch. The fist that was tightly wrapped around the collar of Michael was firmly in place, awaiting to clench down on his throat and snap the small one's neck into two pieces. Venom spewed from his lips and the coarse sound of a roughened viper's hiss was heard at his every vocalised chord. Stressful splinters began to pepper Michael endlessly, challenging his retorts with only more violent threats and angered promises. Lucia was the cause of the issue, of course, having been absurdly considered as a ridiculed victim of Michael himself. It was...difficult to really analyse the truth from there. Any outsider would've been confused as to what was going on, but Jean himself didn't know what to make of it. He took Michael's side by heart, clearly, when he knew that his intentions were only for the betterment of a broken, innocent girl who needed rescue. However, Lucia was most likely something he held dear to, in terms of the Captain. Jean didn't know the reason, nor could he really discover it by conventional means, but the way that Lucia herself seemed to stick around the monstrosity made it clear that perhaps things hadn't always been so black-and-white between the two. Was there more, or less, to be expected? It reminded him of a father, or a mother, who once forced Jean into hiding within his own home for what felt like an eternity, just to avoid the true horrors of the world itself. Maybe...just maybe, Captain Middleton saw Lucia in the same way Jean's parents had seen himself. That was a thought that terrified him. Free-will was barely frugal during those times, and even now it was less clear on whether or not the human right still held value, Darcsen or not. It just hit Jean close to home to really think that perhaps there were more victims like himself. Whilst it was evident that Jean's own parents did it out of extremist love for their son, as well as the pain of losing their elder daughter to the very same troubles, all was unclear between Lucia and her apparent guardian.

Things like these were never clear to the poor mind of Jean. Nothing ever made sense. There was nothing in the world he truly understood. War, death, life and even basic functions of happiness were all a strong enigma to him. Sauntering through life without any understanding was almost...deathly, and corrupt, for the Francian. Purpose had not been met. Purpose, at least to himself, was not the forced and pressured addition into the armed forces of the Federation. Purpose was also not a calling to war when the aggressor took action against his own people. Instead, purpose was just a reason to stay alive, and not one to simply occupy the fleeting moments. Jean wasn't living anymore; he was just killing time, now.

Hunting him down wasn't so difficult. The noise Middleton made when conclusion of the scolding began to make itself clear. Jean let out a sigh of relief, albeit a weakened one full of fatigue and tiredness, knowing that Michael had yet to be completely sanctioned or even harmed by the Captain himself. It seemed that whatever Gods were above, they had plans for the little Cruxian. Jean admired that a lot about Michael. The two had spoken more in the past with frequent philosophical subjects, talks of morality and even discussing interests, but the recent weeks in Amone had taken a huge toll on their connection so far. Jean knew it was only within his best interests to approach Michael again soon, once he had perhaps gathered his bearings from the barrage of insults spat from their Captain's mouth, but that time was not just yet passing. Instead, he felt a presence suddenly dawn upon his right flank, causing Jean to quickly jump and turn in panic as the uniformed body became clear to his vision. Jean's breath luckily released itself upon the identity's discovery, feeling comfortable upon realisation.

"Attentive as always, Baguette-boy?" The comedic tone and unmistakable accent solidified his theory on its origin, putting him at ease as the chuckle slowly crept out from beneath his own tongue. It was a really, almost incredibly, shitty insulting nickname to give, but perhaps that was likely the point. Thomas had always a knack for positivity in the face of many distraught situations. It was what made Freya a good companion to him, as she strove to learn the arts of his optimistic values. Perhaps it was what gave him such a strong reputation back in Oceania. The smile, the tone and the acts of bravery: no wonder he was the supposed Pride of Oceania, a true warrior by heart. "You seem oddly neutral for once. Never seen someone with such blankness in their face, ey? Not even mildly depressed for once?"

It struck a small nerve with Jean at first, initially taking it as an insult, but it soon resonated with him that it was a more satirical conversation in practice than anything of a serious note. If it were anyone else daring to make such a joke at the expense of his mental dignity, Jean would've been far less lenient in his response, but knowing fully well that Thomas was a man of many good deeds, he let it slide. In all honesty, Jean himself didn't know anyone that well. He knew Reyna probably the best, as well as Diana from conversations he'd heard all over, as well as the good stories of Freya and Ines separately, but entirely Jean did not know someone as well as Thomas, who was a man he had barely spoken to. It seemed highly peculiar.

"I was just...well it's not exactly been a few good weeks, has it?" Thomas quietly shook his head before making an attempt to smile himself, glaring at his own uniform whilst adjusting its neatness. Even in a combat zone, he still had to look his best for those who wanted to follow in his footsteps. And when Jean meant neatness, he meant the complete opposite. His uniform was filled with patches of dirt from recent operations and had also been spruced up with the creases of extensive use. Jean smiled comfortably at the thought of how the other officer's perceived his Oceanic, rebellious look despite being a well-rounded soldier who liked to get things done. "How's your injury been holding up? Improved since we got here?"

"Well, y'know...Just a bit of a biter here and there. Luckily they brought up a few of those ragnite stretchers, y'know the ones that do weird shit to your wounds. Heard some boys back home were trying to make it mobile and applicable for frontline quick use, but that just sounds bonkers to me, mate. Either way, I feel as light as a feather, mainly from still recovering from its adrenaline after effect." Jean looked towards where the previous wear and tears had been in his body, piercing his skin like the knife that had caused such a monstrous injury. He was close to death more than once, judging by how he reacted and handled it. Perhaps this was something a high-profile soldier had to be used to. Thomas would've said otherwise, such as that it was such life of any soldier...he was just luckier than others. "What's got you down, son?"

The sudden interception of Jean's thoughts caught him off guard, only to be replied with by a small sigh to begin. Jean didn't know how to answer that, it was very sudden. What had him down? Well, where was there to start? Jean had witnessed one of the soldier's in his squad that he truly liked and appreciated be belittled by their Captain, who had a life that reeked of potential tragedy just waiting to be uncovered. Alongside that, the world around him had collapsed for a week when yellow mists flooded the streets and the lungs of many civilians, Imperials and Federation soldiers alike. But most of all, plaguing Jean's head from the very start was...

"I...don't really feel like I'm appreciated as an NCO?" By accident, Jean had spilt a secret that he really hated to admit. It was one that felt selfish at heart, one that made him feel only arrogant towards his own personal improvements, however with what little he had to take pride in being a good NCO was one of the few that really made him glad to help. Unfortunately for Jean, it felt that his disconnection with his own squad had severed all forms of gratitude between one another. He sometimes felt that it was hard to give his thanks to his own subordinates and friends through anxiety, whereas the same was given to him. From his memory, only Diana and Kalisa had thanked Jean for his strange acts at Hill 58, and Amone itself was a rather confusing matter of strange episodes, one after the other. It was not a great time to really be an NCO at all, this Great War of Europa, nor would it ever be something to appreciate. "I-I mean...like...I just...don't feel like I can really...contribute to the people around me. They drink, have fun, laugh and play games, talk about their pasts with reminiscent smiles and make beautiful relationships bloom, yet...I can't even talk to a girl I like, or friends that I just want to assist. The other Francian girl has made a good effort for me, which was nice but...I feel like I really differ in personality to her."

"And?" Once again, the blunt response took Jean by surprise, forcing him to sit down and contemplate what he really meant. Soon enough, he elaborated on the point at hand. "Just be you, mate. G'down with the muckers and just be yourself. Heard y'were a writer? That's interesting to me. Love to read before I go to sleep every night. Surely it must intrigue some others. And hell...don't talk to me about relationship advice...I've got a poor record with girls."

Jean's distressed look turned to strange intrigue, mixed with amusement, as he eyed Thomas up with a strange glare, pressing the matter forward. With a slight chuckle, he finally opened his mouth and questioned the words he said.

"Previous relationships?"

"Ever dated a super-hot lady who turned out to be your best friend's by-law Auntie, despite them being of similar age?" Jean's face went bright red as he staggered backwards, unable to comprehend the casual and playful tone of Thomas' awkward acceptance of its ridiculousness. "Guess not! You ever even had a girlfriend?"

"Uhm...n-no...No I haven't ever had a relationship partner. I...am not good with talking to the opposing gender in flirtatious ways." Thomas grinned and nodded, admiring his honesty and strange openness that had never really been experienced by the others. Jean was starting to become a far more interesting individual to the Oceanic Corporal, at least for the time being, in that he was prepared to speak as if someday he would no longer be able to sleep no more.

“Come on let’s move already!” Luke barked in frustration as the shit show around them only grew worse. As the rest of the team prepared to move out he took a moment to catch his breath, his body feeling heavy as his exhaustion from fighting his way back to the Inn began to take its toll. He wanted to sit down, to have a drink and get this day over with already. The only thing stopping him unfortunately was the cloud of yellow death and the hail of gunfire from the Imps trying to kill them all. He gritted his teeth in annoyance before looking down to the gunned downed civilians he had missed and felt a ball of anger from in his stomach. The poor dumb bastards. He couldn’t shake their lifeless gazes staring up towards him, looking to him and silently asking why he left them behind. “Fuck,” he muttered in anger before hearing Jean give the order to move seeing everyone finally beginning to head out the back. He let everyone head out first before following after them, bolting out the back door only to come to a skidding halt.

His eyes widened a bit from behind his mask as he looked to a crazed Franz going berserk on some poor Imp with his knife. He just kept sinking his knife into the still corpse, the look of crazed blood lust in his eyes, even as Isaac tried to bring him back to his senses. “God damn,” Luke muttered as he watched the scene unfold before another crack of a rifle filled the air. He gritted his teeth and glared towards his crazed squadmate, a ball of frustration and anger filling his chest. “God damn it! We don’t have time for this! Someone drag the crazy bastard and lets fucking move already!” he barked through his mask while he scanned their clouded surroundings, watching out for any more company. Every second he wasted trying to get through to the bastard Luke grew even more annoyed. He scoffed in an frustration when Ines tried to get through to him and finally could less of a damn. “You handle that crazy fucker than!” he shouted before finally bolting away with the rest of the team. As he ran from the chaos he looked back to the Inn, it’s silhouette growing more and more distant within the yellow mist of death. He forced his eyes away and gritted his teeth. Such a nice start to his birthday.

---

Cool, refreshing, quiet. It’s all Luke could feel at the moment as he kept his head within a barrel of water to wake himself up and help his small hangover. He let his mind drift as his head remained in the cool water, the stress and exhaustion from the past few weeks dulled in this small moment. The running, the fighting, the many sleepless nights, all of it seemed so distant as he let the waters cool his nerves. If he could he’d stay like this for the rest of the war, but his ambition relied on the struggles and horrors of this war. To gain his goal he had to go through hell first. Finally his required air so he pulled his head from the barrel and took in a deep breath. He chuckled in between breaths and shook his head like a dog, the water flying from his wet hair. “God, if only I can start all my days off like this. A nice hangover, no bullets flying over head and some actual grub in my stomach. Yep, a peaceful day in the Federation!” he barked with laughter before drying his face off with the towel hanging around his neck.

With a sigh of relief he snatched up his shirt, a bit thankful he took it off before dunking his head since it would be soaking by now. He draped it over his shoulder, to lazy to put it back on and turned to look around the camp. A small smirk came to his face to see a camp filled with soldiers that didn’t want to kill him, well not right now anyway. He gave a soft chuckle and began to return to his teams spot in the camp. As he walked through the camp he continued to look around, seeing soldiers get as much rest and relaxation they needed before they were all given the order to head out. He spotted a few games of poker, laughing and banter between comrades and few people simply getting some well earned rest. This day was definitely starting off nice, but he couldn’t help but want something to spice it up a bit.

Well it seemed he’d get that bit of spice once he returned to hear a familiar voice calling out for Michael. As he returned to the camp he glanced over to see an upset Middleton directing his unpleasant attitude towards his comrade. Luke arched a brow and smirked as he passed by the whole scene, not able to hold back a small chuckle as he glanced towards Michael. It wasn’t like he enjoyed seeing him get chewed out, but it was still a bit entertaining to watch someone else get yelled at other than him. He just hoped the Captain didn’t get onto him for being shirtless and a wet mess. He wasn’t exactly presentable right now. He shrugged it off though and decided he’d deal with it if the issue comes up. A small frown came to his face though as he noticed people reading letters and looked for the source. He spotted the man handing them out and patted his shoulder to get his attention. “Hey there, anything for me?” the soldier looked to him and arched a brow.

“You from this squad?” he asked looking him up and down. Luke rolled his eyes and held up his arms as if that was a silly question.

“Well I wouldn’t be here if wasn’t now would I?” the soldier frowned a bit and huffed.

“Well aren’t you a charming fellow,” he said, his sarcasm oozing from his tone. Luke sighed and rotated his hand to hurry things along.

“Do you have any mail for me or not?” the soldier reluctantly asked his name and pulled out a letter before departing, giving Luke an unfriendly glance as he left. He only returned a cocky grin before looking to the letter to see that it was from home. A small smile came to his face before finding a place to sit and tear open his letter. He arched a brow as something fell out and quickly picked up a picture. A soft smile came to his face as he saw a pair of familiar smiling face in the photo and chuckled lightly. It’s felt like an eternity since he’s seen his sweet little sisters smiling face. A warm feeling of happiness filled his chest as he stared at the photo of the two of them eating together, noticing the meal his foster mother would always make for special celebrations. He wanted to be there so badly, to be in a warm home, surrounded by loved ones and enjoying life. A small sigh left him before he placed the photo in his pocket and opened the letter.



Luke finished reading the letter and let a soft smile stay on his face. It was the softest smile he’s had in months and he couldn’t help but feel happiness as he read every word. A small chuckle escaped as he folded up the letter and put it in his pocket before digging out a pack of cigarettes along with a few matches he managed to swipe off a few drinking buddies of his last night. As he lit the match he wondered if they managed to get away from their superiors when they came to break up their small party. Luke filled his lungs with the sweet chemicals and used the towel still hanging around his neck to dry off a few clumps of wet hair. He threw his shirt aside onto the rest of his gear and snatched up his rifle. With a pleasant hum, a newly lit cigarettes between his smiling lips and a happy feeling in his chest he began to clean his rifle, the pleasure in maintaining his weapons quality only making his mood greater for the day.

Diana’s Brutal Reality – Another Day – Within Amone’s City Walls (September 12th)

---

Diana was a bit annoyed at the frustration coming from Luke, all she did was glare at him because it was a bit annoying. However, a slight smile came across her face when she saw Inès come to help out Franz, since he definitely needed it. However, what Luke said made her a bit more annoyed and couldn’t help but stare at him in her mask with a definite look of seriously. She didn’t want to insult him or anything since Jean did tell them not to get going again. But how she was staring at Luke was please can you calm the fuck down you twit. ”God damn… I know he’s exhausted but can he please not piss anymore people off today? We have the Imperials on our ass we don’t need in fighting. I don’t want to piss off Jean.” Diana thought to herself, with her definitely staring directly at Luke.

She saw Jean go ahead since there was clearing in the gas. She definitely followed her squadmates as closely as possible since she didn’t want to be separated from them. It made her think about certain things while running through the streets, buildings and other things to stay away from the Imperials that wanted to kill them. For specifically the Federation’s superiors did, however, it was definitely annoyance for her. ”...I fucking hate this shit… I hope my family is alright back at home...” Diana thought to herself, while she was deathly afraid while wearing her mask. However, how she was running felt like what happened during her Conscription Training with that prick of a Drill Sergeant, which was the grandfather of her childhood friend.

---

Diana’s Brutal Reality – “New Vastergoth Bakery Package” – September 26, 1914 (Siege of Amone)

---

In terms of certain things, Diana was definitely a bit better off than she had been during that specific day that will live in infamy with her. The Day the world went mad, civilians, imperials and federation all went mad that day, which was on Luke’s birthday it was a bit of a sad tale really. Everyone was trying to kill the other side and civilians in the end were cut down in their prime of their life by toxic gas. She was grateful she’s still alive, after all that craziness. It was pretty much obvious, that the silver pendant necklace she always wore during everywhere she went was still around her neck. She was comfortably wearing her clothes, where you got to see the necklace and she wasn’t wearing her helmet because this was an area that had friendlies. In terms of certain things, how she was dressed was a bit causally looking. She walked by where Luke was taking a head dunking challenge and heard what he said and rolled her eyes. However, she wasn’t looking at him when she spoke, however. ”How can a hangover be nice? I do like the peaceful day though it’s definitely better than most things I suppose.” Diana spoke with a bit of a sarcastic tone in her voice, which was basically about the first thing she asked. It was pretty obvious she’s trying to lighten the tone from what it had happened back at the White Hart Inn.

She sighed in relief that this was a comfortable day, because of the fact. It was her feet that made her somewhat sprint ahead of Luke who didn’t put on his shirt since she didn’t see if he was shirtless anyway. She was smiling mostly because of the fact, it was an obviously beautiful day, however. It was nice to see everyone was being quite jovial, playing cards and other such things but she was one of the more active people. She felt a slight bit a new person even though it was definitely odd but after a battle like they’ve been through was definitely needed. It took her a bit to look back at Luke and she noticed he was under dressed in terms of his shirt being off. ”The mystery of the world can’t handle you it seems Luke. But I guess I should say Happy Late Birthday I suppose?” Diana asked with a slight smile and a giggle leaving her mouth at what she said. It took her a bit to remember Ines also had a birthday but didn’t really want to bother her right now. She’s somewhat annoyed her birthday is in November of all things. ”My birthday is on November 15th...” Diana said, with a slight annoyance to her voice. It was pretty much obvious she accidentally blurted that out since now everyone knows her birthday is in November. Her family is all about birthdays it seems since she loved each and every single one of her birthdays.

Diana stopped in fear when she heard Captain Grumpus yell out Michael’s name. It was definitely a terrifying thing to hear him be completely furious about what’s going on. However, it clicked it was all about Lucia and Middleton’s obsession over her. It was definitely unpleasant conversation between Michael & Middleton but it seems like the raging inferno of Middleton subsided by the calm and collective of Michael. ”I didn’t think that would be possible… but I have a feeling he’ll be back to give us things to do.” Diana thought to herself. She waited to move or even sigh because Middleton was definitely a big deal, she wouldn’t want to die by someone wanting to blow off some steam. It felt like an age but she finally was able to breathe easier and she looked at Michael, it was in her eyes of thank god he’s gone. She did notice all the people who was reading letters, it made her a bit sad. She walked to where she was sitting down before she walked in a direction for a bit. It took her a bit but the soldier that was being bothered by Luke was finished.

The Soldier in question walked up to Diana, who was sitting down with a depressed expression on her face, however, he stopped and looked at her. “Ma’am are you Diana perchance?” The Soldier asked curiously because he did ask some of the people in the squad if they had seen Diana. It was definitely nice he caught up to her finally since she had a pretty big package.

”Yes, I am her… why?” Diana asked, curiously. She didn’t really was prepared for what was coming for her. The soldier in question gave her a package with the New Vastergoth Bakery’s Seal, which is the family seal of the Vastergoth Family themselves. It was definitely a shock to see the package, and attached to it was a letter. She instantly knew who it was from and wondered how or why it was here she hasn’t ever sent a letter back home. ”Uhhh, how?” Diana asked, shocked at what’s going on. The Soldier looked directly at her and just smiled with a bit of an oddity. This soldier in question just walked away and allowed her to open the package because he decided to get out of here. It was obvious why he got out of here he had to deliver the rest of his packages he had to the other soldiers that aren’t in Squad 1.

Diana sighed and looked directly at the package, since the New Vastergoth Bakery packaging works very well to keep everything fresher as if it was just baked. Nothing is left to chance for these baked goods, she opened the seal, which allowed her to get the Letter in question. She wanted to open the letter right away but she opened the package and saw something she thought she never would see again, her mother’s chocolate chip cookies. ”Mother… you shouldn’t have… I know I can’t eat all these cookies by myself.” Diana said, with a slight bit of shock in her voice while looking at the cookies all neat and tight in the packaging.

She noticed an oddity with the letter in question, as if it has an extra piece of paper in it. It specifically meant that her mother specifically wanted her to write back as soon as possible or else type of deal. ”Uhhh.. Shit… I don’t like how my mother is so prepared with her letters… It’s like she wants this letter returned to her as soon as possible.” Diana thought to herself, which was obviously a terrifying thing. She was definitely a bit flabbergasted and shocked all at the same time but she calmed down and opened the letter so she can read it.



Diana finished reading the letter, which caused her to cry a bit uncontrollably because she didn’t know anything about what’s going on at home for one. It hit her all at once, all the emotions swelled to her because of the fact her mother wrote her and definitely made her feel bad for not saying goodbye or grabbing her journal. She slowly calmed down but couldn’t help but stay crying but she smiled when she definitely realized her mother wanted her to share her cookies with everyone. It filled her with a bit of a relief. ”M-Mother… why do you have to do this to me? I was actually having a good day but you ruined it… thank you for the cookies… at least.” Diana said, with a shaky voice to her whole thing. She knew she forgot something before going to the Conscription Camp that day but she couldn’t go to her mother Rebecca at that moment. It took her a bit and looked at everyone in her squad, however, she did notice that Lucia wasn’t here that made her a bit saddened. ”Uhhh… Do you want to try my mother’s chocolate chip cookies… they are one of the select choices from the New Vastergoth Bakery...” Diana said, addressing everyone in her squad, however she was fighting what she wanted to do. In terms of crying and sleep her day away since she couldn’t handle this at all.

She did notice on the package there was a pen, which was from her journal. Her mother was definitely a bright mother, however, it definitely made her feel slightly better since she didn’t want to borrow anyone else tools to write. She couldn’t help but shake a bit and waited for people to come up to her and get the cookies she has, however, she did start eating one of her mother’s cookies. It was definitely a cookie she missed and hopefully she’ll never miss one of these again. She definitely needs to get the recipe from her mother, however. It took her finishing the cookie to clam down and focus on what she needs to do, in terms of writing a letter to her mother Rebecca. It was definitely a shock that her elder sister Susie was going to get married next year to a very prominent Darscen Family in Castleton. ”I don’t know what I feel about our family adopting a Donster… but if Gavin taken a liking to Amanda… I’ll be a good older sister to her. Even though that story feels so false, why would a mother be that awful to their own child?” Diana thought to herself with a confused look on her face. She couldn’t help but give out a sigh while sitting down where she was sitting trying to be a bit happier. It was obvious, she wasn’t smiling anymore this shocked her a bit too much.

@Jacky@Conscripts

---

For a little while, Michael was still looking at the direction in which Middleton had just stormed off. His eyes never blinked, and some of the soldiers nearby were already getting slightly intimidated by the cold solid stare that seemed to cut deep with judgement and anger. They wanted to ask if he was ok after being hung up by the collar, but the guy looked ok enough, and they didn't want to get in the crosshair of that fury. That rat. Now speculations of what he was doing to Lucia began to circulate and expand like pathogens in an infected host. And every time it does, the bar was lowered, and the meter began to shorten. The more he wished to have him dead, just like how his father once wished that Donster to die, ironically breaching his religious teachings.

...religious teaching...

'Wait, why am I getting caught up with this?'

Is it that Middleton's anger had gotten to him? It did not break him, but rather changed owners. 'Come on, you're better than this.' He finally flinched as he placed the tips of his fingers on his temples before grabbing the gun that was slapped out of his hand earlier. He wasn't always like this. He definitely wasn't this defensive before, but he was toughening up for sure. But the anger that was poured into him like molten lava. It definitely wasn't something he was taught to hold onto this long.

"From Hill 58 to this one..."

It was not what he was supposed to be.

The first squad mate to approach Michael was Isaac, seemingly thanking him for something. For what exactly? He also offered a Scotch that was the remnant of that tragic inn. It could be a way to remember the inn's staff member who died in the tragedy caused by someone who were supposedly on their side, and for only a couple of dead Imperials, but unfortunately Michael wasn't a man of alcohol.

"Thanks for your invitation, but I don't drink alcohol." He politely declined.

But maybe he could still have a talk later on with Isaac. Or Jean in that regard. Or hell maybe even Luke. Michael knew he was an asshole most of the times to people, but should that be something to deter him from getting to know him, especially why would he act so malevolently in the first place. It was common ground for a person in Europa to act like that to Darcsen, but no humans hate for a reason. Like Heinz towards the Federation. His ideals were definitely toxic, but at least he had a ground to build from. And if he was able to meet him again and again, he could imagine changing it entirely possible. But when would that be, when he was on the enemy's nation?

"Maybe Thomas would wish to join you for that."

Michael looked around to see Marathon standing around with Jean over in the other table and casually strolled over to them, whether or not Isaac would follow him.

"You mind me sitting here gentlemen?"
@LetMeDoStuff@FalloutJack

---

Inès sighed. Usage of the phrase, "A lot to think on" did suffice, yet to insist that it was only these past few weeks that occupied Inès' thoughts would be misnomic. Thoughts of all manner ran past her. Every last emotion Inès could comprehend raced in her as she paced about the last two weeks in her mind, and with that pacing came new, unusual feelings. Emotions she felt, but did not understand. Things that were difficult to rationalize or explain properly, like the sudden feelings of repetition as she charged about September 12th as though the events were a requiem of a foregone experience. The White Hart was far from the first bar she had seen torn to pieces, far from the only civilians she had seen caught in a crossfire of things much larger than anything they could reasonably control. Were they any less gruesome the second, third, fourth, fifth time around? Could Inès do anything more the next times around? No. Resoundingly no, if her previous display were to be taken for.

A brush of the wind catches her azure eye, drifting her focus back into the camp. Straightening herself, her thoughts grew hazy for a fleeting second, then the world shook its sudden blackness to full, dreary color. Much talk had gone around, yet none of it did she bother to care for engagement with. Things seemed to press on her too much to really talk about them for very long, for Inès was always of the belief that she should comprehend what she speaks so much of, lest she waste both her and her occupant's times.

From that sea of conversation, her birthday did pass. She had a few quaint people to tell, who were equally in no position to be granting her birthday wishes. Freya found herself occupied with the constant fighting of getting clear of Amone's warzones proper, while Franz...well...the less said of Franz, the better. Neither of those two were in much a place for the time to bring up such a "joyous" occasion, and she need not bother them with those thoughts. Perhaps later, they could celebrate, and perhaps later there would come a time for festivities. Yet truth be told, to not celebrate was a more usual circumstance for the Darcsen than any form of festivity, in true poetic notion, birthdays were the worst days. All talk of gift-giving and livery were typically gone, expended at the expense of the typical finances of the working class, necessary or otherwise. To date, Inès could recall one- no, forgive, two birthdays in which she celebrated.

Talks of birthdays inevitably rang up the name of the dirthead himself; Luke. And he would have to learn that lesson the hard way. Birthdays were the worst days, and September 12th, 1914 was likely the worst day he ever had the misfortune to experience.

Inès breathed out, shaking her head just at the passing thought. Luke certainly held an occupation back home of redefining tomfoolery, she imagined, yet no manner of uncouth action befitted someone such a fate. Perhaps misguided, and likely naïve, Inès agreed, yet Luke wasn't a bad person. As she began walking, the clank and clatter of her satchel against her leg reminded her of that present to call her own, of that coincidental conferment. A bottle of rum, and a bottle she would likely never drink. A step, a clink. Step. Clink! Step. Clunk! Step. Swick!

Her head tilted over to her side. What could go wrong from a bit of merrymaking?

‘Where is he…’ she wonders, going off about in the direction of the male encampment. Difficulty in finding him had no detriment of her search, for with every tent that did not belong to him, seven more reminders of a gift she would never use came to her head, and seven more reminders of a birthday ruined for them both. Poke after poke, peek after peek, Inès found Luke in his - how she should say - natural state.

"I'm not impressed." she commented, entering his domain without so much as a knock. Her face was, perhaps, as Luke always noted it; Irritated, caustic, and focused. Her eyes swivel, slowly walking around to the position directly across from Luke, taking a seat while he cleaned his rifle.

"...do you have a second?" Inès asked, crossing her legs with her satchel atop.

A pleasant smile rested on Luke's face as he wiped away a few smudges from his rifles bolt, using a bit of spit to get the job done before flipping his weapon over to start on the other side. Luke couldn't help but chuckle, his morale clearly high enough to reach the skies and more. He couldn't help but think on the letter from home and the adorable picture of his sisters Sarah sent. A large part of him felt homesick and silently hoped this war would end soon so he can go back and give them all a great hug, but he knew he was where he should be. He missed his home and family, but this was his destiny, his calling. This was the time to make a future for not only himself, but for his family. Plus he remembered the day his sisters first saw him uniform and smirked at the adorable spark of awe in their blue eyes. He hoped they would someday follow his example, to strive to be something bigger and have their own goals. Another chuckle escaped him as he flicked off a bit of dirt from the butt of his gun before hearing a familiar voice state the fact she wasn't impressed. He scoffed slightly and kept his smile, but kept his eyes glued to his weapon.

"Well sorry my blue haired comrade, but I'm not here to impress you. Just to outshine you," he replied with his smirk growing a bit before blowing a bit of smoke from his nose before tapping some ashes off from his smoke. A part of him hoped the Darcsen would continue on and leave him be, but that hope was dashed as she sat down across from him. He held back a sigh and kept his smile while cleaning his rifle. Luke didn't particularly hate the woman, it was just that most of the time they interact it either ends in yelling and smacking, or just a few quick jabs at each other. It didn't help that she was a Darcsen, though she's proven to him she's not like any other Darcsen he's met so he has less of an issue with her. He paused as he was cleaning the butt of his rifle and arched a brow as she asked for a second of his time. He thought for a moment, tapping his finger against the wood of his weapon before shrugging and resting his rifle across his lap. "I guess, got plenty of time to spare," he said before looking back up to her, his smiling dulled a bit to be more neutral and kept his eyebrow arched as he was a bit curious to what she had to say. He took another puff from his smoke and blew the chemicals away from her face. "What?"

She glanced over at him, looking at him over, pass after pass. The discussion at hand was nothing she found herself practicing for in any capacity, yet it would need to be done, one way or another. Inès fidgeted around, quickly straightening her posture before making her offer.

"I heard it was your birthday. During..."She frowned. Her head tilts to the side, her eyes slowly dashing to her left, then back at him in suggestion. "...the inn." she finished, "And...it was my birthday when this all happened, so."

The Darcsen blinked, eventually turning her composure into a deeper half-growl. Quickly, she unbuttoned the top of her satchel, and out pulled her signature bottle. The nearly two-liter bottle itself, still branded proudly with the Centrolandic insignia, if a but muddied by the thorough residue of the gas ruining any metalwork upon it. She presented it forward, holding out the label in front of Luke.

---

---

"Let's...make something of our birthdays." she suggested.

Luke noticed her fidget in her seat and grew even more curious to what could make her be that way. Soon though she reveled it to him as she mentioned his late birthday and frowned slightly, not sure where she was going with this, but he hoped it was good enough to bring it up now. He was a bit surprised to hear her birthday was at the same time all hell went loose and shook his head, silently finding a sad humor in the fact both their birthdays were ruined by this damn war. Luke looked back to her eyes to see that she composed herself much better and began to pull something out of her satchel. It took him a second to figure out what it was, the slightly muddied object all to familiar to him. His eyes widened slightly as she showed him the label and gave an impressed whistle. "Admiral Aufrey, eh? Been a while since I had that bad boy," he said before glancing back up to her, blowing a bit of smoke from his lungs to the side as he arched a brow in slight confusion as she suggested they try to make up for both of their late birthdays. He stared at her for a few silent seconds, looking for any tricks within her eyes.

Soon he let out a bark of laughter and slapped his knee. It took a few seconds to compose himself, but soon he wiped a tear from his eye and looked back to her, his grin wide as he flicked some ashes from his smoke. "So let me get this straight. You, a Darkie, want to share a bottle of good rum with me, a Dirthead if I remember correctly, to make up for our late birthdays?" he paused as he kept his gaze with hers before speaking up again. "And there aren't any tricks?" he added before leaning back in his seat and staring at her in silence. After taking another puff he let a grin spread onto his face and released the chemicals out of his nose before shrugging. "Sure, why not? How am I gonna pass up free rum?" he said with a chuckle before ruffling his slightly still wet hair. "Just hope you can keep up."

"Take the damn rum." She commanded, foisting the bottle onto Luke. A bit rough, certainly, but if anything, she was insistent upon giving him something that resembled a present.

Yet, his challenge of drinking along with her was met with difficulty, signaled by her scowling sharp demeanor. Visibly shaking, Inès shook her head at his insistence of turning the affair into a challenge. "I hate rum." Inès told him, a hissing tone to it, almost, only hushing out of courtesy for the brownhead.

He chuckled as she forced the rum into his hands and held up the bottle, inspecting the bottle and feeling a small smile come to his face. He glanced back to her and noticed she may be getting annoyed with his teasing, her scowl usually a sign he was about to get hit. Though it never did. He stared at her for a moment as she stated she hated rum and looked back to the bottle before looking back to her. A small smile came to his face and he gave a grateful nod towards the Darcsen. "Thanks, it may be late, but I appreciate it," he thanked her before cracking open the bottle and taking whiff of the familiar smell of rum. He glanced back to her with an arched brow. "Well I hope your hate for rum won't hold you back in enjoying this with me," he said before holding up the bottle and giving a large grin before taking his cigarette out of his mouth. "To the Federation then! Lets hope we can get this whole shit show over with soon!" he said before taking a nice swig of rum, enjoying the taste of and letting out a satisfied sigh. He looked back to Ines and chuckled before offering her a drink. "Lets make it last."

"À votre santé." Inès saluted, nodding the neck of the bottle up to Luke. She took a slight swig back, maintaining it while she audibly gulped. The bottle came back, Inès coming with a huff. A snort came after, Inès' brow furrowing as she took the stiff drink in. She held it in hand loosely about the base, shaking her head while the drink did process.

In due time - after due silence - she looked back up at Luke. Not a welcoming sight, by many metrics, yet Inès did clearly put on as neutral a face as the Darcsen could make for sake of conversation. She did another take of rum, this one much shorter, then posed the bottle back.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned, her voice lighter, less heavy than what Luke was accustomed to. Her hand posed up, almost as if extending a helping hand, yet was clearly simply conversational etiquette. "I mean, what made you join the army?"

Luke smirked in slight amusement as the Darcsen took a swig, chuckling lightly as she shook her head. It seemed like she really did hate rum. He shrugged as she looked back to him, an amused smirk still on his face. He was a bit surprised to see her take another hit of rum and chuckled as she handed the bottle back. As he took the rum back he arched a brow in slight surprise as she questioned why he was here, her tone somewhat different than usual. She clarified what she meant and fell silent for a moment. He leaned back while taking a sip from his drink as he though on her question. What was he doing here? After gulping down wave of rum, a pleasant shiver running down his bare back, he looked back to her with a smirk.

"A fresh start I guess," he simply said, his expression softer than usual as he said the words and glanced to the ground, stealing another sip from the bottle to encourage his explanation before shaking his head. "I was nothing but a peasant farmer, a nobody to the rest of the world. I was sick of feeling useless and decided, after generations of farmers in my family, I'd become something greater," he said, frowning slightly as he stared at the ground. "I refuse to be forgotten like them, like my father, a great man that died way to early," he said as his free hand clenched into a fist before he took one last swig of rum and wiping his mouth clear. "Plus, it's also for them," he added before pulling out the picture of his sisters and offering her the photo. "I want to prove to them we're destined for greater things," he said with a small smile as he glanced to the picture before offering the rum back to her.

As she listened to his reasoning's, it really did all resound with her; It all reinforced what she thought of him. She smirked. Always satisfying to be proven correct it was, but that made his plight no less important, nor did Inès know that it was any reason to look upon it any differently. In many ways, she found herself to be all too much like him. Like a dirthead the two made fun of, coming together over something so innocuous as making a fortune for themselves. Her blue eyes lock to his, just following his declaration to be something more.

Inside her bag, she reached in, feeling around as she just glanced down for a bare moment. The bag moved just slightly, falling flat as she withdrew it, item in hand.

Two small, silver gloves flung, falling into Luke's lap.

"I made a name for myself." she related, smiling at him. "When I was a little girl, I was..." Her grin grew a bit wider, obviously drawing upon nostalgia.

"I fought everyone. Everyone fought me. And I fought back, and I was good at it. And ever since I was a little girl, I knew I had too much talent to work in a factory. That's what I wanted to do; I wanted to fight."Inès took another swig of rum, coughing once, yet the pain did nothing to detract her from her wide grin. Those sharp Darcsen eyes drew back on Luke, laughing on their own, as if Inès were rejoicing with the warmth of an old friend."When I was twelve, I started learning savate. Chausson. Canne de combat. I fought my first ring fight when I was thirteen. And I loved it."

"I fought twice a month. Sometimes, I'd fight more outside of the gym." Her finger points down at her silver gloves, the smile only emaciated by pride could produce clear. "And when I was eighteen, I was Gante Argente; the champion."

Luke arched a brow as a pair of gloves fell into his lap and picked them up, inspecting the silver gloves with a bit of interest. He glanced back up at her and couldn't help but smirk in amusement as she grinned before explaining her early days as a fighter. He chuckled a bit as she took another sip of rum and coughed, but that didn't stop her grin from showing and her eyes feeling less hostile towards him than usual. Luke listened as she told him about her growing as a fighter in her youth. Honestly he was a bit impressed to hear of her accomplishments and smirked as she said the name she earned. "Gante Argente huh?" he mused aloud as he looked up to her and nodded his head. "Impressive, must have been a fierce little thing in the ring. I wouldn't mind seeing one of those fights actually, you sound like you can give a good show," he chuckled before snapping his fingers and feeling a smile spread across his face.

"Ya know I think I actually heard about you one time. Some fellow was passing through our town and I was working in the tavern when he was going on about some pretty entertaining fights. He was drunk off his ass, but I think I heard him say something about a blue haired fighter that would beat the crap out of their opponents," he chuckled and shook his head before looking back at her with a arched brow. "Tell me, why did you join? You still trying to make a name for yourself, or what?"

Inès laughed, like Luke told her a joke. Not in the humblest of ways, either; This came as a haughty laugh, as if Luke were insulting his own intelligence by bothering to ask so basic a question. The Darcsen looked on him like he were a confused child, almost motherly, even. She extended her arms out, opening up her posture while her palms remained open.

"Look at me." she responded, "What else can I do? Work in a factory? No. Sift through mail? No. Go run through alleys and become some gutter trash mugger? Fuck that. I've worked too damn hard to get to where I am, and I'm not throwing it all away by becoming some thug in one of Ostend's gangs."

"What can a Darcsen girl from the city do? I can fight. That's the only thing I can do well. And if there were any more savate fights in Ostend, I wouldn't be here. But we've always been good fighters, and good fighters make good soldiers, so we're told. Most tireurs were drafted, and...well, I joined because that's all I'm good for." Inès, in some senses, lowered her hands in defeat. The blankness as she looked down just slightly almost confirmed it, spare that glint in her eyes that burned like pure blue flame. It almost seemed watery, in a sense, for Inès so clearly did call upon stories of old she looked upon so favorably. An exhale broke the mood, her head lightly shaking side to side, just thereafter raising back to meet Luke.

"You don't need to be here." Inès suggested, turning her head to the side, "You have a whole farm, a family. A hair color that doesn't match the ocean. You should do something with yourself. Go to college."

Luke frowned slightly, not in annoyance, but in thought as Ines told him he didn't need to be there. In a sense she was right, any sane person would never abandon and a loving family, he even ran his fingers through his hair as she mentioned its color, a bit surprised at that fact bothered him a little. He chuckled lightly as she said he should go to college and flicked his cigarette away. He stayed silent for a moment, his eyes directed towards the ground and a tired expression on his face. Soon he took a deep breath and shook his head. "I had a farm, but I haven't been there since I was ten. To many... bad memories," he said, his voice hesitant towards the end as he rubbed his throat, his mother returning to his thoughts. "And it's true I have a good family, mostly a foster family, but a family nonetheless. Honestly most people would think I was insane for leaving all that behind and coming to this shithole," he paused as he swallowed any hesitation before sighing and hanging his head, rubbing the back of his head as a sad smile rest on his face. "If I'm going to be honest though, the longer I stayed there the more it was killing me. Hell, if I stayed I'd probably be dead by now," he chuckled bitterly before looking back up to her with a dull smile and his eyes suddenly heavy.

"I couldn't do it anymore, it was to painful to stay there, even with so many blessings surrounding me. I had to leave, I had to make my own path. Even if I die in this war, at least I'll die knowing I died following my goals and not at home, drowning in my own sadness," he sighed again and rubbed his lower jaw, noticing a small stubble of hair beginning to come in. He looked back up to her and shrugged. "Plus it's not like I don't have plans after this. I heard I could go to school if I survive the war so I was gonna go to rise in the ranks," he smirked as he tapped the side of his head and took the bottle back from her. "See, I can think ahead," he chuckled lightly before taking a large swig of rum with pleasure.

Luke spoke, yet Inès kept her head down, eyes fixated on the picture. Two earthheads, she could only assume, from the grainy filter of the black-and-white photograph. They were cute things, though, Inès thought. She was supposed to be the "baby" of the family, yet she did all of the raising, she thought. Secretly, Inès had always wondered what it was like to have siblings, actual siblings. Guy was...distant. In many ways, notwithstanding the physical nature of him being an ocean away. No, Inès always found him more of an afterthought. Truth be told, often times she had to actively recall she had someone to call a brother, for she shared him in blood only halfway, and in bond none whatsoever. To have someone - never mind two people - there with you, looking with you and there after you...Inès felt jealousy.

Neither could she condone his methodology, for Inès knew she was going to do nothing in a factory or mill. Continue to barely escape poverty, most likely, and otherwise let her talents and passions alike squander to so-called "realities of the world", as Inès did demean them. Life had their complications, and...Inès knew she made it no easier in many of those times. Yet, she knew it was what she had to do; Doing otherwise would have wasted so much more.

She folded her wrist over, tilting the photograph back over to Luke. A faint grin plastered on her face, the shocktrooper made eye contact, slightly melancholic. A chuckle she shared with him over his comments on thinking, and Inès shared her thoughts as well, while on the line of thinking. "They're cute." she complimented, trading the picture for the rum, "I...hope it works out for you, then. I just...want to go back to the ring, I think. There's...there's something about it, like you say. It's not like war. When you lose in a fight there, it's because the other person's just better than you, and you can use that to get better. The tricks are...not "honorable." Heh...I suppose they're creative. You can admire them. You can't admire poison clouds."

"And...and when you finally win a fight, and you have the whole crowd chanting your name, it's..." Inès smiled wide. A smile Luke never thought was possible. Genuine, whole, warm. "It's amazing to feel. It's so...flattering. It's like...everything doesn't matter, but that one moment. You have fans. People look up to you. Somebody you have never met will go and say, "Oh my God, Inès, you're amazing!", and it's the most humbling thing."

Luke ran his thumb over his picture of his sisters and smiled softly before looking back up to Ines as she said she wanted to go back to the ring. He nodded in agreement, as she went on about the perks of being a fighter he couldn't help but find her love for the ring amusing. He paused though as she caught him off guard with a smile, a real smile. He froze for a second, silently admitting her smile was quite warming. It even looked adorable as she continued on about fighting and chuckled as she gave an impression of a fan calling her amazing. He smiled and cupped his hands together as he leaned forward with a sigh. "I can only imagine the feeling. The only thing people say to me is, *'You asshole!', or 'Put your pants on!' Something along those lines anyways," he chuckled with a shrug. "Who knows, maybe one day I can be your opponent in the ring, see which ones better. The country boy or the city girl," he smirked in amusement. "But I'll definitely have to see you in the ring. I have a strange urge to see the great Gante Argente in action."

"Gante Argente isn't my name." she corrected, "It's a title. It means, "silver glove". All it means is that I'm good enough to be called maître." Before continuing, Inès realized using more Francian terminology was going to do Luke no favors. Quickly, she adjusted herself to an addendum. "...that means, "master"." she finished.

A small chuckle escaped him as he was corrected and held up his hands in defeat, his smile widening a bit in amusement. He arched a brow as she clarified what it meant and laughed. "Master eh? Well I guess it fits, your slaps definitely feel different from other women that have hit me. I just thought you were freakishly strong and had big hands," he laughed again before shaking his head with a sigh. Luke found himself staring off in the distance for a moment before looking back to Ines with a small frown. He glanced to her blue hair for a moment and back to her eyes before letting out a heavy sigh and rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, this may be the rum talking but... I should probably..." he paused for a moment before biting back any hesitation and continuing. "Apologize about before. Ya know, when we entered the city," he said with a small frown and glancing away as he apologized. "Probably wasn't the best idea for first introductions," he chuckled bitterly.

Inès glimmered over his apology, instead swiftly taking a stiff drink from the bottle, always accompanied by her coarse coughing, of course. Yet, as she looked up, it was not of acceptance of the typical type, but of, again, misguidance. Luke's series of faux pas were bewildering to the Francian before him - or if it so comforted him in this moment, the Darcsen before him - that she truly did believe it was the rum that was speaking. Rum-speak was not always negative, as she knew from her mother, and even could show to reflect who Luke really was. If he was who he really was, then he would need to face the issues that came with dignity, not run from them like the coward he eyed away from.

"Spare me." Inès commented, waving it away like it were a fly in the air, "If there's someone you should apologize to, it's Jean."

She fumed her eyes around, slowly simmering them to a steady, cooler burn. Her head shook once, setting the bottle aside for a more serious point of discussion. Luke need not make contact nor gesture, for Inès seemed to know full well what objections he might have toward the idea, and, so like a sister, gave him the steady stare that demanded he stop running from responsibility. "...he...may not be the bravest. But you don't need bravery. We need to survive. He's just...not..."

Inès fumbled, stumbling over the right words while the rum clouded her mind. "...it would mean a lot to him if you did. And...you don't want to have the person in charge of reporting to the people who promote you on their bad side." Inès reminded him.

Luke cringed slightly as she mentioned Jean, another person who was due an apology. He looked back to her as she put the bottle down and rubbed the back of his neck as she explained why Jean was due in apology. He felt like a child being lectured to after doing something wrong, but he may have deserved it. He sighed as she finished and nodded his head. "I know I need to say something, I know that," he said as he rubbed his forehead as his mind started to cloud up a bit. "It's not like I don't like the guy. He obviously cares for the team and that always a good thing, but it's just..." he paused for a moment before looking around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. He leaned in closer and looked Ines straight in the eyes. "It's how he leads is what I don't like. I understand he's in charge and there's no changing that, but the way does things just, well, bothers me," he said before shaking his head.

"For example, whenever we move out through the city he mostly takes point. To some that's not to bad, but think about it, we're surrounded by pissed off and dug in Imps that are just waiting for us to walk around some corner to fill us with lead and who'll be the first one around that corner? The man on point, a.k.a Jean. Plus, that Green Fox fuck is somewhere around here and hunting for people like him. I know it sounds crazy, but I'd prefer if he'd put someone like me up there to take point," he said as he tapped his chest. "I'm just a private, he's a lieutenant and the leader of our squad. If he goes down, then the whole squads fucked," he says before gesturing towards the whole camp filled with his team and patted his chest. "If I go down then all that happens is that you all are going to need a new Rifleman. To the higher ups, his life is more valuable than mine. And again, at the risk of sounding foolish or crazy, I agree," he said with a shrug and leaning back. "My job is to follow orders, so who's gonna give me any damn orders when our team leader has a fucking hole between his eyes?" he finished and let out a small sigh, finally done with his rant.

In a grim display, Inès responded, "I've had that happen." She sits for a moment. Her eyes stare off, unfocused. "...it's...you don't last long...if you can't think for yourself." Inès simply finished. Whatever Luke had done, it...struck her.

Luke noticed the far off stare from Ines and realized he may have said something to upset her. A small sigh escaped him as he rubbed his hands and shook his head. "Sorry, I'm usually a happy drunk, not a downer," he apologized with a thin smile. He glanced up at her, frowning a bit at her staring off. "You alright?" he asked, slight concern in his voice.

"...yes, I-"

---

LOOK OUT, MA'AM!

Her sight went blurry. Her ears went deaf. She was somewhere she didn't know and she knew not how.

---

"...I'm fine." Inès snapped back Her eyes blinked, settling back in as they adjusted to the tent's vision. Slowly, she repurposed herself, repositioning back to a more comfortable stance. Facing Luke forward, she looks at him, smiling slightly back.

"Jean is...still learning." she insisted, giving a light shrug to him, "But if you're worried about it, you should...you know..." Her hands motion, circling as she seemed to search for the words. "Let him know. He would...appreciate it."

Luke was a bit relieved to see her snap out of whatever trance she was in. He didn't want to lose his drinking buddy already. He arched a brow before taking the bottle of rum and taking a decent swig and nearly choking as she said he should just tell Jean his thoughts of commanding the team. "You crazy? Last time I tried to point out any of my higher ups flaws I got stuck with latrine duty. With my tooth brush," he shivered at the memory and sighed. "Besides, it's clear the man doesn't enjoy my company, which is normal really, but I doubt he'd want a guy like me to tell him how to handle his team," Luke rubbed his chin in thought before shaking his head. "But it's true it can't go on like this. Sooner or later he'll need to change how he does things. Fine, I'll tell him when I come up with an apology," he said before giving her a smirk and a grateful nod.

Inès sighed. "Do you want me to come with you?" she offered.

A bark of laughter escaped Luke and he shook his head with a grin. "Do I look like a kid? No, I'll tell him when I'm ready. For now though, lets relax and celebrate our late birthdays huh?" he chuckled before taking another swing and handing her the bottle.

"If you say so." she relegated, motioning the bottle back, then stopping halfway. She peered inside the darker bottle, gauging what was left, it seemed, and in those swirls of amber, she seemed to set it back.

"How's the new girlfriend?" Speaking of relaxing...

"W-what?" he asked as before pausing for a moment, arching a brow towards Ines in slight confusion. "What new girlfriend?" he questioned, truthfully unaware who this Darcsen was talking about.

Inès laughed, throwing herself back as the precious moment came over her. Intoxication likely had something to do with making the moment significantly warmer and fuzzier to her, yet detract from that notion it certainly did not. Realigning herself, Inès sat up from her position, posing a hand forward. "The sandhead you got to see in her natural state." Inès reminded him, obviously signifying Diana.

For a moment Luke remained clueless as to who she was talking about and tilted his head in slight confusion as he tried to remember who she was talking about. The booze in his system didn't help in his efforts to remember. Soon though he realized what she was talking about and coughed a bit, clearing his throat and looking away as the memory of that night of shame. His cheeks reddened a bit as he remembered a nude Diana, her soft lips against his, her perfect hour glass figure and her massive pair of- he shook his head clear to get the thoughts out of his head and frowned a bit towards Ines. "One, that little shrimp isn't my girlfriend. Two, that was nothing but a bet gone bad," he stated with a firm nod, though he still looked embarrassed about the topic. "I could never be with a woman like that. To naïve," he said with the shake of his head.

"Hehe, alright." Inès giggled, taking the bottle while she held it loosely between her fingers. Quickly, she posed another question back to Luke.

"Then what's your type?" she asked. Her eyebrow raised, sly and smug while she asked. If one simple remembrance was going to turn him red, then his tastes would steam him to a lobster bisque. Preparing for the onslaught, she laughed in attempt to break up the mood.

Luke rubbed the back of his neck as she asked him his type and glanced away as he tried to think up a reply. What was his type? As he thought about it Luke realized that he's never really thought about what type of woman he'd prefer. He's never had time to date, plus he's never been that much of a sweet talker. Luke cleared his throat and shrugged. "I never really thought about it honestly," he muttered, feeling a tad embarrassed by his reply. "I guess someone who's loyal, maybe someone who's in uniform. Some of the women officers in their formal uniforms always look good," he said before shaking his head and looking to Ines with a nervous smile. "Honestly I've... never really been with any woman. I was always working to really find someone," he admitted with a sheepish chuckle. When the rum wears off he'll probably regret telling her his lack of experience with women, but his mind was to clouded to care.

Loyalty and uniforms. Where had she heard those ones before?

The reminiscence forced Inès to grin. Hearing Luke display and think on his exact tastes was, in all honesty, a heavy subject, if Inès felt fair. Such a discussion would warrant some mutual degree of understanding with one another, as well as being accustomed with one another to the point of allowing both parties to speak freely on the subject. The topic seemed...pleasant, almost, for Inès had much on the mind in the area, especially in the past month, and in many ways needed someone to talk to regarding those events. Freya was kind, and Franz was understanding, true, yet third opinions relegated to the status quo, and allowed an outsider's onlook into the state of affairs; Such a dialectic Inès thought she required, time to time.

At this end, the shock trooper giggled back, nodding along to Luke's most modest admittance in regards to his romantic history. Everyone needed to start somewhere, Inès knew. "Don't worry. Women can be a headache!" Inès tittered loudly, widening her smile as she made her bold declaration. A swig back, and Inès did cough once more, rupturing out into a steady voice as she foisted the bottle back unto Luke. "Here's to all the lovely women in our lives." she guffawed.

Luke chuckled as Ines said women could be a headache and nodded in agreement before taking back the rum as she handed back to him. He raised the bottle up and smirked towards Ines. "To ladies then! God bless em all," he chuckled before taking in another decent swig of rum, shuttering slightly as a satisfying shiver ran up his spine. He looked to the bottle and shook his head to see how much was left. "If only we had more than one bottle," he said with sigh before remembering something he had gotten a few weeks back. He dug into the back of his pockets before pulling out a golden ring with a small red gem in the middle. He looked to his bottle and back to Ines, bouncing the ring up and down in his hand. Luke soon shrugged and extended the ring towards her. "Here, since you got me a nice little present then I should at least return the favor," he said before he nodded to the ring. "Not sure if you're much of jewelry girl, but it could be nice to punch people with it on."

A ring, he said? It caught her interest, of course, yet a ring for half a bottle of rum felt like an odd deal to be making. She picked the ring between her thumb and finger, rotating it about lightly as she twisted its glean in the light. Even through its grimy filter spent in a wartime pocket, it still did maintain its illustrious shine, refracting a radiant red rose through the setting. Her smile dissipated, softening, lowering to neutrality the longer she stared into it. She seemed to become focused, in a sense, as if she were reading something inscribed minutely along the gilded band. In short time, Inès would retract, nodding once as she grinned in warm appreciation to the brownhair.

"...thank you." she softly thanked, wrapping the ring in some manner of cloth she dug from her bag before sticking it securely in a side pouch. Luke could swear her voice held charm to it, quaint and soft, like a mother or sister's comfort, as if the softness of her voice blanketed Luke in some manner of appreciation he never thought possible from a Darcsen.

"You know, I-..."

Inès paused herself, looking down with a frown. So like her, it was, to bring up the harsh when so soon ago did she attempt to lighten the mood. Yet, there were some questions that needed answering, and to what other occasion she could afford responses, Inès never knew for certain. Her eyes level once again with Luke's, glistening with a slight watery softness.

"... I have...never really...dressed myself up." Inès noted to Luke, "I've never been able to afford it. And the one time I could..." Inès laughed shortly. The hushed tone sprawled about melancholy, yet clear nostalgia. "It was for my sixteenth birthday. And...hehe...that's how I came out to my mom."

Luke's eyebrows rose a bit in slight surprise to hear she never dressed up and gave small smirk of amusement, though it dulled as she told him the reason. He was aware she may have had it tough growing up, but for some reason it still surprised him a bit. His smile softened slightly as she told him the only time she managed to dress herself up and chuckled lightly. "Must have been a good birthday," he said before looking at Ines with a arched brow, his eyes scanning her appearance while rubbing the bottom of his chin before shrugging with a smirk. "I bet you'd look nice if you threw on a dress right now," he stated with a grin.

"Shut up." she smirked back, lightly pushing him while she teased him back. The flushed pink of her cheeks went well with her blue hair, though. Maybe a nice blue dress with pink highlights? Or perha-

"Tell me when Luke started to want to see a dark haired girl in a pretty dress." Inès poked at him, a wide, laughing smile on her face.

Luke laughed as Ines questioned when he want to see a dark haired woman in a dress and shook his head with a smirk. "When this rum entered my system I think. I always want odd things when I'm not sober," he chuckled before shrugging. "But you would look good in one," he said truthfully before smirking in amusement and letting out a small sigh. "Definitely look better than me if I wore a dress."

"But which one of us would look better in a suit?" Inès queried, raising an eyebrow as if this were the real question to be answered.

A grin came to Luke's face as he thought about her question and chuckled. "Well I think that's an easy answer..." From there the two soldiers, both once indifferent towards one another, sat within the tent bantering and laughing with each other. Time seemed to escape them as the two enjoyed each others company, even when they ran out of rum they found new topics to keep their small party going. As the day progressed the two kept to themselves, neither of them concerned what was outside of Luke's tent, mostly thanks to the birthday rum. They didn't even noticed as the evening began to roll around. Luke himself nearly forgot there was even a war going on outside. This was the first time in a long time that he's actually enjoyed himself, though he never thought in his life time he'd have a Darcsen drinking buddy. Ines was... she was different from the other Darcsens he's encountered in past. Sure she was bit of a pain at first, but now drinking with her Luke couldn't help but start to like the woman. It was probably the rum making him think that, but for now it didn't matter. The two of them were celebrating their late birthdays together. As comrades.

Thomas looked towards Jean with a somewhat cynical grin plastered upon his face, chuckling beneath closed lips as he sort of jokingly mocked the Francian for his revelation of failure in relationships. Jean looked at him nervously before the veteran Corporal burst into laughter, holding his chest to keep his sides from completely splitting down the middle. A quick flourish of rosy pink shone down the Francian's cheeks, equating to a sense of nervousness from the judgement and embarrassment overall at the confession of not ever having a relationship partner. At least by Jean's age, most individuals would brag that they had a childhood sweetheart at least once or twice, or even had a significant crush in their youth, but having the isolation that plagued the rural social skills known as Jean's he was restricted from such confessions and instead left looking like even more of a loner. To his surprise though, Jean was moderately pleased and tempted to laugh when the real reason for his outburst of laughter came around. With a brisk ruffle of Jean's own darkened hair, Thomas finally began to make physical contact with the anxious Corporal and shower him in a slight mutual presentation of humour.

"Y'know, with the amount of flirting Freya said you'd done in the past, as well as the whole Francian natural charm part of you, I'd have thought you'd been married and divorced about twelve times already." Somehow the general absurdity of his claim made Jean smile himself, grinning and almost laughing aloud himself, if not for the sort of sickening mood of Middleton's departure, having shouted at Michael loudly it seemed. Jean was tempted to fire back with his own humorous insult, but refrained out of respect for the soldier, who'd distinguished himself across the fields of Europa and even the Southern Indoeast plains. There were little who really carried anything of such high credibility like Thomas did, at least from the start of the war in 1910EC. He'd been to hell and back a million times, and would gladly do it again if it meant giving more pride to Oceania and protecting the people who wanted to stay near his side, in and out of combat. As the two continued to laugh, Thomas finally broke the fit of giggles to add something both light-hearted and seriously toned at the exact same time, placing a gentle hand back onto his Darcsen hair and ruffling it once more. To Jean, it felt like something that Olivia would've done. And partially it felt like he had an older sibling again, playfully tampering with his lengthened hair again and again with a sense of teasing with it. None of the other squadmates had clearly figured it out...but Jean really liked having his hair ruffled for that very familial reason. Y'know, you and I are kind of similar in one way or another."

Once again, the strange absurdity of his claim made Jean spiral into a small fit of light chuckles, shaking his head nervously as he denied being anything like Thomas was: great, charismatic and overall fine with his work as a soldier to the people. But even as he denied such assertions, Thomas continued to nod, as if to press the matter and force Jean to respond with his own words. Yet he couldn't. It was such a strange thing to consider that Jean didn't actually know how to take in the information. They were different in every way, at first glance, and the surface level information fully brought it out into a believable state. However, with that on Jean's poorly informed mind, Thomas simply brought his reasoning into the equation, trying hard to combat any falsified denial that the Francian Corporal may have had.

"Right, well...not entirely the same. But when I first joined the war, believe it or not, I was rather timid myself. However, there was one thing I did that I still do today, and that's put others before me. It's a dime-a-dozen quality that never gets passed around, and I feel like your greenhorn insertion into the NCO ranking really threw up a new perspective, making it feel like you weren't here as a career soldier but out of the kindness of the others. And in a way, we both do some really stupid shit because of it, maybe me more than you, because I've been fightin' a tad longer, lad, but just some of what your qualities give is like looking directly into a mirror of the past." Once again, Jean took the defensive stance, smirking to himself as he tried to challenge Thomas' point of view. This had become a small, yet friendly, competition to become the most convincing, and this time both of them were not ready to back down on their own agendas.

"I...don't do stupid shit?"

"Come on, laddie! Freya told me you ran into a battlefield to grab those shitty binoculars and nearly got y'head blown off by doing so!" At the end of the day, it only took a few seconds for Jean to be trumped and silenced by his point. Jean had gone ahead and done something that stupid. And it was during his first battle, the one he was most scared about back then. It was a point in life where his body was acting before his mind, and it did things that he didn't think he was capable of braving up towards. From the complimentary accomplishment of Kalisa stating that Jean 'Had balls', it was the first and last time that Jean himself had felt like he was appreciated genuinely in the heat of a bloody moment. Jean could've argued back that Thomas himself did things worse, but he'd already acknowledged that right from the get-go. It was too good to be true. Jean had done some really really stupid shit on the frontlines, and some of them even worked tremendously in his favour. "Di'I ever tell you about the time I dragged a man for three kilometres across the hills of the South just to get him away from an artillery barrage?"

Curious to what he meant, Jean shook his head, and thus Thomas began to recollect the memories of such a strange tale. From the time that his friend had taken a painful bullet straight into one of his kneecaps, rendering him immobile for the weeks to come, to the extravagant combination of agility and stamina required to acquire such a successful expedition, all whilst under the occasional fire of raiding parties, soldiers from dugouts and the odd marksman or two. Three kilometres, the largest known apparent no-man's land derived at the time. Now, trenches sat within sprinting distance of one another, sometimes at most a few hundred metres or so. People were now fighting for inches and feet, not miles like they'd once been told they would. There was no glory in bleeding over a single field; a single field that required thousands of lives just to cross successfully. Thomas commented on such regards as if it were a strange amenity of human nature. Clearly he'd had time to think about such philosophical and philanthropic endeavours before he'd met Jean's squad, with his days spanning across the world under the one condition of consistent fighting.

Suddenly, he shifted the question again, turning the conversation back to Jean as if the story he'd been telling was not really important in the first place. Well, one could've argued that it was far too pointless to tell, but Jean sought to see some inspiration and general intrigue from his wild experiences. After all, one of those many tales could've been what saved Jean's life in the near future, presenting him with a wide array of strange tactics and thought processes to combat such dangerous and violent endeavours put against him. When the question was shifted back to Jean, in all honesty, he was not prepared to see the sudden seriousness of their conversation. Well, it wouldn't have been serious if it were a question asked to anyone with a more cheerful story to tell, but Jean was already uncertain of how he was going to answer the request.

"Say...Jean, why'd you even come out here to fight? Like...I really don't believe that someone like you would sign up with courage or nationalism under their reasoning, no offence. But the question still stands, mate: why'd you sign up? Intrigue? Sense of adventure? Wanted a new life?" Jean looked away for a moment, shifting his fingers in and out of themselves as they twisted about one another, nervously and curiously as to how he would answer something so personal. Thomas hadn't a clue unfortunately about where Jean had come from, who he was or why he'd even signed up. All that he knew was based on experience and the few war-stories told from Jean's first month on the frontlines. And in reality, Jean himself hadn't thought too much about it. There were a few reasons why he'd actually sold his soul to such discontent in the world of war, where death was the common occurrence and life was but a fragile concept barely recognised anymore. Now, it was a case of identifying them, and he thought for a few seconds about how he could answer it. Eventually, he found his footing on the subject and looked towards Thomas with a somewhat distant glare, as if it were shooting straight through his body and bypassing the city itself, where he spoke with a fractured smile.

"Well, uhh...I joined because I had nothing left in the world. When this whole thing started, my sibling, the very blood of my alter and light in my existence, fell during the first Maren River Offensive, towards the very end of it all. They said she died a hero, but no one can ever confirm it. She fell where I was left behind to await her eventual return, only to be met with disappointment, never to see her body, even alive nor dead, with a bitterness in my mind. I cried most nights, and as the years went on the pressure built up. More and more families called us cowards for not enlisting, so I did what I could to relieve some pressure off of my family. In reality, I wanted to experience what my sister went through, so that when I drift up to whatever afterlife she occupies now, we can sit together and know we perhaps failed in our conquest of hell." His poetic tone returned in his soliloquy, and Jean noticed that Thomas' glance was not one of amusement but rather intrigue and interest. With a more neutral glare, he waited to see what came next of Jean's tale, and was soon met with the answer he sought out. "As to why I stay...I...I want to be something to people. Sometimes more than a friend, sometimes more than a Corporal. But if my life ends not in the line of duty, but in the line of saving my allies that I care about...then so be that fateful bullet, when it strikes me down."

For a minute or two, there was a deathly silence between them. Thomas was busy trying to make sense of what he said, in a positive way, and hoped to wrap it fully around his head so he did not make any further mistakes with his conversation. Jean, on the other hand, was more relieved that for once he opened up about that true reason. It was true for him. Jean did care about protecting others. There were some he hadn't ever felt comfortable, safe nor happy around, with Luke and occasionally the oddball like Diana causing strange ruckuses around the squad, but even Jean wanted to make sure they had a chance to go home safe. Many individuals had a family member, or even a solitary life ahead of them, that required their attendance. Whilst there was much room to change that fate, all Jean presumed was that his life was to end in this Great War, doing something to honour the resting name of the Robin-Charpentiers as a principled, righteous final descendent, letting the tragedy of that name end where it began: in the ditches of Europa.

Thomas finally let out a sigh of uncertain relief as his stomach churned gently. The rifle that was slung around his shoulders soon came off, placed against the hard concrete ground to relieve the excess mass from his body. Surprisingly, he took off his prized bush-boonie and let his hair mutter in the gentle gales themselves. For a moment, he'd ridden himself of the poor anthology that was his military pride, and instead tried to return to the more human equivalent of Thomas Carter, not Marathon. Jean looked directly at him, confusion settling in as he awaited what he had to say. And eventually, Thomas delivered something that Jean did not anticipate.

All of a sudden, a single tear stroked Thomas' right cheek with graceful entry. It wasn't a bawl or a whimper, but rather a strange tear one would get when remembering things could've been better. And at that moment, Jean began to realise that this wasn't something that he ever wanted to tell, but for the sake of levelling himself and humanising his own status with the more common Francian, it was work spilling for the sake of his own generation of soldiers.

"I'm goin' to be real with you mate...I want to go home. I miss it. Every day, and every night, I get on my lil' knees and pray that someday I'll go home and see Ma 'n' Pa. To me, I'm not a soldier, but a farm boy with a lot to lose. People may call me the Pride of Oceania, but all I am, Jean, is a little scared man who wants to see his family again. I know it's hard for you to empathise directly, mate, but I really think that maybe...maybe we're more alike than first glance suggests." Thomas wiped away the tear, leaving Jean speechless and uncertain of how to react to such a strange revelation. Was it true? Thomas wasn't the cookie-cutter soldier that everyone made him out to be, and instead felt the very same childlike emotions that any rational individual wanted to feel. He wanted the comfort of being tucked in at night, read bedtime stories and told that there were no monsters beneath his small wooden bed, yet as a grown man he was now the very monster his mother warned him of, and the war was the bed they hid beneath.

"Thomas...I...I really don't-"

"All I'm sayin' is, mate...you're doing a good job, I think, personally. Many others may not think it, but fuck 'em...You're stronger than you imagine, and even the strongest around you feel the same fetal desires as any other branded as a coward. Just know...we're here for you too, if that helps make some piece of mind?" Despite wanting to, Jean didn't shed any tears, but instead gave a pained smile, one that spoke clearly for him. It...meant so much, strangely, to hear such a distinguished fighter rid their own fame for levelling humanity with a Darcsen. For once, there was no mentioning of race, nor class divides, and instead they were seen as only one thing: humans. In of itself, Jean really liked what Thomas had to say, and knew that this was something he wanted to keep close to his heart forever. Lest the days brought more misery, Thomas would always be there to bless the Squad with humour, charisma and knowledge behind all closed doors. But suddenly, the mood changed entirely when Diana came by with a small plate of cookies, to which Thomas quickly wiped away his tear, put on his hat and made it out like nothing happened, casually going over to Diana and taking a cookie for himself before winking at her. "Can't tell which one is the real treat, ay' gal?"

As Thomas returned with his confectionery prize, finally Michael decided to join them and asked politely if he could enter their presence and conversation, to which Jean quickly deterred from the melancholic conversation him and Thomas had to help Michael improve his own mood. Clearly, the impact Middleton would've had on him was far from satisfactory, thus Jean wanted to at least make something interesting to talk about.

"Hey, Michael...Been too long since we managed to catch up, y'know...with all this fighting. But how's things going? Well prepared for the future?" As he gave him a small window of opportunity to respond, Jean also pressed a more casual question towards him with an oddly uncharacteristic smile. "Ignoring the Captain for a moment, pretending he doesn't exist...how's things with you and Lucia? She talked about you a lot to me, when she proclaimed to be my new younger sister. She's full of surprises, but I think she really has a good connection with you, Mr Daunte."

Diana’s Brutal Reality – Diana’s Pendant – September 26, 1914 (Siege of Amone)

---

Diana felt a bit annoyed and frustrated that Luke didn’t respond to what she had said. ”He must’ve been in his own little world or something… Ugh, I guess that’s why he thinks a hangover is nice.. Guess everyone has many things on their head after that terrible time. I am definitely not happy about it either.” Diana thought to herself, with a cute sigh. It was somewhat good he didn’t respond or he would have probably used his patent little jokes on her again. They are definitely annoying and thinking that made her seethe in rage just thinking about what he’ll say to her. ”Why am I being frustrated at a guy who hasn’t said anything to me yet? It’s probably my mother’s letter that’s getting me to think about these things.” Diana thought to herself, having a small frown on her face. It took her a minute to calm down from all the things in her head about the shock of her mother’s letter and cookies. She sighed with a slight bit relief in her body language and decided to look through the package in question. It’s mostly because her mother is overly prepared in everything, which she wasn’t really shocked to find a metal plate in the package with the patented Vastergoth Bakery’s cookie shaped holders. This was the first time of her seeing the cookie shaped holder type plate, which was a bit weird nonetheless.

She couldn’t help but sigh at the thoroughness of her mother’s preparedness. It made her feel a bit more down it was obvious her mother knew what kind of plate would hold her cookies. Her entire body language was definitely not happy at this whole thing, but she took out the plate and put cookies on it, which equal ten cookies. ”Can you please stop this mother? Why are you always over prepared for things? But this plate in question is a first time I’ve seen it.” Diana thought to herself with a definite not happy look on her face. It’s mostly because of the letter, which she read that’s hurting her mood but she would probably feel better if she gave her mother’s cookies to the squad. She walked by Jean and Thomas talking about important things. It was obviously she didn’t hear what they were talking about since she had her own problems to deal with. In terms of her body language she needed to be cheered up a bit.

Diana was highly focused on giving her squadmates her mother’s cookies. At least the package was safe near her stuff in the small area she was sitting at, which she did shut because it was required to keep the rest of the cookies safe. She noticed Thomas casually going over to her, which gave her a slight smile on her face. When he took a cookie from the plate she was holding, which helped her mood a bit. However, what shocked her a bit and made her blush all at the same time was when Thomas winked at her. ”Umm… did that just happen? Did he wink at me.” Diana thought to herself, she had never thought someone who’s a hero would wink at her. It took her a bit to refocus since that definitely took her for a bit of a loop. She smiled gently towards him and she definitely blushed more with what he said about which is the real treat. Her thoughts were going a bit wild but she calmed herself some to respond to his question. ”U-Uhh… Yeah… Treats are very hard to come by I suppose.” Diana said, with her face blushing a bit. She realized after she spoke that she more or less said that the cookies and her are a treat and couldn’t help but blush a bit more than she had. ”T-Thank you for that by the way… I needed some cheering up, Thomas.” Diana said, with a smile on her face. Some people knew how to cheer people up and what Thomas had said definitely brought her smile back.

She couldn’t help but stare a bit as Thomas was returning to continue the conversation with Jean. It took her a bit to notice that Micheal was there now to, it made her smile somewhat. ”I guess I will ask Michael & Jean if they want a cookie after they have spoke a bit...” Diana thought to herself, with a gentle smile on her face. She continued on her general path until she heard some laughter and giggling coming from Luke’s tent. It caused her to stop and listen in, which made her hear Ines’ voice coming from the tent. ”Ah, so that’s where Ines’ went. I hope they don’t want me to join in whatever they are doing… I don’t want a repeat of last time.” Diana thought to herself. However, a part of her wanted to repeat something, which she was highly embarrassed about at the White Hart Inn, ala stripping herself completely naked. It was there only for a moment and kinda was jealous of Ines having fun with Luke in a friendly way. ”T-The hell? Why am I jealous of Ines? It’s not like they are going to do it… He is too shy of a guy to handle that anyways. He didn’t know how to properly kiss a girl… W-What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel like I am doing something wrong… with my life?” Diana thought to herself, with a frustrated look but why she was frustrated wasn’t as easy as day to see.

Diana decided to walk away from the tent before she does something stupid as if her mother made her a bit more self-conscious about herself and her life. It made her feel like her mother was right here on the battlefield with her. She finally made it to a table or barrel and put the metal plate down and couldn’t help but sigh. It was definitely a thing, which caused her to move her left hand towards her silver pendant necklace that everyone can see and opened it and looked directly at her mother Rebecca and her father Gavin. She decided to sit down right there as well, and stared directly at the pictures in question. ”Mother and Father what do you want me to do?” Diana asked quietly towards the Pendant Necklace. It was obvious she was trying to ask for guidance from pictures even though they don’t talk or move. The fact she was conscripted to this battlefield away from the two people she loved the most was definitely hurtful to her. She hoped that no one noticed her speaking to her pendant necklace but had a gentle smile. However, at least she stared at the cookies on the plate and looked around to see if any of her squadmates were moving around. ”My mother’s homemade cookies from home are wonderful, it’ll be nice if you try them. But I am going to sit hear though since I need sometime to think.” Diana resounded her voice to be a bit higher so everyone could hear her. However, her tone of voice was mostly to renounce she got cookies and not like an order or anything since she wants everyone to enjoy them since the only ones that could order her are Thomas, Jean and Isaac. This was mostly to people that weren’t in a tent, however, if they were paying attention they could’ve heard Diana’s voice.

@LetMeDoStuff

So, she had received mail, just like everyone else, but felt rather distracted from reading it. Britta was actually looking forward to hearing some news from home, hopefully that her plan to alleviate some of the expenses there had had a positive impact and all. However, there had been a number of distractions. One of them, of course, had been Isaac. She had written home about the entire squad, how they seemed to knit together like family. Some of them were like arguing married couple, others were under a strain, but mostly they banded together. And yes...there were a few lines thrown in about Isaac and that his family might be nice to get to know, though Britta did not convey Isaac's scheme to corner the livestock and crop market with their farms. It takes more than two to control the industry.

That was in the one Britta hadsent. This was the reply, but she hadn't been reading it. At first, it was just the light-hearted banter over the jerky with Isaac, but...she kept going back to the moment at the White Hart Inn, something she couldn't really overlook. She had been afraid. Not to the point of inactivity, but rather she reacted so because she and Isaac could do nothing for Jean as the gas advanced upon him. This war, she had handled with a determined look in her eye. The bombardments on Hill 58? Taken like a champ. The armored car? Just an obstacle in the way. But the gas... For one moment, that creeping sinister fog was more than Britta had ever experienced, an issue where life and death was only determined by a flimsy mask. It bothered her that she had felt that tremendous dread that she'd be watching Jean puke out his innards. That they'd gotten out of there was a boon and a half.

What is this war, where it can still find ways to creep me out, when I've accepted it in all its violent ways?

It's been alot to take in, and what Britta eventually decided was that next time, she would be prepared. It would not shock her a second time. Now...let's move onto Isaac. He isn't aware that he's been effectively made part of a trashy novel, courtesy of Ines and Freya, way back at the Inn. He doesn't know that Ines called him Scarface or that Britta is secretly referred to as Silverhead. He isn't even sure why exactly he was shouted at for trying to get Franz back to his senses back then...when the state he was in could've had him lashing out at anyone. No, he was just bantering a bit with Michael, pleased that the oath to keep Lucia out of Middleton's claws was being followed. Shame, though. The Sapper didn't drink. Thomas, though...

"He might, at that."

He DID follow Michael, mainly because they hadn't spoken must lately, that Jean AND 'Marathon' were over at the table he went to, and frankly he wanted a load-off, as well, saying, "Well, I will. No reason not to.", after Michael had asked to sit down. In response to Jean's inquiry about how he was doing, a thought occurred: They were at a huge encampment. They could probably get full sapper gear out of someone around here, even proper explosives for those damn armored cars! He decided to hold onto this tidbit as Jean asked about him and Lucia, prompting him to listen and hear...that Diana was offering cookies! She'd been in sort of a mood, but fortunately Thomas seemed to help with that. Britta saw the plate and took one, letter in hand, thanking her now. Back to the conversation at hand...

"I think Michael is handling himself pretty well with the whole Lucia situation. I'd reward 'im if I knew what to do that with. Apart from foraging around the camps for a proper Sapper loadout, I don't have a clue."

Meanwhile, Britta had been leaning against the poll of a tent, finally reading into her letter. The farm was doing well, but they were short of work becau- The female Gunner's eyes shot wide as she read the lines that followed. Again, that chilly feeling at the base of her spine... It was an unwelcome sensation, something she only spared for rare occasions. She never intended this... It was only suppose to be her taking this risk, a risk she knew how to manage. Britta headed over to the table where Jean, Thomas, Michael, and Isaac sat, her expression just a bit anxious, but controlled, as she said...

"I need to go check on something. I'll be back soon. Perhaps there's something you'd like me to scrounge while I'm out?"

---

"A lot better than I expected. Thank you."

It felt really weird to say that he was doing well, among the deaths and destructions in this gloom. But it was perhaps not that far from the truth after all. Michael had expected much of his soldier life in misery, but it turned out to be not as bad, mostly thanks to the kindness and care of some members of his squad, especially that particular girl that Jean just mentioned. It may be far from the norm of perception for most people, but he was doing relatively well. Not really good, but it was nowhere near as bad as he had thought.

"I don't know about her right now, with him trying to block her side, but if that's the hypothetical scenario, she would be a happy one, since whenever she doesn't have him on his mind, she tends to smile a lot more."

This just helps putting the conflict back on his mind. About that terrible excuse of a captain. He didn't know if he should really forgive that man now, after all the consideration of what he had done to Lucia and all his soldiers who he did not hesitate to send deaths their way. Especially when repentance was definitely not a thing to this man, not at least according to what he had shown himself to be. But regardless of that, he still knew that the best solution is to forgive. He was taught all his life to know that. To let go of hatred for another human being and see him for his true self. He had to do it, otherwise he might just consume himself. But the more he knew, the harder it was to extend forgiveness to such a man. He certainly did not deserve such a thing, regardless of how sympathetic his circumstances were.

Was his morality built incorrectly from the very beginning? Or was he being a judgmental figure trying to be higher than God himself? Michael just couldn't find his answer.

"It may have been a little too far ahead for me," Michael simply shrugged the issue off his shoulders, before moving to something else. Something else stuck in his mind ever since he was back at White Hart. "but I may actually have feelings for her."

He wasn't one hundred percent sure of it, but from the looks of it, the unusual care and worries he had over a girl who was not his family, how he was sometimes unable to shake her off of his mind, it seemed to be that the seed had been planted. Of course it could be argued that he was just the kind soul that he was born as, but going as far as to be so angered by someone else who abuse her like that, a normal person would not be so persistent.

"Although some of her antics can be a little annoying, she cared at the right time that I needed it most. I'm honestly thankful." He said, before addressing the silver-haired gunner standing right next to the group of gentlemen around. Her question wasn't really his concern, but rather...her demeanor. It outright did not click with his normal impression of the calm gunner who had his back during the hill charge or during Amone. Regardless, he addressed her directly and concisely, heeding her offer.

"If you could find me a clean piece of cloth, I'd very much appreciate it."
@FalloutJack@LetMeDoStuff

When Michael began to spill the beans of his true emotions, there were two main reactions split between Thomas and Jean alike. For the former, the Oceanic Corporal was met with a strange surprise, smiling and patting Michael on the back gently as he chuckled at the idea of more love blossoming on the battlefield. It was always a great light to bear the fruits of intimacy and compassion amongst the fields of deathly screams, agonising batteries and forsaken forests. Jean, on the other hand, just grinned to himself. It was inevitable to him. Little did Michael actually know, Jean's own poetry practice referenced such an event unfolding, where one would realise their love for the other and admit to feeling something, just something, for their opposing counterpart. Unfurling was part of the process of a flower's bloom, anyway. All it took was the appropriate sunlight to blemish such fragile petals for it to truly show its beauty. Jean liked that a lot. Seeing Michael be happy and the potential to fully fall in love with a girl he had found comfort within brought a silent tear behind his glassy eyes, where somehow Jean resisted the urge to let that tear slide down his cheek. Alone with that thought drenched in his fragile mind, he instead mustered the courage and courtesy to smile fanatically at this revelation he hoped to see. Again, it hadn't surprised him at all. Jean was just glad to see something so beautiful make its way from fiction into reality. It was the little things like those words that genuinely soothed the coarse edges of his sanity. Jean truly appreciated what he heard. The glistens of appreciation, the admiralty of his compassion and the overall sensations of pure love, and perhaps a small amount of lust blended in between, it all came out as one amazing portrait for him to pick apart and study.

Isaac brought up the desire to reward such acts of honesty to the Cruxian Daunte, and Jean himself couldn't have agreed anymore. However, unlike the opposing Lance Corporal, the Francian held an idea of his own which he wished to share. Folding his arms and leaving back, Jean actually began to smile and speak as if he were a different person. It'd been seen several times at the inn and on the train, but this was the side of Jean that was in its ultimate state of calmness and intrigue.

"I know of ways to reward Michael, trust me." For a moment, Jean paused before turning his head away from Isaac and towards the man of question. With a sly grin he nodded and leaned forward, actually preparing to give a real piece of his positive mind towards the underappreciated sapper. "Honestly, you've done some great work here. I'd have kept Lucia under my wing if I wasn't so busy with being a fool, but you are a charming character who Lucia looks up to. And if you have feelings for her, I can guarantee, my friend, that she does too, they are just being hindered by a man in uniform. I don't exactly appreciate what the Captain is doing, but apparently some Sergeants in the Mortar teams did some digging and found out some stuff about his past 'n' all, didn't sound very pretty for his own mental state."

Jean himself didn't know the details of said rumours or leaks of information because they were quickly suppressed the moment the word got out into the publication of Amone's soldiers. All who knew of the knowledge were told to forget it or reminded that it was but a fateful lie that must not be accounted for, as it could be considered slander towards their superior too. Because of this strange ruse shouldering around the forward operating point, he didn't want to involve himself in any sort of gossip that could hinder the safety or prosperity of his Squad's life. Squad 1 were already under enough flak for not having completed their objective according to the original plan. Upon arrival to the area, Lucia and Jean were torn away from the group to receive the bollockings they apparently deserved. Jean's of course was about the inability to at least attempt the mission, to which Jean could do little to argue against and instead just accepted that perhaps his results were far from satisfactory according to the superior conglomerate of officers that roamed the chain of command. With that issue entailing such difficulty in trust, Jean knew that their overall objective may prove to be harder once more. He'd heard plans of the tunnel raid being incorporated within the upcoming major assault on the rest of Amone, where it would act as a shutdown to retreats, reinforcements and other much needed supplies on a short-term scale. It's perks of doing it at that moment in time would be that it could scatter the entire Imperial defensive force in Amone, causing chaos and disorder throughout their frontline. The worst part about that was having to send Reyna deep into a place she may never return from.

Out of Thomas' surprise, Jean suddenly started to chuckle to himself. It was unprecedented and outlandish in its ferocity, knowing very well that Jean was not exactly the man of many mood swings as some would consider. However, his mind was playing all sorts of weird tricks on him for the time being, and he conformed to their strange battlements that had besieged the once depressed soul that lurked within. When Thomas blankly, and rather confusedly, gawked at how strange his shift in mood was, Jean finally allowed Thomas and the two friends sat with him listen to the thoughts that crossed his unorthodox muse. Before he got it out, another fit of giggling could be heard from beneath his lips.

"S-Sorry, it's just that...well I was looking at myself, as if I were an outsider or a different person, and thought about how my love life is compared to yours. I mean, I am absolutely over-the-moon if you have feelings for her, Michael, but I remembered how hopeless I am." Once again, he giggled more and more, almost childishly and uncontrollably, at the way he was wording all that he had to speak. "Like...you can all guess how easy it is for me to fall in love, right? It's clearer than the tabula rasa itself."

Knowing fully well that the concepts of love and compassion were still rather alienated to Jean as an individual, he found it remarkable that had finally come to the conclusion of his own romantic incursions. What imprudence, he would imagine, that such stupendous occurrences had become of this poor Francian? One who never experienced the joys of a childhood crush, nor the understanding of what it meant to truly love someone outside of your family, until the days he set foot in Garnia. First came Diana and the sweetened girl called Paloma. Instantly he fell into a fit of sweetness in their appearances. Following them was Kalisa and a girl he'd only ever seen a few times in the past, Marielle of course, who brought a new emotion of desire and compassion upon Jean's unfortunate soul. Reyna was a highlight in his life, of course, as she highlighted everything that Jean wanted out of a lover: integrity, determination and simply excellence, of course. Some may have called Jean's actions prepubescent due to the nature of its sudden uproar, but who could honestly blame the boy who'd spent his years behind the closed door of protection with a sister he looked up to? This was a once in a lifetime opportunity for Jean to truly understand and figure out what he liked in the opposing gender, and with the strange but beautiful cast of individuals all around him, he couldn't help but feel his heart tingle upon the thought of such greatness.

Even now, when surrounded by hundreds of soldiers he'd never learn the names of, Jean's face continued to fluster whenever he saw someone of interest. In particular, Jean had spied a strange individual who carried a wonderful aura with her. It was hard for the Francian to obviously talk about, but as a Francian he believed in the sense of souls and minds being separated from one another, and that the soul was something you could sense outside of their perceived appearances. And this one girl...he saw her aura, or so Jean would say. Flowing with a viridescent strand of hair, the emerald clover amongst the sea of darkened poppies glistened out without a sense of care or urgency. She didn't feel special, but she most likely was. Jean never approached her nor did he see her again in that moment, but he questioned his own romantic morals after that moment. His heart skipped many beats, on and off of one another, and beckoned the call of salvation of who he really wanted to fall in love with forever.

"Oh, you must all laugh at how imprudent I must be." His cheeks burned a bright and crimson shade of red, indicating how truly embarrassed he was of his strange emotions. In reality, he wasn't proud to be interested in so many females at the same time, but the concept of love was truly new to him and he just had to experience what it was like in person. For a poor gentleman of the fallen Robin-Charpentier bloodline, he at least kept a sense of charm and charisma beneath his own belt. Beneath all that traumatic gall that plagued his very existence, Jean was still capable of thinking of romantic pursuits, extravagantly emphasised by the amount of relationships that had begun to sprawl and spread around Squad 1. Lucia and Michael of course were a highlight now, but even Britta and Isaac were another to contemplate. There was Ines and Franz's own encounter and even one between Diana and Victoria, so he heard. All of the scenarios above just made him feel like perhaps love was indeed possible for a broken man like Jean. And so, once again, he began to laugh: "I'm just not very good at it all. My mother and father held me mostly in our locked house for fear of anti-Darcsen gangs getting me, but in turn I never really grew to understand these emotions like you all have. Guess I'm truly that much of a weirdo, huh?"

It had been a rough talk with Franz. He wasn't holding up well and he was collapsing under pressure but overall he would make it to the next night. That was the reality of his situation. He had been beaten and battered by the war and the visit Anneli and Senja paid him only did the man so many favors. There hadn't been much that he had to say after that gas attack. He hadn't been one for words to begin with, but now he seemed more distant. He was colder. His skin seemed greyer and his spirit had perhaps been shattered again. His brief brightening with Ines had been that and with her turning from him and that letter that he held in his hand... Well... Maybe he wouldn't have minded if he did get shot. It was hard for the Nords to know what he was thinking with how unresponsive he was.

A shame that it was they couldn't get him to say much more than small replies or flat out ignoring them at times. He spent more time than ever distancing himself from everyone else and to that extent he felt very alone. He had obviously pushed himself away quietly and always insisted on being in the back to ensure the safety of the squad but there wasn't much more to it than wanting to be alone. It was probably better for him to be with the friends he made but how he felt... it... it didn't feel right. He couldn't even express himself to Ines very well. He felt like he never quite got it across as to how thankful he was for her intervening that day. Sure Issac and Jean put their two cents in but he didn't care about either of them in that moment. The Nords had come not long after to help get him along.

Now it was the letter... At least, in the darkness, there was a peace he could find and with his slowly degrading health he had more of a reason to stay in. He still did his jobs, but returning to bed as often as allowed meant he got the thing he felt like he needed. So much emptiness and questioning... He hadn't touched his stencils in a long time.

There was a time when she meant so much to him and even now she meant everything. He risked his life, his pride, his money, and his gang all to look for this girl who escaped his grasp for so long. Was it some kind of sick joke? While he shook his arm quietly did it have some kind of punch line he failed to read? Was he in another nightmare? They seemed so frequent and so damn real. He read the letter again to be sure, but like the time before all the words were there.

"Dear Franz,
It has been too long. It has been far, far too long. I have read your letters and loved them all. I can't believe, even now, that you looked for me all this time. You are a treasure beyond treasures and a man who has stopped at nothing to find me. I always knew you were a strong boy with great determination, but now I see that as a man nothing has changed. You'll always make me proud, Franz Blau... So I guess I'll tell you what I've seen."

The words on paper told of her journey and struggle to keep the family afloat with her mother taking select choices in attempting to provide a better life chasing opportunity after opportunity without fail. She had seen many things in her life. The monuments of the nations, the heroes of marble and stone, and honored them with photography. She found her triumphs in the postal business and found her failings in pursuing some of her artistic dreams. A tough choice to choose one over the other, but her ambitious mother had to make do. The most amusing, and damning, detail was the sheer fact that over the course of time that they had pursued each other they had just missed each other by days, hours, or minutes as Amber guessed. For Franz it felt like seconds. All the same they were lovers who had simply found themselves unable to match each other's tempo. It hurt so much that when Franz decided to stay in to cope with his sadness instead of looking for her that he had simply missed her when she had spent a couple of days sitting out in a park he would have went to on those days. Devastating.

Still, she was trying. It had only been when she came back from the empire that she settled... and she had done so not so long after he enlisted for the army. It was only three months ago that their cafe and bakery mix had been established. It even hosted a bookcase collection of which the Longblades found themselves fond of. Franz smiled the first time reading about all the men who had taken time to read the books and discuss them in their little book club that a patron had decided should be opened... and he frowned knowing that it took over her visits to the park.

Idly he read through each word and felt a barrage of emotions. He was proud of her and all she had done and so often she spoke of how she would have wanted to share it with him. So often she talked about how dear he had been to her. He hadn't left her mind for so long... but, as she would present to him yet again as he dissected every line, she did.

"And even though I loved you I knew I had to move on. I couldn't have spent more time looking for you. Mother wouldn't have had it. Someone who became dear to me wouldn't have appreciated it either. I always fancied the idea of being with you, Franz. Please, never forget that. You were a world far away that I could never find no matter how hard I looked. I always regretted- and I still do- not taking you with us. I will always regret never chasing after you when you said you were going home. I thought about it for so long and now that I have the chance to talk with you again it breaks my heart to know what you suffered. I've never felt such pain like knowing how the world has treated you my poor, sweet, Franz. I wanted nothing more than to see you, but I know that now that I can I'm only going to hurt you more and you deserved better!

But... I can't break two hearts tonight. Franz... I'm engag-"
A finger pressed against the word as breathing became unstable. His heart throttled his throat and tears ripped at corners again. Sharp knives pierced his skin as he closed his eyes to hide it from himself again.

No more... just... please... no more...

Franz was left spinning as he remembered everything he had done wrong. What should have he had done so long ago? He knew there was no point in staying with his father and all the same his naive mind thought something would change. He thought that maybe with time he would potentially see his mother again. He thought that with such powerful strides in learning he could make something of himself. He thought that maybe if he stayed in Gallia he could find something of out of the miserable kingdom he resided in. Even with his father's growing complications and abusive attitude he held idiotic hope that anything would change. He just let resentment build and sink in viciously with teeth of the sands ripping at his life. How much more sand would he bleed from the hourglass? From dust to dust for nothing?

Even now he had to ponder, with such droning repetition why it was that he waited for a flag that would never be passed onto him. Henry... Fucking Henry. The abusive Kraken tangling his reluctant arms and frying his blooming mind... It was his fault. All of it was HIS fault! Playing sympathy, tricking him at every turn, pretending to care, using him for leverage, beating him for not being home on time, giving alcoholic speeches on virtues he never once held! Henry the fucking Gallian and his god damn queen! What good was a fucking queen for a fucking pathetic kingdom when it was as frail as her brittle arms and powdered face!

With a loud grunt Franz flipped his bed over with a kick! FUCK!

It was... it was Franz's fault. He tried to reason his actions. Nobody asked him to stay with Henry. He did it himself. He let his life escape him and now here he was in hell. What about his own virtues? What fucking virtue did Franz have? Honor? Loyalty? Chastity?

He killed a woman and let her bleed to death and had shot countless more who just wanted to live. He took supplies from soldiers to scrap by and make petty excuses for why he took so long.

Loyalty? What fucking loyalty? An Imperial killing Imperials! An Imperial defending the worthless Gallians through the snake mouth Federation! Who's side was this turncoat on? He killed his brothers! He killed his sisters! He did so fighting against the truth of the world! Without the empire this world would be nothing! Democracy is the system of puppets and masters but too shy to say it! It kept its population nice and stupid so it could manipulate its very core while pitting them against petty objectives with the intention of pushing their own agenda! At least the empire was honest! In its very name the empire made its intentions very clear and despite being a collective of annexed territories and multicultural prowess none could debate that their way of life worked! None could debate that it could not only go toe to toe with those pathetic Federalists but it could supersede it! Is this what Franz fought for?! Regression?! The worthless wimps of politicians playing house?! Franz was a traitor to his own blood! He was a traitor to his own family! What fucking loyalty?!

And! And! And... Amber... Oh Amber... He couldn't even keep loyal to her. What is a decade in the span of a life? It's nothing. With life being so finite and capped one should be able to hold any promise and desire. One should not let the stresses of the world to break his short lived will. From dawn to dusk the ideals of the hero should be maintained... but Franz was no hero... He was a coward who caved in when the cards were down. He was an adulterous whore who couldn't even wait another month. He gave up at the prospect of affection and like the fool he was he gave it up for a woman who didn't even want him...

Ines had Freya... Franz?... Franz had no one.

He chuckled to himself in the corner.

"I deserved this." He thought.

Not a moment would go by where he wouldn't think of his mistakes. On the path to being a great he squandered it on pettiness. On the road to being a hero he built his legacy on the blood of his own. In pursuit of being a paragon he found himself being below the very star of destiny but looking through a scope. It was a fantasy... his ideals... his perfect world... he was beneath them. He would never be a hero and he would never be the man he wished he could be. He was a husk of a man who died long ago and it took him this long to realize it. They say you see your life flash before your eyes before you fade into the darkness... As the candle lost its luster and the ember gripped at its last he found this to be true.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed but his tent was a mess. All the same, he held onto that letter. It was all that was left of him. He had to cling onto this. It was the only thing that made him feel. Even if he felt so much pain... even if he felt endless sorrow... it was better than nothing. Remembering the feeling... he got back to work. Piece by piece he paced himself at a rigid timing and reset his tent. Piece by piece he put back everything where it belonged and thanked himself for not creating more of a noise than he did. It would be annoying to listen to some pompous bastard explain why this retched existence was worth fighting for. He already knew that. He had obligations to fulfill and that was all. It wasn't just his life that would be affected. Markus needed his money. The gang needed his money.

"Yet perhaps they did not." The shadow crawled from under his bed and even with darting eyes Franz met his gaze without so much as a blink. It wasn't until but seconds later that he flipped his lids and looked back at the letter in the lifeless cage.

"Who says you need to live? In this war you may very well die. Do you honestly believe Markus needs you? The gang has managed despite its many deaths... and yet still you believe you matter to them. You are a number, Franz. You are a Darcsen. The only purpose of the Darcsen is to die so that the rest may live. Yet... what a worthless endeavor it is, do you not think so? In the fight of our lives with every inch gained and all purpose searched one finds the fight is for naught. You know this. WE know this. Yet like actors in a play we dance and sing and fall when the script calls us to die. Even the greatest of heroes will be forgotten and all the same you are a thief of the beginning. The beginning will punish you with the prospect of the end, yet you don't revere it. You find yourself pushing to save people who are worth nothing in this life. You're just another character in a made up world waiting to die, aren't you Franz? A poor tragic character in a ballad of sorrows."

Franz made no refute, simply eyeing his inventory and looking back to the letter.

"You want it, Franz. You don't want to fight anymore. Every moment you've lived to this point has been for a woman who has been fucked dry by some Federal dog waiting to infect her with his cursed blood. Ahahahaha! And the Imperial hero gives up!"

With a slide the magazine locked in place. The parabellum of that poor victim that Franz killed now pointed at the shadow with steady arms and a fixation upon his ghastly skull.

"Do you think that this changes anything, shadow? You think you tell me anything new or do you hope that I cave into your desires for me? Or do you truly think me such a coward?"

"You are worthless, Franz. WE are worthless." The shadow grinned turning into a mirror of Franz and pressing its skull against the barrel of the gun. "End this story so that you can have your rest."

"Do you think I'm incapable?"

"I think you are a coward. WE think you are cowardly."

"Then pull the trigger if you think I am afraid to die." Franz turned the gun onto himself, wrapping his lips around the barrel and locking eyes with his shadow. The sounds of the world around them subtly played. Then- a deafening silence. In this moment there was nothing. There was just a man staring into his soul and hating what he saw. Even with the nightmare in his face he found himself without any fear. He found himself without any anger. He... felt... nothing... He stared into the abyss and the abyss stared back. With a jolt, it grabbed the gun and pushed the barrel in slightly deeper. Even with Franz's hand on the gun, he made no effort to resist it. The grinning shadow slide it in all the way and adjusted the angle.

"An instant death."

Franz adjusted it back.

"A slow and painful demise...ehehehe."

Franz had no such laughter.

"Then, die."

With Franz's finger leaving the trigger the shadow slipped its own in. "Die, Franz Blau!"

BANG!

---

...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
?

---

“What should happen when I die, Franz?”

“Sir?”

“What should happen when I meet my end?”

“I suppose we’ll bury you.”

“Like the others?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I...Sir?”

“Why should I be buried like all the others? Why must they all be the same?”

“There is no other way.”

“There is, but it starts with you.”

“...I don’t understand you, sir.”

“Steffen. Call me by my name.”

“Explain to me what you mean, Steffen.”

“Why must it be that when a man dies the clouds turn grey and the light runs dim? Why must it be that when life is out there to live people would rather spend it in death?”

“People hurt, Steffen. They hurt and in the end death is what gives life meaning… or so I’ve been told.”

“Death gives death meaning. Life gives life meaning. When you are happy it is not because death has made it so. You are happy because you are happy. You live because you have more of the same.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“When I am gone, long buried away in the cold dirt and the rain soaked soil, buried in a box far away from home… do not weep for me. Let that be clear. Remember me! Remember Dennis! Remember Rothe! Remember them and be merry as I was!”

“We missed them dearly, brother, how are we to drink and cheer when they are long gone before us?”

“Because it is how they would have wanted you to remember them. It is how I want you to remember and celebrate me. I want to feel the sun against my cheeks when my time is done. I want to hear my friends drinking and being merry as I rot in my box. I want them to, even if they are crying, pour me a drink and tell me how they can’t wait to see me again! That is how I want to die!…. Because… to die any other way…”

The older man placed his hand on the young one’s shoulder, gripping it gently and staring him in the eyes.

“Live your life, Franz. Don’t look back. When all is said and done I want you to not let those scars define you. If you give up because of them… If you keep hurting yourself over them… You put all the effort we poured into you in vain. No matter what you have to promise me you will try. If not for yourself then for the people around you… Try...”

---

"Personally, I think you do have a future. Everybody does."

"Even if it isn't allocated to you yourself."

"You did say you grieved for Mila. Then you're already better than me..."

"But it shows you do actually care about something. About her. About her future. And I think Mila does too, in her final moments and decision to cover you. I know she probably doesn't live your life, doesn't fully understand what pain you have to go through, but I think that's one of her future, even if she doesn't come out of that alive..."

"She saw that she could preserve and protect others' future. And she jumped right at it. No hesitation, no thinking. Even though her ideals are a little simplistic and to be honest unhealthy, I still respect her greatly to know that she saved you. Sometimes it would be in vain. I know, because I too failed to save my friend. His father owned a carpenter shop, and he was waiting for his son to inherit it, but what he would receive now would merely be a letter saying he died for his country. Only because I missed that shot. But the thought alone also speaks. I know it sounds a little sophisticated, but I just think that..."

"To preserve people's future is also a future."

---

"If you need anything, come to me. Darscen look out for one another. I don't care what it is, find me and I'll watch over my brother. Enjoy your life for those who cannot, Jean."

---

"And...this isn't goodbye. It's not 'no.' I just...I can't hurt you."

"You're not losing me..."

"It's not like we're dead. I'll still be here. No matter what happens."

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

---

“Am I going to die?”



“Yes.”


“I-I don’t- want- to!” Another gagged gasp.


“I know.”


“Did… I do… The empire… proud?”


“Yes… Your family too...”


“Will they remember...”


“...I will remember you...”


“...I will remember you...”


“...I will remember you...”

---

"Franz, it's morning."

---

Dark faded to the light as eyes slowly cracked open. A numbness was present in every bit of his body. Lungs took in air and his heart gradually made itself known to him. Everything was blurry. His mind wandered as the feeling crawled back into him. His head hurt and his hands were full. He pressed his hands against his forehead and listened to the familiar sound of paper grinding against skin- and the cold reminder of the time before. His eyes regained focus as he looked to his right hand, slowly pulling the pistol off of his head and... just staring at it blankly. He blinked, even if only twice, before turning it over and looking at his hand.

He didn't do it...

The cool of the gun reminded him of everything. He remembered it all and felt so numb. Here, perhaps,where any other would have taken shock in their situation and contemplated regret, Franz felt only memories flooding. He stared and stared... the art of the dream fresh in his mind. He supposed he wouldn't find rest. There was no rest for someone like him. There was just picking off where you left off. That was all there was... right?

In the other hand there was the letter. Just looking at it sparked emotions but none were as intense as the time before. There was much he had to say but at the same time nothing at all. He had words but no structure. He had numbness yes no logic. There was a pattern somewhere lost in the broken vase and where it began and where it ended left him spinning in the dark. Perhaps it was why he sat up to find his body was sprawled out in a ragdolled position. Still... it must not have been so long that any would have assumed him dead.

With the gun left under the letter on the bed Franz quietly contemplated the many words that continued to pursue him. He wasn't sure if he had the will to go on, but evidently he didn't kill himself either. He wasn't afraid... but maybe he was. It was hard to know what he felt anymore. The dawn of another day was just another day to relive the past and another to contemplate the future. The present was the never ending act of pushing for a point in time where all would be forgotten. Despite this truth of his, he found himself breathing in some miracle performed by a hypothetical god... and at this point... maybe he needed one.

Franz had never been big on the idea of religion and certainly not when it involved the destruction of Darcsen for the sake of being a lowly dark hair. What black hair would willingly subject themselves to hours of torment by people who spoke of his lack of worth? Well, ironically, Franz would. He very lightly chuckled at the thought as he had endured vocal torment once by his father. He endured it yet again with so many others and endured it here thinking of the notion. Perhaps he was a lot more tolerant than he ever gave himself credit for but what remained so very clear was that no matter the amount of tolerance he had towards the pain he still had much to straighten out for himself and that was where he was at. If religion had even the slightest of answers... well... maybe not.

He supposed it was a funny thought. Normally, at least in what he had read, war was where one went to abandon their faith. There was nothing more gruesome and faith killing than watching hell burn life to ashes with no seen intervention from a deity. Maybe there was reason behind a creator sitting idly while his creations died, but maybe he couldn't understand. It made no sense to him to simply give up and let your beings fight for their lives... but maybe the expectation was for them to not be awful to each other to begin with. Maybe the solution relied entirely in themselves. Perhaps there were no gods and perhaps the true demons were the ones they allowed to exist. Given the awful state of the world, he couldn't count out the true demons being themselves.

So what then did Franz believe in? He thought on this as he laid back down and sighed. Well, he believed there was simply life and death. Truth was what you held it to be. Life was... a fight for others... He wasn't so sure if he wanted to retain that belief. It caused him so much pain and so many times over he hated going through the notions when it created so many more issues for him to fight in... but... he couldn't say he regretted it. Nothing felt better than helping someone else and ensuring your own safety through the bonding of others... Maybe that was it. Maybe he just... wanted to feel loved? Maybe he... just wanted forgiveness? He... didn't know and it didn't feel like the time to contemplate it.

Pulling away from the questions of existence he just thought about his friends and wondered why the hell they ever cared about him. Tough as it was he didn't find much reason to the chaos and without a doubt he was going to be facing more of it. He didn't want to lose the people he loved and true to himself he would have rather jumped in the middle of a machine gun to ensure that others survived. At least, they had a shot at true happiness... right? Right?

Doubt riddled the Darcsen's tired and faint soul. All he could do... was rest...

---

Senja and Anneli

"I hope Franz has been alright since we left him."

"He's a tough one. Maybe hurting, but a warrior like him doesn't give up so easily."

"Hmm... I just wish I could cuddle with him all day. He deserves to know he has people who love him."

"We can't cook and hug at the same time."

"Have you tried? It's fun!"

"You know we can't do that."

"Sorry..."

"Right now we just have to keep moving. Even for as much as I'd like another tug at his pants-"

"Anneli!"

"Huh?" With a light bap the taller woman twitched back.

"That's lewd!"

"Oh my sweet, innocent, daughter... Never change, Senja."

"We... should... Hmm..."

"Something on your mind?"

"Ines."

"Who?"

"The one who- uh- screamed Fr-"

"YESS FRANZ! OOHHH FFUUUUCCK! OOH!" Anneli recited, laughing as Senja hit her arm.

"Ow- What was that for?" Anneli asked, still giggling as Senja showed an endearing look.

"Don't be like that. I don't want there to be any tensions between us. We're friends, not enemies. So please? Be on your best behavior."

"Okay Senji~ Anything for my best friend."

The two hugged briefly and with a skip and a jump they were off to find the Francian Franz seemed to hold dear. Although, Franz had never openly expressed just how close they were, she often caught him taking glances and wishing to be in her company. Something got in the way of that and the little detective supposed that it was probably just Freya.

Senja remembered that day with the gas. She remembered how despite Isaac's strength and Jean's protests that the only thing that calmed the beast, and perhaps the immediate murder of Isaac, was Ines. Her voice, and her voice alone, calmed him. When she touched him she brought Franz to tears. When Ines leaned into him he broke down sobbing as though he had just been pulled out of an inferno and was told that everything would be alright. He spoke in the Imperial dialect he was so traumatized. What a poor thing! This all only meant one thing. There was only one person they could go to to count on helping Franz while Senja worked with Anneli to nurture the boy who was rejecting his meals and spent more time than ever trying to distance himself from everyone else.

The joy filled travel ended as Senja landed with a foot in air and leaned with arms behind her back to take a look around the camp. "She's... not too hard to spot, I hope."

"Knowing what I do about her she's probably off getting hammered."

"Hm?"

"She's a big drinker. Probably parties a lot. Could be found where the degenerates are."

Senja grinned for a moment at Anneli, the woman spotting the grin and rolling her eyes with a smile. "The other kind of degenerate. I'm not sure what he sees in her."

"I'm sure she's kind to him."

"Right, but why chase someone who doesn't love him?"

"Maybe... he just needs friends."

"What he needs is a real woman to take care of him."

"Oh! Anneli, please, don't be mean!"

"I'm just saying that the spot is open and she doesn't want to fill it. Elections are underway, Senja."

With the two walking again Senja couldn't help but be a bit perky as she thought of where she could find Ines at this time of day.

"Hey, Senja."

"Hmm?"

"Why don't you get closer to, Franz?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You're sexy. Anyone would kill to be with a goddess like you."

Senja giggled and fanned her hand at Anneli, simply speeding up to avoid the conversation. "I have my reasons, okay?"

"Mhmm."

After more travel Senja finally stopped with a mental hopscotch and in a sweet, sing song tone, with a smile wide enough to hold a bridge, the short woman called out to Ines.

"Ines!~ Where are you?!~ I want to speak with you!~"

Eager to get things done, Freya tried her hardest to keep the biggest smile she could upon her face. It was an agonising tendency. Parts of her mind and heart were scattered all across the floor. Many nights of strange emotions, hearing things that may have perhaps been best to remain hidden. It was impossible to shrug off what her and Inès shared in that hopeful day. Yet, part of her mind would never want to go back to it. Out of respect for her own past and the things she'd lost, it would've been irregular for Freya to not pursue a life with the Francian, but she knew that it was not for the betterment of her own future nor anyone else's. The world was not ready for the two to coexist, not without Naomi it was. Careless whispers broke free around her and the names of loved ones back home were the talk of the morning. Unnamed soldiers that had never crossed paths with the Oceanic spoke of their differing experiences on the frontlines of Europa. Some talked of their charges across fields in the North, whilst others exclaimed the resonating dissonance of artillery creeping around their foxholes and dugouts on a daily basis. No matter how many variations there were in the individual's story, there were almost always the same differences. Death. Slaughter. Fear. Anxiety. Corruption in the hierarchy...All of this was a common aspect of the Great War. Mankind had devolved into a shadow of its former self, though it hadn't exactly done great things beforehand. Freya had felt a part of everything they said. From the fields of gunfire to the endless barrages of Imperial bodies rushing towards her static defensive position, bayonets brandished, the four years of war she'd gone through were a travesty in and of themselves. The world was not ready for such devastation, and she hoped that perhaps someday they were never going to stray too far into the abyss again. The war to end all wars, as a common phrase: so demolishing that no man would ever try to fight again. It was a concept of learning from past experiences, the a-priori terror forcing mankind to change its ways and to stray no further into the pit of execution.

Freya at least upheld that upbeat thought. Most of those who surrounded her felt a same idealistic value to justify the worth to fight and potentially die for the futility of the conflict. If those learnt of what the future would hold, many of them would've placed the barrel of their guns to their skulls and press the trigger without question. But now? Well, Freya was had kept herself quiet for the past few hours, sitting on the edge of a makeshift stretcher-bed under the cover of a cold tent roofing. Officers were the first to get placements inside surviving buildings whereas the rest of the army had to almost fight for the warmth. Freya couldn't be bothered. It wasn't in her interests to be comfortable, not anymore. She'd already had enough comfort to justify the cruelty of the cold tent.

Upon her face was a now crooked smile. Whilst she smiled at all the lovely men and women who passed by her tent, coming in to rest temporarily and talking up a storm with them of their past lives and homes, she really just wanted to sleep for a while. But...she was scared to. Every night, from the inn onward, she would dwell in sights that she regretted imagining. As if in reverse, the memories started at the end of Operation Breaching Gates and continued to traverse rearwards until it came closer to the start, the day she and Naomi fell in love for the first time. Those were painful memories now. There was nothing sweet about their bitter conclusion, knowing full well that the story was only to be concluded with a horrific postlude. Hell, thinking about those thoughts now brought a tear to her eyes. Halfway through a conversation with a randomised Iberon girl, who loved to talk about the Siestas back home and the brilliance of its warm weather, Freya excused herself and returned to the bedding, crawling into it with a strange shake in her muscles whilst she wrapped her arms around Naomi's jacket. It was still there. It still had a scent of her. It didn't really, but the psychological torture of her death made it impossible to forget such an illusion. Freya felt that it was almost like her mark had been made in her heart already. It...had already been made, through hell and back.

---

---

"One minute to landfall!" Deep within the crowded cabin of the Y-Lighter Landing Craft, Freya clutched onto Thomas' shoulder to stabilise herself. Even now, having paid the devil a visit several times already, she felt fear and anxiety ripple throughout her veins. Each heartbeat was met with a sense of dread. For unlike the rest of the war, the Southern Frontier was to be unlike any other. Hundreds of undisturbed landscapes, spanning across mountainous rocks, sandy dunes and great plains were yet to be ridiculed by the absolute travesty of human warfare, and yet it still felt entirely different. No longer was this the Maren Defence, or the Haloval Coast battle, as now they were to deploy from the sea unto the land. Truly, this was a time of unfathomable modernisation in warfare. Latched onto the sides of the craft were two heavily emplacements, ready to suppress the opposition who dared to dispose of the lives making their mark on the beaches that day. There were at least thirty or forty tightly packed soldiers all crowded amongst one another, rifles and tools held closely to their chests to make room for more able bodies.

Soaring above their heads were the streamlined squeals of naval batteries bombarding the shorelines for an easier insertion. All of those abound to the critical mission were informed of the lack of cover on the beach, unlike that of a rocky field or trench-layered forest, and so movement was of the imperative. Shocktroopers were mostly fine with such an order as movement fell under their speciality, but those who relied on heavier portable automatic firearms were left with a lump lodged in their throat. If they were lucky, the emotional distress was all that would be lodged in their throat, save for the eventual shrapnel. Earlier on the grandeur of landing craft that dared to make their way towards the shoreline, some of the Edinburgh soldiers vomited on the watery floor, or over the edges of the vessels themselves. A mixture of Edinburgh, Francian, Iberon, Asseni, Wessel and even Gallian troops supported the largest Oceanic force ever devised in history. Whilst the Europan combat records were a testament to the ability of the Oceanic Expeditionary Force, this Southern Frontier was to be led and manned by them in the flocked masses. With Oceania being somewhat open to a direct line of supply, the influx of troops could be inherently ingenious, if this opening objective was secured as fluently as predicted.

A new combatant entered the scene. No longer were the cannonades of the naval ships behind them occupying the orchestration of musical war-like instruments, but the whizzing of bullets and pattering of water colliding with the approaching hellfire began to pique the interest of every soldier aboard. Some began to murmur and curse under their breaths, whilst others kissed the symbolic religious insignia of their Yggdist faith in the hopes that the souls of the Valkyrur would protect them. Freya kept her hands tightly wrapped onto Thomas as she let a few of the worst clamber out herself. If it weren't for the fact that Naomi was sentenced to an entirely separate landing craft Freya could've collected herself and her surroundings just as easily as anyone else could've imagined.

"Thirty seconds, Chaps!" The Edinburgh sailor behind the wheel of the compact vessel called out from the gap in his metal defensive shield, hoping to stop any incoming bullets from penetrating his heart. As the informal nickname for the crew came out, the guns of hell were unleashed all around and the distant sound of machine guns, rifles, field guns and artillery began to act as their fanfare welcome. An ensemble of treacherous fiends, they were, calling out for the deaths of many to come. "Remember the plan, get off m'ship so I can try and sail back!"

"E-Easy for you to say, you're tucked up in a fuckin' lil' box whilst we ain't got shit to keep us!"

"You have spacin' and movement! Just go for it lads, you've got it!" Whereas the unfamiliarity of the sailor didn't resonate well with the nerves of the others, Thomas began to bark out familiar words that helped set their focuses on the prize ahead. Above all the noise and ambience of gunfire, it was hard to imagine that anyone could've actually heard his call, yet here the were.

"Let's give 'em something to remember, guys! These cunts ain't gonna know what hit them today. Move as independently as you can and find a way into the forward trenches. Secure us a good one, maybe with a tea-kettle!" Despite having her arms wrapped effortlessly around Thomas's body, she couldn't help but muster the same smile that many shared in his humour. No matter the situation, Thomas tried his best to lighten the mood to preserve what little morale everyone faced. But even his words were not enough. Freya felt the nerve of many embellishing the ship's interior, even from Thomas himself. And so, he muttered grimly: "May someone pray for us all..."

And just as things felt like they were going to drag on forever, the shuddering halt of the ship threw some of the able bodies forwards, bumping into one another at the blasted halt. Without any explanation, the ship had seemingly ceased in its advance before it was due to. Freya turned around, raising her head above the many steel helmets of the crewmen inside. Before long, her eyes met the sailor in charge, who seemed to be furiously tugging at the controls. Judging by the look of his expression things were far from okay or their initial plan. Instead, he began to bark out orders of his own, trying to make sense of the situation.

"We're fack'n stuck on something! Gonna drop the ramp, get ready!"

Those at the front were the most nervous, hearing a shuddering sound of bullets scraping past the metallic and wooden exterior of the ship. Someone had clearly taken advantage of their dismay, and intended to use it as justification for their target. Who could blame them. Thirty or forty odd bodies, attempting to charge and secure the beach from this tiny boat alone, amongst a fleet of other landing craft and rowing boats, made it ingloriously fearful for the comrades Freya was surrounded by. She gave another tightened grip onto Thomas before slipping her hands back by her side, gently clutching onto the rifle she was dearly dependent on for survival. And without warning once more, the sound of chains unwinding began to remind everyone that this was indeed it: the calm before the storm was over. Before them all slid down the metal ramp, and the forward facing troops were now exposed for all they had. No hestiation was required. The first bodies charged out of the boat, sinking into the waist-high water beneath them as the scramble began. Many took a slight incline to their left or right to heighten the chances of a bullet not accidentally striking their skull, but those who didn't deviate were as desperate to seek a quicker exit from the open beach and its oppressive defenders. Freya was still trying to push past the ones who didn't rush forward, and instead found a body flinging itself backwards onto her. Both the uniformed body and herself slipped onto the floor of the boat, where more and more began to pile up from the rear of the group. Those who were still waiting to exit panicked, screaming for those in front to hurry or attempted to scale the sides of the ship, wanting the quickest exit they could. Anyone inside was still a fish in its barrel, slaughtering oneself over and over by the concentrated fire.

Freya didn't scream, nor did she make any noise. Her shock was all that controlled her as instincts taught the Oceanic how to react. She shoved the corpse from her chest and began to crawl for the exit of the boat, only to feel the roughened grip of Thomas latch onto her shoulder and pull her aside into the water. And as he came, the remainder of the crew behind Freya's previous position were tormented by the reign of Imperial bloodshed. And in that moment, she knew that the war was never going to be the same. For some reason, she never screamed like before. Instead, it was a turning point, one where Freya knew she would never see death in the same anxious way every again. It was still scary, but nothing ever became as scary as seeing so many led into the fray. Across the beachhead, hundreds of soldiers began to run across, many dropping down seemingly effortlessly as each gunshot blared out. It was...it was hell. It was hell all over again.

---

It was the most expected and honestly generic responses Michael could expect. But it was alright. He simply gave a light smile to all the encouragement around table upon hearing the confession, albeit not to where he was supposed to say it to. Strange, it didn't feel as weird as when he was blurting it out when she was asleep in the White Hart, perhaps because they were all guys, all in the same environment, with the same societal pressure in terms of relationship. Michael wasn't sure of the other levels of society, but to his surrounding's standards, he'd have to be the one to make the move. Be upfront and clear, yet kind and respectful like a gentleman. You were expected to be the opener to everything. Easy to say, but not easy to be that when the time comes, unless you are extremely confident. It wasn't his first time coming to an understanding concepts of romance and relationship too, even though now was his first to bloom for real. He wondered if she actually heard what he said the other day while she was dead drunk and believed it. Didn't seem like it from her behaviors in the week since, but he had half-heartedly wished that could happen.

But then again, it was still barriered by that rat in a human's costume. There were some new information that did earnestly put a couple of question marks on Michael's thoughts. It was quite a typical backstory for some criminals, but it was some thought-provoking things to reconsider his position, that maybe he was more than a rat. Some of which are a little difficult to swallow.

"Well, that puts some more sympathy to look at him." Michael rolled his eyes in his effort of dismissal. "But it's not anymore okay."

Once again, he felt like he was placed in a bonfire. Not from artillery shells or anything, but his own internal fire that threatened to engulf whoever stood in his way. All from the slight mention or reminder of the man's sinful deed. Started out from his chest, then slowly creeping up to his four limbs then his small delicate face soon tensed with a heated aura of anger. But thankfully enough, the topic switched to something else. About Jean and his awkward understanding of love. It was kind of awkward as well, to be honest, but thanks to it, his anger died down fast as he thought of the other situation at hand.

"They always tell us to be the move maker. At least for me." Michael said. "But to my own understanding of love, trying to be the right person is better than finding the right person. Don't try too hard, and let them find you instead."

Everyone said they wanted to find the right person, but no one ever said they wanted to be the right person for anyone.

"But that's just a viewpoint from an ignorant upper-class citizen." But then he wittingly stated, a little dryly in case some smartasses were quick to point out their subjectivity, especially in an opinionated thing like love. "A quarter of my day is in my parent's study, so there are stuffs I don't know about the outside world."

The subject was then turned to something...perhaps a little unpleasant.

"Say Jean, only if you're alright with sharing this...well...this is just something I've only heard mentioned of, but...what is the White Feather movement?"
@LetMeDoStuff

It WAS rather unexpected to see the ordinarily-calm Gunner that is Britta so-clearly bothered by something. She didn't seem overly-keen to talk about whatever it was yet, but perhaps later she'd be more open to conversation. Her speaking to the table with the people in charge was her way of saying that while what she was obviously going off to go see to this matter, she wasn't putting the squad above herself and therefore offered to go and get a few supplies while the getting was good. Isaac knew that this had to be serious, since it had taken essentially getting to know her over time, socially and professionally, and then finally the two of them getting drunk and losing some inhibitions before she very-seriously asked her favor of him. All of this was on the wings of 'Mickey' admitting that he liked Lucia, and that Jean might have some juicy info their hated captain, which left a strannge sort of ambivalent feeling...somewhere between intrigued, heartwarming, and concerned. Michael gave out a request for some clean cloth, which was okay, but Isaac was serious about doing right for Michael, so he volunteered the only idea he'd had on the matter.

"See about getting us some new or better Sapper material, expecially explosives. We may end up seeing an armored car or two."

Anyone would, and that would kinda' mean that every squad needed extra boom-booms, but it never hurt to ask. Michael was a small target with a big heart and alot of courage. If anyone was going to plant explosives and destroy one of those cars, it was gonna be him. Speaking of him, it looked like Michael really didn't want to talk about Captain Grumpus anymore. Best let the topic drop. When Britta saw that there were no other requests, she nodded at everyone, said "I'll be back as soon as I can.", and left. Part of him wanted to go with her, but something in the tone of 'I need to go take care of something' said that the 'I' part of it was most important, for now. So, the farmer NCO remained with the others here as the topic moved onto the topic of love and the mutual feelings thereof. Not a wasted conversation, in Isaac's opinion. Jean looked like he needed someone to help him through the dark and he himself had questions on where he stood with Britta. Still, he added to the conversation, with a smile...

"Well, of course, I am honor-bound never to speak of the things that may be written in verse. A promise is a promise, and I was the one who politely asked Lucia not to go through our personal mail when she came upon a letter I planted, back on the train, so I can't set a bad precident. I mean, it'd be rude to talk of what someone might be embarrassed about, even though that kind of warmth and affection would certainly gravitate some towards his person."

He wasn't naming names, Jean, but if a certain fellow, Jean, were to perhaps open himself up to a girl, then he, Jean, might find someone to keep his counsel and support his ever-brittle conscious. Right, Jean? Hint, hint! Okay, Isaac wasn't being quite that obvious, but he wanted the guy to repair his himself, somehow. He didn't exactly look like he unwound at all, back at the White Hart. The whole gas fiasco put the pressure back on, but at least they'd had something...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The plan was not so much a real plan-of-action, but more of a vague feeling of what needed to be done.

No, not about the supplies, but the other thing. The thing in her letter. This long and uncoordinated line of the new front into Amone was difficult to navigate, with the only real saving grace being that you had one direction or another to wander, or else you were going out into the open, either farther out or further into the city itself. Either way, that left Britta with basically venturing forth from her squad until she found where she needed to go to get some information. Such things wouldn't come flying into her lap, except in the case of her parents telling her. It'd come in the mail today. She'd seen that Isaac had good news, Diana had been still distressed about home, and she'd gotten only that far when she started reading her own letter and found in the middle of it something that did not sit well with her, even though she understood why.

What she eventually found was some kind of dispatch, which was exactly the one where Isaac had gotten his information from, and in fact the mail that'd come in on backlog. His awkward embarrassment over the mispoken jerky material seemed alot further back, just now, along with the flavored strips of beef and Diana's cookies. Reading those words had been like a sudden gust of winter air, and then she felt like she was in a whole different world, for the moment. She had to look into this, at least get some details, while she still could. She had to do a bit of cuing to wait her turn at the man with the typewriter and, presumably, all the records.

Listening to them all speak, you'd think Isaac would have a typical Edinburgh accent, but he doesn't. Must be because of where he lives.

Finally, she was next in line, and the man there was all business, because he had alot of people to get through.

"Name, rank, current regiment."

"Britta Hagen, Private, 15th Atlantic Rifles."

That...seemed to stick out in his mind for a second, and the look he gave her seemed to say 'Oh god, another one' before he settled on...

"What do you want?"

"Information."

"Of course you do..."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Lots of people want information. What information are you looking for, in particular?"

He didn't sound entirely honest with her, there, but she continued.

"Current assignment or anything else you can get regarding Hans Hagen. He's my brother. I wanted to know if he was here or not..."

'...We would be doing better, in fact, but we're worried about your brother. Shortly after you left, he went to join the army, himself. He said he wanted to do you proud. We can understand his attitude, looking up to his big sister, but he is young and now we worry for both of your sakes...'

He took a while to look for information, asking for a current directory on soldiers on assignment. Results came back a negative, though.

"Is he new? Our information is not current, and if he recently joined, he won't be on the books for another month."

"Yes, he probably is, only trailing behind me a little ways. Can you help me send a message out to him? Query a location on him and pass him on a note from me?"

"I can do that."

He passed her a piece of paper and a pencil, and she wrote a quick note, just asking for Hans to please write to her in the 15th Atlantic Rifles and talk to her. The dispatch officer accepted it and asked her to to step aside and let him get to the next person in line. With that in mind, she was only slightly put at ease. It was better than being completely unable to contact him or get any information at all, but it was still a little unsettling for her. Britta had made peace with the fact that something may happen to her at any time, but she hadn't done that for Hans, and she could only guess what he was thinking beyond doing what he thought was right because she did it first.

You're setting a WONDERFUL example, Britta. Good god, am I going to end up like Jean? No, that isn't nearly as likely. Cold as it is, there isn't much hatred for those who aren't of Darcsen descent. Now, I REALLY understand what it was like for him, I guess. Hans, I hope your CO is better than mine...

All she had was Jean and Isaac to clean up the mess that Middleton always made... Well, given that in mind, she had a few errands to take care of. She didn't know how easy or hard it was going to get that Sapper equipment, but Michael was getting that clean cloth, and the rest of the squad... Yes, that sounded like a good idea. She was going to try and make them something nice...

She pondered over the little ruby ring, nearly pawing it like she were a cat toying with its dinner. Luke and her had made some headway with their belated birthday celebrations, yet the gift was an unexpected one. Deserved, yes, she mentally noted, yet planned? No. Luke was guiltier than Max was in that regard. At very least, Max and Inès had history which extended beyond slaps to the face and inflammatory remarks. Luke afforded himself no such luxury, and instead Inès smiled as the glistening of the rose gemstone reminder of the renouncement of Luke's racism for a nice gesture.

It had cost her a bottle of rum, of course, yet what was something she hated for a new friend and an expeditiously planned present? Another pass of her thumb strewed across the top of the ring's set-piece, the gilded jewelry firmly illustrating in the fading sunlight of the evening. She'd seldom wear it, of course. It wasn't to her tastes, much like necklaces, bands, and other frivolous accessories. A wrapping of spare cloth concealed the little gift, as she firmly tucked the protective covering between the ring's loop, folding the leftover cloth bolt to form some vaguely circular textile.

Her satchel flipped open its sturdy canvas top to reveal the several compartments within. Most occupied themselves with the contents of either necessity or memoir, sometimes a pleasant reminder of better times, others bitter tokens of lessons learned the harsh way. Inès smirked, half borne of nostalgia and the other of dejection. The little lull of time passing, the calmness between the storms, each little memoir within her bag couldn't help but remind her of the time spent in her previous deployment. Rough, it certainly was, yet for all the hell she had gone through, Inès found herself - ironically speaking - missing the misery.

---

Such was the travesty of Squad Seven that finding refuge in a dilapidated Francian estate was more a worry than blessing. Never before had a trench seemed such a sight for sore eyes in that cellar the remnants of the 3rd Platoon and other accompanying survivors than in the sepulchral basement within a manor left abandoned for the better part of years, by this point. The courtyard above blossomed with such carelessness, becoming more a grove than garden by the three odd years since a tender last performed his or her duty. To say nothing of the vineyards east, overgrown was a polite way to describe the veritable jungle which had steadily eroded any sense of agricultural order. Interiors echoed with rotted decor, echoing the footprints of those who entered, like the members of the 17th knew full well they trespassed upon an area otherwise considered haunted. Yet circumstance drew the better of them, and fortune, this once, favored the bold, for as its time as a wartime ruin, it seemed as though none of its brief visitors were brave - or desperate - enough to relieve the old dwelling of its treasures.

Its old oak door swung open, even with the residence of the manor in play, the door did release its cloud of dust as though it had not seen use in centuries. Inès, yet accustomed to her new dwelling, signaled for her Lance-Corporal comrade to follow in her footsteps, carrying the front end of what was a large wooden crate, on both sides and its top (incorrectly) labeled, "MUNITIONS - DRY, LONG-TERM". Even as the trek weighed down on her, the slight soreness of the long hike back from that lucrative raid paid obvious dividends. All the same, Inès spoke her mind.

"Was that really necessary?" Inès questioned, looking back to the one before her, known by many descriptors; Darcsen. Former Gang-Leader. Lance-Corporal. "Violent". Friend.

"Getting soft on me, Lévesque?" She hollered back. If Inès appeared rough before when Jean first acquainted herself with the maitre, Inès would have appeared to be a blue-haired angel if she stood beside Violette. Nothing about Violette - from the eyepatch so clearly from long ago that she would most gladly tell you she obtained prior to the start of the war, to how she walked with such savage elegance that the esteemed Francian mannerisms tied with the callousness she exuded like the radiance off of gold, and how in her most vicious state, Violette would make even Victoria White appear saintly - spoke to any sense of fair mannerism. Yet Francian culture bore its mark upon the woman, and for what brash remark she may have had for Inès, even came through so light and flowery an accent that even such a venomous retort seemed innocuous.

"We're having Darcsen bitches tonight, boys! This'll be fun!" Violette half-recited, half-mocked in a vulgar mockery of the Imperial accent, "Would you have liked for him to go free, mmh~?"

"Qu'il aille se faire foutre." ("Fuck him.") The repulsion in Inès voice spewed pure hatred as she recalled the libel of that debased Imperial. "Him, I understand. But, the other ones?"

Violette shrugged, grunting in symphony as the crate thudded to the stone floor below. Rose pink lips came together in slight smirk, just so poised upwards so they gave no uncertain indication she took pride in her work. Once a thief, always a thief, so did the mantra go. Her single visible eye tilted down, indicative of such a smug questionnaire as Violette herself. "And they were just going to let it happen if they captured us? Please. They knew what they were getting into."

Inès lowered her eyebrows, almost resigning such remarks. Such was the fate of talking to walls, she supposed, yet Inès wished she could find the right words to express her dissent with such opinion. Groupthink to such degrees showed full well their willingness - as Inès knew yet wished was never the case - to simply allow the Imperials their full defilement as some manner of ramification for Squad Seven's audacious attempts at abidement. Even in Ostend, the mentality was the same, and for all the hate Inès had of it, such phrases rung true half of the country south during their time of war; It was them, or us.

A sonorous *clunk!* thundered through the cellar, the supply crate finding residence from one squad, one faction to another, for this one would be put to better use feeding its more desperate occupiers. Both the women rolled their shoulders, creaking their necks as they sighed off the laborious march from camp to dwelling. First did the Private look back at her Lance-Corporal, then abruptly twitching her head back to the cellar's door as the following footsteps of their comrades carried whatever else came of their needful pillage. The faces - familiar and otherwise - bore their own specific burdens, a Vinlandic redhead carrying great/ unmarked white sacks, while two shorter Darcsens, a man and woman, carried a crate not dissimilar to those of Inès and Violette, all clearly struggling from sweat and fatigue born of days labor in the Francian late spring. Just behind, while the companions did labor, a mighty, hewn man, topped with snow-white hair and glistening pale eyes, walked among Squad Seven. From his chevron-printed arm, he extended a finger firmly to his left, just along the wall.

"Here." His voice clearly bore the east accent of the Ruzhians, powerful and commanding, and so similar yet so different from those of the Imperials. What immediately was apparent as the Sergeant did speak was how his accent permeated every aspect of his speech, like the body himself was born into made its mark upon every word he uttered. When he looked, it seemed so distantly focused that a thousand-yard stare snapped instantly as he turned, like he danced so effortlessly between fantasy and reality that such distinction needn't even process. Ruzhians never smiled. Misha seldom smiled. There was very little to smile about, regardless.

At the very least, everyone was happy to be back and away from their retrieval mission. With some supply secured, Squad Seven's current occupants tagged around one of the sole "tables" of the basement, itself simply a few stacked empty crates with old boxes serving as impromptu chairs. The surface was flat and smooth enough to suit their needs aplenty however, and in mutual agreement of their job done, Inès and her squad almost naturally took their seats around the table. Without formal declaration, everyone still had their nearly unspoken assigned seating at this sort of "round table". Inès situated herself directly next to Marie on her right, while to her left Misha typically occupied. Across from her sat Violette, and next to her sat in the company of fellow good Darcsens Sévérine and Claude.

"Who's playing?" asked the snide Darcsen, as if to take command of her compatriots even in consolation. Even with her brash and downright violent demeanor, those among the squad were in unspoken agreement that even one so unhinged as Violette was a more apt substitute for the late Corporal Westing. God rest her soul, of course.

"I'll play!" The cheerful demeanor of Marie Beaumont spoke with a slurred - some would call "bastard" - accent indicative of Francian tongue, yet of the perky, upbeat character the Vinlandic South was renown for. Such was what was referred to as, "Southern hospitality", wrought of Lafayette's thoroughly unique blend of Europa and Atlantica.

"Right here." Antoine waved up. In the dim light illuminated by whatever scant fuel the double lanterns of the cellar provided, it became impossible to discern what marks across his face were his lengthy brown hairs, and what was in truth grime earned from his strenuous work as the single sapper of the present troop. His exhaustion had no such concealment, for his lengthy sighs and hunched-over posture spoke of fatigue only wrestled by his history of arduous working hours.

"I'm in." Inès responded promptly. She guessed her squadmates would use their newfound riches as currency for this card game. For once, Inès was incorrect in her predictions, it seemed, for as the chips were divided and cards distributed, there was never a mention of what one stood to lose.

In short time, the multi-colored, worn chips of the game threw out their little and big blinds, Violette clearly caring little for the savoir-faire of poker faces. Inès looked over in naturally stern gaze to meet Violette's nearly-instinctive grin, clearly as if to let the entire table know just what cards she had to play. Marie coursed over every one of her two cards extensively, certain to keep her eyes down. On the chance that her light crimson eyes did shyly peek from her hand, Marie chose only to briefly take glances at others, and dared not to give even the slightest of eye contact. Sergeant Dostoyevsky won many hands, and Ruzhian standards of good manners made certain he was difficult to read, for all he had to do was, different from everyone else, act natural. As the first hand made its primary, the creaking of the cellar door turned their heads naturally, and the sight to emerge dictated the game to a halt.

Even though his thick, circular glasses, the heavy, blackened marks of sleepless nights branded themselves beneath Lieutenant St-Martin's eyes. He postured himself firmly upright, yet bore few signs of formality, even tilting his head down as the Squad rose instinctively to salute him. The silver-haired leader averted his eyes, almost staring downward like one misstep would cost him his life. Yet, as his gaze did dart away, he knew full well that that was the reality they found themselves entangled with.

"At ease." He commanded calmly, his dropping hand seeming to parry the salutes of the entire room. Slowly, he made his way over to the table, taking a light seat as the head of their game, not caring to make passes at the newfound material of the recent raid. The LT reclines somewhat in his seat, peering slightly down upon the table as if there were something else to read besides its swirling pattern, almost hopeful he'd find answers.

"Supplies, Sergeant?" St-Martin asked calmly, yet firmly, not glancing up toward the Ruzhian Sergeant.

"Ve vere triumphant." he answered, "Ve now have supplies for anoter veek." His prompt answer earned a sigh of relief from the Lieutenant, yet Inès' steady eyes remained fixated on their leader, knowing full well with the atmosphere that this was far from over.

"Good." the Lieutenant expressed, "Private Fay. Our communications?"

Antoine shook his head. "There's a telephone line, but it's out for good, sir."

"Are they rusted?"

"No, sir. They've been burned clean. I can't fix them with the tools I have; I couldn't fix it even if I wanted to. The ports are soldered shut, sir." Antoine's words turned the room bereft, certain the news bore little good for their already grim emplacement. St Martin peered up, only to slowly cast his gaze aside while a long breath exhaled.

"Sergeant, what does the local force look like?"

"Ve hid our tracks very well." he replied confidently. The one stroke of confidence of every last report, it seemed. "Your orders, sir?"

The Lieutenant stared forward blankly.

"...sir?"

His head hung slightly forward, near ashamed; first that he had been responsible for this mess, then that to get out of his own failure, he seemed to be stuck with choosing the best of bad options. The silver-haired officer gradually raised his gaze, unleashing a soft, resigning sigh.

"From what we know, we are ten kilometres east from the front lines. We cannot resupply, in occupied territory, outmanned, and even if there is an offensive planned, it will take reinforcements months to get to our position. But...sigh, at least, nobody is specifically looking for us."

"Can't we regroup, sir?"

"With who?" Just those words forced the room silent as he peered up from his slight slouch.

"So, we wait." he announced conclusively, "Come morning, I want reconnaissance of our surroundings five kilometres north, east, and south of our position, that includes all eyes and ears. In the meantime, I want everyone using captured Imperial arms, if possible; It will make it easier to resupply, and the ammunition casings might make it harder for them to identify us."

"Deal me in."

Inès sighed. They all knew they were going to be here for a while. If the Lieutenant spoke through actions alone, then he spoke clearly; Best to make themselves comfortable.

---

"Inès!~ Where are you?!~ I want to speak with you!~"

The sweetness of her tone so thoroughly prevailed through Senja's cries, it almost made Inès sick to behold. Come as no surprise, almost, that Inès would find so lispy and wet a tone as the nord's to be an usual pluck from otherwise melancholic reminiscence, it mended not necessarily as bittersweet, but almost disjointing, as Inès visibly twisted to the outcry she beheld. She blinked once, twice again, shaking her head slightly at the outburst. It was not as if Inès were a particularly nondescript individual. Could she not find her of her own accord? Yet, Inès slowly closed her eyes and sighed, for such honeyed outbursts were, as she realized, her means of finding her on her own, and so it was that Inès departed from her memory back among the land of the living.

Inès found the crier, so pleased with the sight of the Darcsen her mouth hung agape in beloved relief. Inès, opposite her, was less than thrilled, to say few details of the pouty scowl she so effortlessly bore.

"What is it?" She almost scathed, clearly rather irritated by both Senja's booming voice, as well as the unfamiliar face that demanded her immediate attention.

"Aww, there you are!" the green haired Nord most cheerfully replied, keeping her jaunty expression even in the face of Inès' annoyance, "You're friends with Franz, right?"

("...who are you?") Inès thought. Such inklings were shot down by circumstance, as Inès simply looked forward at Senja.

"Yes, but-" she cut herself abrupt with a light puff. Inès knew Franz wasn't doing so hot, and left it to the events that transpired within the past two weeks that he needed some time to himself. Or perhaps that is just what she told herself while she focused on the tasks at hand. They seemed blurry to Inès, those traumatic moments, like for the life of her, Inès could only remember vague bits of so intense an event. Selective memory, she supposed, for such selections seemed best for her health to not recall such needless horrors.

"Well, i'd like you to check in on him. He hasn't been very responsive to me or Anneli, and he hasn't eaten very much. I know you're busy, but could you make some time for him?"

Her face dropped, eyes rounding out as Inès took in the Nord's words. Inès had, in full appearance, showed regret at the Franz's development. All earnesty aside, Inès remained hopeful that Franz would come over the events, but...well, this was something she knew she had neglected for far too long, and such gravity voided apology. A slow sigh came over her, Inès' eyes reopening to meet Senja's.

"I'll go check on him." she stated, a thorough calmness in her voice nevermore saturated with the consternation of Senja's sudden appearance. Senja smiled back at her, to which Inès raised eyebrows at with amiability. The mixture of hot and cold, so it seemed, and for that, Inès couldn't help but wonder why someone so cold was the only one who could warm Franz's senses.

"Franz?" Inès called out softly from the exterior of his tent, slowly peering her way in through the sole flap which called it an entrance. She met Franz through vision, first, exchanging something of a relieving sigh, then slowly made her way to sit alongside Franz. One leg crossed over the other, Inès resting her hands in her lap while she softly looked down a bit. ("Dammit...") she thought, regretting not coming to see Franz earlier.

"How have you been?" she asked soothingly, looking at her fellow Darcsen, "Did...you want to talk?"

After all, Inès had handled one mental breakdown before. What was one more?

---

Well, it certainly became very interesting by the time Reyna was done with the day. And it certainly seemed that Jean himself enjoyed the dancing that they did. Of course, that wasn't all that Reyna did, for she also invited Diana to dance with her after Jean went to rest. Really, the whole time she was dancing was really fun, even though Reyna's eyes drifted a little to Diana's features while they danced, baser thoughts taking over for only a moment. The features in question were nice, but Reyna enjoyed the dancing far more than anything the thoughts gave her. They, however, made her curiosity for what she liked grow, and that question was still left largely unanswered for the rich young lady.

What came after the dance, however, was both sweet and surprising. He commented how he enjoyed the dance and didn't know that she knew how to dance so wonderfully. I hope I can, because I always liked to dance since I was a little girl. She thought to herself before Jean kissed her on the forehead. The move took Reyna off-guard and by surprise, with herself not even registering what happened until after Jean left, her mind processing it all. How she felt afterward? Awkward. On the one hand, it was a very nice gesture and showed appreciation to her. On the other hand.....

Reyna had no particular feelings for Jean other than being his friend and comrade in arms, but neither was the move entirely unwelcome. It was a sign that Jean was feeling better at least. She wasn't entirely sure what the kiss meant. It wasn't anything on her lips, cheek, or even her hand as was customary in some scenarios. Well...Francians are kind of a romantic culture and I don't know much about Darcsen culture either, so this could be one of their traditions from either? Either way, it was not part of her own, which only contributed to her confusion. Was this what she thought it was, a culture thing, or was this something else?

Oh no....my book is gone. Darn it! Reyna returned to her seat to see that the book she had open was now missing. As the book was unmarked and didn't have her name on it she'd be fine even if someone got it and read it, but this unnerved her all the same. All of that dance and distraction....for nothing. No, there was something at least: everyone enjoyed it. That was the last thought as Reyna closed her eyes and went to sleep, oblivious of what will happen the next day.

---

September 12, 1914

I will not forget this day. I can't forget this day even if I wanted to. The gas was horrible. Outside the window, I watched someone who was shockingly similar to what I look like die outside in the most horrible fashion. Choking, vomiting her own guts out. I couldn't even help her. All I did was stand there shaking before I remembered the piece of equipment they issued us back at the supply depot. The masks....that's what they were for. To protect us from inhaling the gas and meeting the same fate.

We escaped the Inn. I don't know what happened to the civilians, but I hope they made it out or are at least ok. However, what came after the inn was worse. The Imperial soldiers caught in the gas was not as fortunate to have masks. I...had to kill a few of them that were crying out in desperation. All of this death...for what? Ragnite? Ideals? Whatever it is, it's horrifying for us on the ground. This is nothing like the propaganda says about glory, given I knew that was just propaganda. I knew that there was more to it. Now, I feel like I know what it actually is.

All of this deathdealing...ever since that first kill a few days ago its...been getting easier? I don't want it to get easier. It makes me feel like a murderer. But it's easier to pull the trigger, think it's nothing personal. It isn't personal. It's life or death. I'm not sure how I'll sleep tonight, but I am sure I'll manage somehow. I have to, for my comrades and my family are counting on me doing so. I have to remain strong and provide an example for those who are faltering. After all, father told me that's what those in the upper echelons of society do, and that includes me.

---

So many letters. Too many letters. One trip to get mail and what Reyna received was an entire bag full of the envelopes. Some of them were genuine others...less so. One person, her father, made enough for the entire squad and herself even. It was annoying, but she'd need to read all the letters that were for her.

And of course, the first letter she picked up was a love letter. From....someone she didn't even know. What was this crap?! She wasn't interested in a "Daniel Alford." Quite the opposite, actually. So much flowery language was loaded in that letter that Reyna got tired of reading it. Goodness, she'd have to do something about that letter, but they did take the time to write it. She'd feel bad if she just chucked it into a fire.

The ones she did pay the most attention to were those from her father, mother, and her friends. One letter in particular was from Eleanor, asking how she was doing and stating she was worried about her, wanting her to come back home so they could hang out again. This one made Reyna smile. Her mother, Melissa, sent her one that was particularly encouraging and heart-warming, as well as telling her to watch out for the men, for soldiers were in her words "notorious for having relations under the sheets with women." A slight blush later, but it was a happy one. She loved her mother even if she is embarrassing sometimes. There was even chocolate attached, made by mother!

A letter from her brother John told her that he was enlisting in the Vinland Army as an officer, and wished her luck, pleading that she makes it through the war. This came as a surprise to Reyna, and she didn't know how she felt about her brother also joining the war effort. At least Jacob was not enlisting, otherwise she'd be even more worried.

All of these letters were at a table that Reyna found and set herself up at to read and write, the sheer amount of paper making her look silly she thought. Apparently, Britta was cooking which was fine with her. Reyna didn't think she herself was a bad cook, but she could certainly use work given the experience she did have. However good of a cook Britta was, it certainly couldn't be worse than-

No, don't you dare think about it. You'll jinx everything. Reyna thought as she looked up, taking her journal into her hands and flipping through the pages. There was still plenty of room left in it, but she was certainly going to need another journal by the time the year was done. She couldn't think about the alternative...of not needing it at all.

@LetMeDoStuff@Yam I Am@Landaus Five-One

The days after the gas attack had passed in a blur of drinking and digging through the pockets of corpses, Vicky doing her best to ignore the bloody vomit that had pooled in the cups of their throats or the scratches in the cobblestone they had left in their last moments of life as they tried to drag themselves to safety. There was no use dwelling on it, she still had to make it through the rest of the war and focusing on the plight of others would just get her killed.

So she focused on her grave robbing. An Imperial captain’s coat had a lovely flag sewn into the lining, Victoria carefully undoing the stitching and tying it around her neck like a bandana. A elderly Gallian man had the keys to a small house where she found a scattered bills and medal from the armed forces. Had he been a soldier? Or had it been earned by a son that had gotten himself killed? Didn’t matter, the silver and bronze cross was detached from it’s ribbon and pasted to the butt of her carbine.

A particularly racy picture of some young Francian’s girlfriend was tucked into the band of her rabbit felt hat, along with the skull of a rat that she had boiled clean. It seemed fitting for her to carry the talisman, a charm from the species she felt most at home with.
By the time they had made it to their new camp Private White had managed to scrounge up some paint in shades of midnight black, blood red, and fiery orange and yellow. Her gas mask had saved her life so she figured it deserved some livening up. The drab canvas was decorated with images of bloodied blades and charred bodies, a copy of the flag worn around her neck depicted burning on the side. She was proud of her work, it represented what she was trying so hard to mold herself into.

As a reward for finishing her art project she decided to sniff out some of that rum she had heard about, carrying the drying mask with her. She found that she had beaten to it by Luke and the bitch that had stubbed a cigarette in her mouth. Or at least she thought the girl had. That night was hazy.

”Oi, cunts.” she said easily, screwing off the top of her flask so she could refill it.

---

Luke grinned as he took a drag from his cigarette, his attention fully on his Darcsen drinking buddy. He wasn't sure how long they had been talking as time seemed they sat in that tent for hours, the rum they had been drinking not aiding in keeping track of time. Honestly he didn't mind, it was relaxing. He looked to the bottle of booze and frowned with flushed cheeks. "They should add booze with our rations, we get shot at almost everyday so the least they could do is put a bottle of the good stuff in our hands when we have some downtime," he muttered before blowing out smoke through his nose. Soon he heard someone calling the two of them cunts and looked over with an arched brow to see a familiarly tall women. He chuckled and rose from his seat, wobbling a bit before lifting up his arms to welcome her.

"Vicky! How nice of you to join us!" he laughed before plopping down back into his seat, nearly falling and laughing as he fixed himself in his seat.

"Sit down and pass that flask of yours, we're runnin low on our own stuff!" he grinned before taking another drag from his smoke.

---

Just the most smidge of haze came over the Darcsen woman as another voice made her sonorous announcement, beckoning before the two as if she were royalty. Inès knew roughly who she was, and while she looked up, couldn't help but fixate her eyes on the dashing little photograph Victoria picked up and propped beside her hat. Her eyebrows raised, a bit impressed. Victoria knew how to pick them, apparently.

Inès motioned over, readjusting her cross-legged seating while she straightened her posture once again. Her face coursed over, smidging through words and errant thoughts, ever so fixated on the tale she was telling to her newfound friend.

"I was just telling him about my ex." she explained, looking briefly up at Victoria.

---

Victoria nodded to Luke as she stepped into the cramped quarters, a crooked smiled brightening her scarred face at his greeting.

"Thought I could smell a little bastard taking all the fucking grog! You need to wash up more boy, your scent scares the carrion dogs off 'n' let's the bleeding Imps know just how to find us!" Her words were harsh but her tone was light, the Oceanic simply greeting her acquaintance in the typical fashion of her culture. More atypical was the warm hug she pulled him as soon as he opened his arms, the taller female embracing the young man tightly and thumping him on the back. She held Luke there for a few tender moments, the mother holding her adopted son in a reassuring grip.

Seems like you've knocked back a few already." she noted, watching him slip and stumble back to his seat before tossing him the flask. "Fill 'er up barman!" If he wanted to bum a drink off of her he'd be sorely disappointed. Vicky had run dry the day before, all the good whiskey she had saved from the White Hart Inn drained after the gas attack. She noticed the Darscen's gaze falling on the unnamed broad she carried, grabbing her hat by the brim and flinging it towards her.

"Look all you like, I don't even know her name! Fan of redheads, are you?" More of their first meeting was coming back to her but Vicky didn't especially care. That was in the past, now they were simply talking. The digger girl leaned up against the tent post, face darkening at the mention of an ex. "I have stories to tell about exes of my own." she spat hatefully, fingering the brass pendant around her neck.

---

Luke embraced the hug from Victoria with a chuckle as he patted her back and stumbled back into his seat. He looked to the flask with a bit of disappointment before shrugging and poring bit of rum inside. With smirk he happily took a sip from the bottle before handing her back her flask with a nod. Luke watched as she tossed the her hat to Ines before looking back to her leaning on the tent post, the look of hate on her face as she brought up her ex. He couldn't help but chuckle in amusement at the two girls and shook his head.

"I swear, the guys who pissed you off must be insane, or have death wish," he said before sighing and taking a drag from his cigarette.

"I feel left out really, never had a lady of my own in my life. Thank god for that, would be to much of a pain to deal with. Especially now..." he said before leaning back, "Wouldn't want another person mourning my dead corpse." he chuckled bitterly before blowing out a wave of smoke through his nose.

"Anyway, exes." he said before motioning with hand for them to continue their conversations about failed lovers.

---

She prepared herself with a usual comment on Luke's relationship status being an unsurprising revelation, yet out of some newfound courtesy, spared what was to be a light exchange for another time. Yet, what he said just before forced a bit of a wince from the woman. Mourning, so it was. It wasn't an unfamiliar sensation to the Darcsen, not by any metric; For that, Inès seemed not to take to the lightness at which Luke proposed, even if such bravado even she found necessary to get through the discomfort. But his prompt was best taken, for Inès herself nodded in agreement that she continue. Back aligned with the posts, parallel to her seat, she looked over the two, apparently ready to continue.

"Exes..." Inès nodded. A light, strangely nostalgic smile came about her face, shaking her head as the memory made its vivacious marks across her pleasantly consternation expression. As if she only smiled because she knew not whether to kill him or thank him.

"Cédric was..."

She shook her head. A heavy sigh dragged her body and head down.

"God, he was a wreck. He...he used to be so great, and then he would...he'd..."

"He'd come to me, and knock on my tenement door, wake everyone up and he'd yell my name, completely dirt-faced drunk. 'Inès! Inès! I'm so sorry! Please don't leave me!'...and i'd tell him, 'Cédric, you're drunk; I'm not leaving you.', and he'd just..."

Inès pulled her head up, a crooked frown trying so desperately to crack a smile expressed toward the pair, as she brought up a time she would have rather forgotten.

"I remember he'd never let go. And he'd cry. And cry until he didn't have any tears left and he lost his own voice weeping to me...about how nobody cared about him. He'd say, 'Even my mom's thought i've lost my mind. She doesn't care about me, Inès...my own mother doesn't care about me!' And..."

She huffed.

"...It was...it was sad. Because he'd rob and steal just...every. Single. Day. And...he never saved the money, and just...always got himself into more and more trouble. It was just...it's like watching someone lose their mind, and him just always saying how...I was the only person who mattered. Being the only person he cared about...and knowing that, one day, he would just...kill himself."

---

Victoria spit on the ground before knocking back a third of the flask's content, seething in contempt for her former partner. "I'll say he fucking does. When this fucking war is over I'm going to find him and slit his throat." she promised. "And trust me, you're not missing anything. All relationships bring is trouble and unwanted burdens." Her tone made it clear she was speaking from experience, boot kicking dirt over the puddle of spit she had made.

"If you ever try to shack up with Diana - like we all know you want to - or any other girl, you make sure you leave on good terms. If I find out you left someone with a bastard to care for. I'll cut your balls off and feed them to you." There was no malice in her voice, no bravado. It was a promise, a statement of fact like saying the sky was blue. She might have had a soft spot for Luke but she was not going to let him do what had been done to her.

"Besides, at least you know people who will mourn for you." Her lecture done Victoria fell silent, taking another drink of rum as Ines spoke. This Cedric she spoke of reminded her of Charles and even herself. The drinking, the stealing, the way they had promised to be there for one another. And then he had taken off, leaving her with a baby and burning hatred that fueled her through this bullshit war.

"I understand that." she muttered, "Thinking that you're going to be with someone forever, through thick and thin, only for it to turn into a lie. I met a man named Charles, a two bit thief and card shark. We'd meet every night and I'd give him all the money and valuables I had shaken out of people or taken from them after I shattered some bones. He'd take it and gamble it all away, always saying how just one more win would put us over the edge. Sometimes he won and we'd drink, party and fuck during week long benders. Other times he'd 've lost and we'd scream at each other, throwing things and punching."

A hand flicked open her necklace, showing Luke and Ines the picture of Elizabeth.

"This was the final straw. He knocked me up and left me alone with a baby girl and no way to feed her. I did the only thing I could and signed up to be with you fuckers. We all have to live with the consequences of our actions. Better to only deal with those and not weigh yourself down with someone else."

---

Luke choked and the smoke he had inhaled as Victoria talked about him getting with Diana and coughed, patting his chest with his fist before looking to her with flushed cheeks, though that was still thanks to the booze.

"Like I'd ever be with her. That little girl isn't my type," he said, though he looked away with a bit of embarrassment. He held up his hands as she threatened him if he ever left, and chuckled.

"Easy, mama bear. I'm a dick, but I'd never do that." he declared before taking a sip from the bottle. Silently he listened to the two talk about their failed lovers and could only shake his head and scoff with a smirk. "Jeez, and here I was feeling left out about being single. You two make being in love to be a shit deal. I may never fall in love at this rate!" he chuckled as he inhaled the fumes from his cigarette. As Victoria showed them the picture of her kid Luke paused for a moment, staring at the picture with a small frown. A loud groan escaped him before he rubbed his face and chuckled bitterly.

"I hate this shit; the love talk," he scoffed before spitting to the side, "Every time I hear someone talk about it, I can't help but get annoyed. I just don't get it sometimes, how you two could have stuck around pieces of shit like that. There's no possible way that love was worth it, was it?" he questioned before sighing rubbing his chin.

"Call me a dick all you want, just sounds pointless..." he said and leaned forward before clutching his hands together, trying to get his mind around it. It could have been the booze talking, but after hearing the two talk about their failed loves, it sounded ridiculous to stay.

"I'd rather just focus on killin' Imps than who I want to love." he stated. inhaling another wave of smoke into his lungs.

---

To her left was a man - doubtlessly one who'd never felt anything so much more than the bare minimum of comradery - who so readily denounced love and would rather take up murder as an occupation than those of loving another. To her right was a mother - one Inès didn't question would grow to be an embittered scowl, at this rate - eager to slit the throat of a dead man for the sake of someone she said slighted her just weeks ago. Could she shake her head? It'd be pointless. No reason with reasoning, it seemed, and for whatever sense this war could make, others so readily rejected while they went about their days. Inès mulled the two over, indecisive as to whether or not she found herself in good company.

"No." she answered, staring split down the middle from the two's positions, as if addressing both their proclamations, "I loved Cédric a lot. And...I knew that he was hopeless. But, I tried. And we had fun. So...no. I don't regret it, actually."

The sight of a young earthhead still lingered around Inès' mind; Victoria was evidently younger than her, apparent even through her numerous scars and snarls. She was already raising one of her own, or, failing that, making an attempt to. Yet...

Inès looked up at Victoria, a soft gaze in her stare. They did not beg, for the showed no water nor wavering in their steadfast posture. Nor did they command, as their vibrant color and directed focus did dictate. Instead, they kindly asked - like that of the mother Victoria wanted to be - for her to put aside her anger

"You know...my mother was about the same age as you when she had me." the Darcsen commented.

---

"You and that 'little girl' are the poster children for will they, won't they." Vicky snickered, very much amused by Luke's spluttering reaction, "I bet you get hard every time you think about her! And I can't blame you."

That crooked smile had returned, a sign that she was just trying to get a rise out of him. It seemed like she had gotten her wish, the Oceanic chuckling as Luke looked away. "I hope not." the "mama bear" responded, "But you'd do well to avoid children in general. It's not a burden you take on lightly."

She shrugged at his proclamation that love was worthless, not feeling particularly strongly about the statement either way. She only had her own experience to go off of, and that didn't exactly give her a bright view. But then again, she was one person of untold multitudes throughout history. It seemed rash to decide one way or another based off such a small sample size.

"I'd be willling to bet that what I had wasn't love. It was on my end, but he certainly didn't love me"

Victoria simply listened as Ines's shared that she didn't regret her past relationship. It wasn't her place to judge. For all she knew this Cedric had been the best person on the planet in all of history. If Ines wanted to hold onto memories of a man she had left or lost that was her decision, albeit one that she couldn't understand. Why would you want to hold onto the past like that? Surely it just hurt, constantly going over what one used to have or what could have been? The only reason she still thought about Charles was because he made a useful goal. Once she made it out of the war and her daughter had some money saved away she could track the piece of shit down and murder him. She stared back as Ines looked up at her, somewhat perturbed by the softness in her eyes.

"If you're going to stare at anyone like that try the broad in the picture." she joked halfheartedly, only for the words to die on her lips.

"The same age I am now? Or do you mean sixteen, when I got pregnant. Either way...I'm so sorry."

If her mother was anything like Victoria, growing up must have been a real struggle for Ines.

---

Lukes cheeks grew warmer as Victoria continued to talk about him and Dian before scoffing slightly, knowing she was just trying to get a rise out of him. Sad thing was she was doing a good job of it. Luckily Ines gained his attention as she stated not regretting being with Cédric and shrugged.

"Good for you then, no regrets is always nice/" he said with a nod before glancing to Victoria as she stated what she wasn't love. From what she said about the relationship he wasn't to surprised, sounded toxic. Luke tensed up for a moment though as Ines brought her mother, a small frown crawling onto his face. He shook his head and scoffed.

"Mothers..." he spat with a bit of venom, a flash of disgust on his face. Ever since he walked into this city he's seen more and more of that witch in his dream, or even in the shadows from the corners of his eyes. That soulless bitch was still haunting him and causing several sleepless nights, even when there was no fighting.

"Even that word sounds meaningless..." he muttered with a scowl before taking another sip of rum.

---

Inès discharged Victoria's pity with a tilt of her head. Even Luke seemed distraught at the turn of tone, reaching straight for the bottle at the mere suggestion of such talks. Such a topic Inès could go on for, endlessly charading and beloving her mother as effortlessly as breathing may have been. Yet, there was no use in opening up wounds while they had yet to recover from those most recently patched, and so it was that Inès looked about her company and decided a bit of change was necessary.

"Don't worry about it." she assured Victoria, inspecting what remained of a nearby rum bottle before washing a light drink down with a coarse cough, "She has a lot of problems, but...we get along."

"Though..."

Inès sighed, placing her hands upon her knees as she set the bottle to her side. A few nods repeat themselves, taking passes at both Luke and Victoria while her lips purse in reflection.

"...out of all the love i've had..."

"...it's worth it for the sex."

---

Vicky nearly snorted at Luke's apparent disgust at the very concept of motherhood. Did he just have issues with all women? That seemed unlikely considering that he was talking to two of them with relative civility. Whatever it was it clearly eating him up inside.

"I guess fatherhood really isn't for you, then." she stated dryly, finally dropping into a low crouch scratching at her leg. "And I'm glad you're able to talk to her. I wish I still had that with my parents." The muffled snort escapes at Ines's final reflection, Victoria nodding in agreement.

"That's fucking right!" she crowed, "I might have fucked myself over, but I had fun doing it!"

The alcoholic turned back to Luke, cocking her head in curiosity. "So if it's not Diana - which I don't believe for a goddamn second - then who is it? Who are you hoping will pin you to the wall and make you man up?"

---

Luke glanced to Victoria as she mentioned something about fatherhood and shrugged. He had no idea if he had what it took to be a father, but there was no reason to worry about it now. The war was where his focus should be on. He nodded towards Ines as she said she was still in a good relationship with her mother and silently envied her to have a mother that didn't hate her guts.

As Luke sighed and let the two talk, he arched a brow and glanced to Ines as she said the sex was worth it. He chuckled in amusement before inhaling his cigarettes fumes into his lungs, the nicotine satisfying in calming his nerves. Unfortunately his calmed nerves didn't last long as Victoria asked who it was going to take to make him a man. His cheeks grew bright red at the question and looked away with a frown.

"I-I don't have anyone in mind, I just need to focus on work." he declared, though silently he thought about her question and her mentioning Diana. That little firecracker of girl who kept giving him a hard time was his first kiss, but that didn't mean anything... Right? He shook his head as he remembered that night in the Inn and ignored the rapid beating in his heart before looking to Victoria and Ines, hoping to switch the question on them.

"What about you two, huh?! Who out of the squad got your eyes?" he questioned with a frown, wanting to steer himself away from giving an actual answer to her question.

---

Inès glared at him.

"The entire Inn could hear Franz and I fucking in the bathtub, and Freya and I weren't much quieter, either." Inès answered promptly. Booze confidence be damned, for it turned Inès into an unashamed monster at this pace.

"If you don't like anyone, fine, but don't give us wishy-washy answers and not expect us to ask questions when we're trying to help."

---

Luke's evasiveness didn't go unnoticed by Victoria either, the Oceanic taking a drink of rum before answering.

"Fuck, let's go down the list: I already fucked Diana as you well know, Jean's not bad looking, who doesn't want to fuck Thomas?...Ines here seems fun, and I'd bet that I'd enjoy ruining you for any other girl." She had nothing to hide. Hopefully the way she had said it all so nonchalantly would rattle him some.

"Now, back to you. Who're you keeping an eye on? No half-answers, or me and Ines will hold you down until you tell us."

---

Luke flinched a bit as Ines told him her and Franz had been together, news to him since he was to drunk that night to know. "I-I... uh..." he wasn't able to speak much more after she gave him a hard time not answering the question, wincing as she said they were only trying to help him. He frowned and scoffed.

"I didn't ask for help..." he muttered before looking to Ines began to run down a list of people that had her eye, though he didn't listen to most of them. He stopped listening after she said she had sex with Diana. His eyes widened a bit in surprise, again another set of unheard news. He stared at her for a few seconds, the fact they had slept together forming a ball of unknown emotions in his gut. Was he... bothered by it? No, he couldn't be. Why would he, Diana was just a comrade. It had to be the rum, that the only explanation. His face was clearly bothered by the fact they were together and tried to look away, a frown on his face.

"I... I didn't know you two were together." he muttered as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Soon a heavy sigh escaped him as the two continued to pry themselves into the topic and held up his hands to calm them down. "Fine, fine, relax." he said before rubbing his scared cheek.

"I-I guess...you two are okay. Not that bad on looks and easy to talk to, well...sometimes easy to talk to." he said glancing up at the two with narrowed eyes before looking back down with red cheeks. He paused for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing.

"D-Diana too, I guess..." he added, rubbing the back of his neck with a groan. "Man, you two sure are nosey aren't ya'?"

---

The Darcsen woman giggled at Luke's final confession, watching the perfect crescendo as his face turned more and more red the more the two went down their list of sex. Although, to Inès at least, it came as little surprise that Luke fancied the sandhead - she knew of two good reasons why - finally nodding to Luke's declaration of interest.

It didn't help Luke's case that he had made the incredible play of making racist sentiments against Darcsens, then making offhand comments about Inès in nice clothing, then that of either romantic or sexual interest in her. Perhaps luckily for the young man, Inès had no intention of touching the dirthead with a 50 meter pole, nevermind letting him inside her. She even seemed to shudder at the notion. All in good faith, of course.

"So you like dark-haired girls, awkward rich girls, and tough girls?" Inès smirked back at him, the light imbibement already forcing her to tease him a smidge.

"Diana has a fucking big pair on her..."

---

Vicky was glad to see that her words had the intended effect on Luke although she was confused that Luke didn't know that she and Diana had slept together. Hadn't the silly girl invited him? She had told her that she was welcome to. Apparently, she hadn't, or maybe Luke had just she was bluffing. Either way it was clearly a shock to him and Victoria decided to seize on it.

"She's so fucking cute in bed! Inexperienced obviously, but very eager to learn. And she's a screamer." When the boy admitted that he was attracted to her and Ines she stood up and held the edge of her fatigues, giving him a little curtsy, "Why thank you Luke. You're not exactly awful looking yourself." When he finally said Diana's name she clapped her hands in mock excitement, "It's a miracle! The man can tell the truth!"

She nodded vigorously at Ines's assessment of Diana's chest. "I would know! You have to see them to believe them, they're fucking huge on her tiny frame! I can try and get you a picture next time if you'd like?"

---

Luke's cheeks only continued to grow red as Ines began to tease him on his answers and looked away with a frown, huffing through his nose in slight annoyance. He glanced to Victoria as she started to talk about Diana in bed, looking away with a sour frown as she went on. This wasn't supposed be a big deal, who cares if they did it? Was no skin off his back. It still bothered him for some reason though. He clicked his tongue in annoyance before taking a sip from the bottle. Luke looked back to Victoria as she said he wasn't bad looking and chuckled lightly before rubbing the scars on his right cheek.

"I'd say this doesn't help with my looks, unless people are into it." he said before frowning as she said him telling the truth was miracle. "Not like I had much of a choice..." he muttered bitterly before ruffling his hair with a groan as they began to talk about Diana's chest. He tried to ignore the two with the frown, the more they talked about it the deeper his frown got. He glanced to Victoria as she offered to get a picture of them and shook his head.

"No, I don't need a picture. I also don't need to bother with getting with anyone because I didn't come here to hook up. I came to fight, simple as that." he said before letting out a frustrated sigh and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Besides, I wouldn't know what to do. I'm... I'm not sure if I ever will..." he muttered before lowering his head and scratching his chin as he thought on the whole conversation.

"Jeez, this whole conversation is a mess..."

---

Now, Inès would be a lying woman if she said she didn't take pleasure in this conversation. Perhaps it was a far cry from, 'a day with the girls', true, but the relaxed, nonchalant discussion of their sex lives was always a bit of a raunchy and fun topic, but that seemed limited to only Victoria and herself. Truth be told once again, she couldn't quite admit that seeing Luke brought so low as when not weeks ago he so readily dismissed Darcsens as wholly villainous was not even slightly intriguing to note. Yet Inès harbored little bitterness towards the earthhead, and seeing low remark after low remark, coupled with his sullen, hunched demeanor as he secluded himself further and further into his shell, she didn't particularly enjoy his more retracted expression.

Inès frowned. Her hand reached to Luke, nodding along in sympathy to his plight.

"You're not a bad guy." she comforted, shrugging to Luke's self-demeaning claims.

"You're an idiot, and you can be a jerk sometimes, and you're a know-it-all, and you said Darcsens were perfect for living in blown-out holes in the ground, and you could use a few more centimeters down there..."

"...but you're not bad. And..." Inès snickered. She realized she wasn't off to the greatest of starts, sure, but what was a little brutal honesty to the fearless Luke Godfrey?

"You're kind of sweet."

---

"Hey, you got a problem with scars?" Victoria asked cheekily, jutting her chin out so that Luke could take a good look at the one that was carved across her face. "The marks don't matter, it's how you carry them." She lifted a sleeve to show her friend the wounds left by shrapnel before brushing aside her hair so he could get a good look at the chunk of her ear that was missing. "If scars were what made men ugly, I'd be shit out of luck myself." She snickered when the young man talked about how he wouldn't know what to do.

"Luke, no one does when they first try. It's instinctive, animal-like. We put you in a bed with Diana and you'll figure it out right quick." The Oceanic laughed as she spoke, gulping down another portion of rum and wiping her mouth with the Imperial flag around her neck.

Vicky nodded at Ines's evaluation of him, agreeing with everything she said. "You have the emotional intelligence of a sheep in rut, but you're not evil." she said not unkindly, "And you're not lacking that much down there, you learn a bit of technique and you'll be good. Besides, once you stop acting like a moron you're quite nice to talk to."

---

Luke chuckled as Victoria questioned what was wrong with scars before showing off her own. He examined them with curiosity before snickering a bit as as she mentioned throwing him in the a bed with Diana to figuring things out.

"Like I said before, not happening; Work comes first." he stated before taking a drag from his smoke.

He arched a brow as he heard Ines tell him he wasn't a bad guy and glanced up to her in curiosity, not expecting that from her. He chuckled lightly as she began to list down his flaws, each one making his smirk grow more in amusement. It was true he had a lot of them and honestly he didn't care enough it got him into trouble. Made things interesting. He chuckled as she called him sweet before rolling his eyes.

"Sure I am." he said with a sarcastic tone, though a small smile rested on his face as he silently appreciated her attempts to lift his spirits.

Luke looked to Victoria as she threw in her two cents about him and couldn't help but laugh in amusement before shaking his head with a grin. "Well, I guess it's good to know I'm not a complete lost cause." he said before leaning back in his seat with a heavy sigh. "I need to get out of this camp and back to work before I start to get to chummy with you two..." he chuckled with a grin before ruffling his hair with a sigh. He was definitely starting to feel useless sitting in this camp when there was still a city that needed to be taken.

---

Luke exuded his restlessness in every mannerism he displayed, from how he constantly mentioned wanting to resume "labor" to how he so blatantly listed off his priorities. Inès half-smirked, wondering for a moment if Luke possessed either impeccable work ethic, or if he was just a glory hound, looking for something to tell his folks back home. She shook her head. Inès met a lot of Lukes throughout her months-long military career. She sent flowers to their graves every month.

"A lot of 'work' is waiting for something to happen." Inès told Luke, "Rest up. Otherwise, you might end up being a psychopath like Victoria."

---

Victoria wondered is Luke actually believed what he was saying or if he was just bluffing like she was. He acted awfully interested in their shared "work", did he have a vendetta against the Imperials? Or maybe he was just loyal to the Federation. Or he maybe the only way he could get off was with a gun in his hands; Vicky had met plenty of guys like that during her time in the service.

"Why do you care?" she asked finally, "About the war, I mean. Why does it matter so much to you? Do you just like violence?" She gave a good-natured middle finger to Ines, but didn't refute the point. That was basically what she herself was worried about. "Seriously, I said it once and I'll say it again: the army is not the right place for you, it's for fuck-ups like me who can't do anything else. You should leave as soon as you can."

---

A chuckle escaped Luke as Ines suggested just resting while he can shook his head. "Rest? I've been working non-stop since both my parents passed, there's no way I'm gonna start now. Can't afford to." he said with a heavy sigh as he thought back on most of his childhood. It was filled with nothing but hardships and back breaking work. Hardly any fun, or joy. Just an endless spiral of pent up anger and remorse.

The only thing he had to look forward to were his sisters. Luke was brought out of his thoughts as Victoria caught him off guard with the question of why he cared about the war so much. He shook his head as she asked if it was the violence.

"No of course not, I... I just wanted to do something else with my life, to be more than a damn peasant farmer." he said before feeling a small frown come onto his face as she began to talk again, telling him he shouldn't be here, that he didn't belong there. He shook his head and scoffed in annoyance.

"Ya' know what?" he muttered before rising from his seat with a heavy frown on his face and set his hardened gaze onto her. "I'm tired of hearing that shit, that I don't belong here! How the hell do you know where I belong!? Huh?! I'm tired of hearing of what people think I should do with my life, saying I'm not cut out for this! Fuck that!" he spat before smacking his chest roughly.

"I'm here to make my mark on the world, to show everyone that I follow my own path! So if I end up dead so be it! I signed up knowing full well I'll most likely die in this fucking war so at least I can die happy knowing I died following my own path!" he finished, his fist clutched tightly before letting out a heavy sigh and falling back into his seat. The booze must be fueling him on, but it felt good to get that out.

---

"Luke. Shut up."

Inès commanded him staunchly, a scowl on her face stronger that would make a drill sergeant avert their eyes. She held up two fingers, almost ready and poised to silence whatever attempt to speak up, and another open palm Luke could correctly guess that Inès would be more than happy to reacquaint with his face.

"Listen to yourself. Is that what you want? To die? Do you want to go back home to your sisters, and tell them, "I joined the war so I could die."?" Inès didn't shake her head. She kept her ironclad glare steadily upon the frustrated young man, almost as if she created a steady haze above Luke's head that forced him down like a sad dog.

---

Victoria didn't respond verbally as Luke launched into his tirade, content to let him him stand up and pound his chest like a big man. He was nowhere near the scariest man that had tried to intimidate her. She simply stood up herself, rising to her full height and tucking her flask.

"That's fucking right, some real emotion!" she crowed, "Anger is so much better than self-deprecation, lets you know you're a killer! C'mon Luke, if you wanna scrap, let's go for it! I won't even try to dodge the first hit!" This had taken an interesting turn. Maybe the army was the right place for him with the way he just suddenly went off. But then it left him, Vicky watching the man fall back into his seat with a huff. And just when she thought she had met someone with some balls...

"Ah c'mon, leave him alone." she said to Ines, "It's good when someone is honest about their life. I'm in the same boat as him, if I die here it doesn't matter. I guess we're alike in some ways, just a pair of cunts that aren't good for anything else." She wasn't drunk off alcohol, intoxicated by the rush of meeting another rat. A pair of scavengers that didn't fit in polite society.

---

Luke scoffed towards Victoria as she began to look more than willing to fight him. Honestly at the moment it seemed like a good idea to blow off more steam through his fist, but he knew it was the rum getting him all riled up. It'll only get him in more trouble. He noticed Ines's iron like glare directed towards him and scoffed as she began to ask if it was really what he wanted, if he wanted to die and leave his sisters behind.

"N-no, I just... I cant pretend anymore. To be happy with my life, that nothing bothers me. So...I thought if I were to die, I'd at least die setting an example for my sisters that they can do whatever they want with their lives..." he said before hanging his head and ruffling his hair.

He chuckled as he heard Victoria spoke up again, saying they were both not good for anything else. "I guess so..." he smirked before raising his head and letting a drained grin roll into his face. "I just dont give a damn anymore. I've stopped caring a long time ago, ever since...she..." he paused for a moment, his grin falling as he began to feel an ungodly chill run up his spine, as if someone ran their frozen finger tips along his spine. Then, in a brief moment he heard a chilling whisper before snapping out of it, realizing he had spaced out for a moment. He shook his head before rubbing his face.

"N-never mind, let's just drop it..." he muttered before pulling out another cigarette to light and inhale.

---

A steady glare passed over Luke, Inès' rough eyes watching the same fate, over, and over, and over pass over with no indication it would go much differently. Pulses tingled through her back, begging that she reflexively retract, no matter how much it may disrupt her current comfort. Not much was worse than seeing the same story prevail, the cautionary tales strung by veterans falling upon ears deafened by naïveté. Yet, it is in everything left unspoken where tragedy is made.

But what was there left for Inès to say?

The dirtheaded mother didn't help. Many of the survivors seldom did, even as was their apparent duty to guide those more or less fortunate to have fewer experiences behind them. Victoria had an interesting clamor for life - one shared by the many experts, adherents, or lovers of their lives of ill-coincided adventure - and one Inès, too, saw before. Violette never was much of one for helping others find their way, too.

She sighed. Two broken, dreary eyes aged twenty years in an instant, and that fractured, breathy resignation from Luke and Victoria signified disappointment full well. Inès stood, positioning her hands forth, like a pose to a presidential address, even, dropping, waving, fidgeting, twitching while she found and lost so many of the wrong words to say at the right moment.

"...fine." was all she could sputter out, bearing an unusual heaviness within the flowery Francian accent.

"See you later."

Inès left the space for the two. With any luck, Victoria might be able to be a mother for once. Inès didn't hold her breath.

---

Victoria sadly as Luke admitted that he had intended to die, or at least had expected to. It always made her sad to see people who had potential following the same path she had written herself into. It was a little irrational to decide that he could do better with his life based off such little experience together, but she knew his story. Anyone who could go through what he had while caring for two young sisters had the strength to do whatever they put their mind to. She wanted to embrace him again as he cut himself off, guessing at who "She" was. Vicky couldn't blame him for changing the subject, keeping her mouth shut as Ines stared at them with... disappointment? Or was it just disgust? It was hard to tell.

The Oceanic watched the Francian female stand up and fidget with her hands, waving a lazy goodbye as her acquaintance left the tent. "Have a good one." she called back, turning to face Luke. The mother didn't say anything to her adopted son, simply crouching back down and looking at him. She held the awkward pause for a moment before pulling him into another tight hug, one arm wrapped around his waist while the other dragged a blanket up and around them.

"Shut up and cuddle with me." she ordered, not willing to leave him alone with his thoughts for the time being.

---

A long heavy sigh escaped Luke as he ran a hand through his messy hair, his mind and body suddenly feeling so exhausted. How did it come to this? He had been laughing and talking not to long ago. Now here he was, feeling as if he had just been thrown down a flight of stairs. He took a healthy drag from his cigarette before hanging his head and holding his suddenly aching head. Soon he heard Ines rise and glanced up to her only to see a gaze of disappointment directed towards him. He showed no reaction to the gaze, but it did make him feel lower than he already was. Weaker. He looked back down towards the grounded and nodded before inhaling more smoke into his lungs. "Thanks for the rum," he muttered with a weak voice, any type of boldness or confidence no where to be seen. As she left he let himself become consumed into the silence that filled the tent. It felt so comforting, being alone in his thoughts. His lonely mind being the only place he's felt safe. Soon though he noticed a figure grow closer from the comer of his eye and prepared himself to be tormented by the visions his beaten mind haunts him with. It never came though, instead he was pulled forward and welcomed into a comforting warmth that only tightened around him. Luke tensed for a moment, not understanding what was happening at the moment, but as a blanket was pulled over him and Victoria's familiar voice reached his ears. His tensed body quickly relaxed and let his cigarette fall to the ground.

He gave no resistance to Victoria's hug and let himself sink deeper into her embrace, resting his heavy head on her shoulder. So much weight was taken off his body and mind as he rested with Victoria, a heavy breath of relief leaving his nostrils. His eyes began to grow heavy and his breathing became steady, but before he closed his eyes to rest his mind he saw a blurry black figure linger in the shadowy corner of the tent and held Victoria's shirt tightly.

"She won't leave..." he whispered in a shaky voice before finally falling asleep, a warm embrace ensuring him he was no longer alone.

Diana’s Brutal Reality – References – September 26, 1914 (Siege of Amone)

---

Diana was starring at her pendant necklace still, which was dear to her because of her parents gifted it to her. This one necklace gave her the reference of a simpler time, which gave her a smile on her face. It was the primary reason, why she tried to constantly try to keep her mind on keeping her humanity from all the crazy shit that happened in this war. However, it was pretty hard to do so since this war is chaotic, crazy and everything. She is basically trying to hold on her humanity as much as possible even if it hurts her career in the military. ”All of this is a pain… guess it could be worse I suppose? The gas attack is going to be a nightmare I will constantly have or other some such. The people who ordered that are stupid as fuck.” Diana thought to herself, with a slight annoyance in her face. However, she looked up and noticed Reyna at a table surrounded by tons of letters, which made her giggle somewhat.

She decided to put back on her silver pendant necklace around her neck, with it still opened at least. However, she picked up the plate of cookies, which were great cookies that her mother created and wanted to know if Reyna wanted some. She walked over to Reyna’s table with all those letters and sighed at the letters, which are a bit too much for one person to handle. ”T-That many letters, you got there, Reyna. Do you want a cookie for your troubles?” Diana asked, curiously since her mother’s cookies are wonderful and a good stress relief. She giggled slightly at what she had said because its a bit funny. However, she remembered what she promised Jean that she’ll definitely tell Reyna about Jean’s affections towards everyone. ”Oh yeah… Reyna, Jean confessed to me that he likes you, me and Kalisa. It gave me a bit of a shock that he confessed to me particular.” Diana said, however, she was curious what Jean did afterwards the dance since she didn’t see it. She sat down at Reyna’s table and glanced at all the letters mostly because there’s too many for Reyna to handle.

Diana noticed some of the letters, with certain words on them and kinda looks like the envelopes, which hold love letters within them. Her mother Rebecca specifically dislikes getting love letters from random people and/or assholes. It caused her to giggle somewhat because her mother would say some curse words and throw away the letters in question in the trash or burn them. ”God, if my mother Rebecca was here she would probably be on purposely trying to burn those letters she tells me are the worst… from random people and assholes mainly.” Diana said with a giggle trying to hold herself from laughing to loudly since her mother curses a bit too much when it involves love letters. It doesn’t help her mother still gets them from her ex, which is also her childhood friend from way back when. She looks through the letters and notices a recognizable name, which is Randall since her father was praising him for making his money honestly. Gavin was also praising Hall Industries too, in the same sentence. ”T-That’s… many letters from your father Reyna. Uhhh.. what’s your mother’s name? My father Gavin praised your father’s business and everything. Don’t know how he knew that before me…” Diana said, remembering she only learned about Hall Industries from Reyna in this war in terms of what it does exactly. She smiled happily because of this whole thing. It was pretty much obvious she wanted to focus on something that doesn’t involve Luke and Ines in her thoughts. Reyna is definitely that person to focus on something else. ”...I am mixed up in all my thoughts right now… At least Reyna is sweet and the tea she made was nice.” Diana thought to herself for a second, with a goofy looking grin on her face, mostly because of the fact she’s still thinking about everything.

She sighed deeply and got herself a cookie from the tray and started to eat it. All the other people can still get a cookie if they wanted she has plenty more where these came from. ”My mother always says, being quiet doesn’t get you anywhere. Reyna can I have that recipe for that Tea you’ve made since it was wonderful and helped me through me deciding to lose at the drinking competition I had with Luke and Victoria. Since I wouldn’t have won anyway.” Diana said, however, there was something else on her mind. It was mostly because she did notice Reyna was starring at her while they danced it was a bit embarrassing to remember but it was definitely fun to enjoy yourself once in awhile. ”I did enjoy that dance you danced with me too… even though it was a bit embarrassing… It definitely helped me get over what I was going through in terms of me crying, so thank you.” Diana said, with a bit of a smile on her face and had an embarrassing look on her face. It was mostly because she didn’t properly say thank you to Reyna for the dance because of her mood was a bit crying but the dance she saw with Jean and Reyna looked fun. It is an experience she will never leave from her heart since it enjoyable and if it wasn’t for this war it would be fun to try some more dancing with Reyna as a friend.

Diana took off her silver pendant necklace of her neck and opened it so Reyna can see it. On the right, showed her mother Rebecca, the one she constantly talked about and Gavin her father on the left. They are the only two pillars in her life that is a constant in it. However, joining this war gave her more pillars and people to rely on. ”Here’s my parents Gavin and Rebecca, my mother still basically looks like this… these were taken when they were 23 years old.” Diana said, happily while talking about her parent’s photos in the pendant. The only thing that was more exciting was the fact now more people get to see them. It took her a few moments but she remembered what she said about Reyna’s tea and couldn’t help but blush about what’s going on in her head. ”C-Crap...” Diana said, with a nervous twinge.

At first, Jean wasn't sure how to approach the sudden question Michael presented. It was a query that he never really got around to explaining to anyone, nor did her see how Michael didn't know it already. Perhaps it was a generational thing, or perhaps it was only popular in certain hotspots within Europa as a whole. Ideally, the social differences were the best conclusion Jean could come to, but all that sorted was one inquiry as to why the topic was being raised in the first place. The White-Feather movement? The chances of its despicable popularity were probably well known to those around the world but its actual purpose or drive were sometimes left unknown to the common ear. Jean himself had been a victim to its scheming, immoral and devilish pressure, ensuing an ever-growing false sense of duty upon his shoulders. Putrid, the following was. White; previously a representation of purity and cleanliness through all other mediums, Jean could only now see it as a tainted tone of corruption and misconceptions for violence. Its level of discrimination was unheard of, where it would target any man or woman who simply looked competent enough to hold a rifle and charge out into the plains of Francia, Assen, Wessel and the many other theatres of war. Cowardice was a common insult for those who refused to join the frontlines, no matter who they were or what their reasons were. It didn't think about who they placed the feather upon, only the fact that they were still living a civilian life and not doing their apparent duty the world expected of them. 'Quell all evil', they would announce vigorously, 'And take arms against those who line their own sights to your very homes. For your wives, husbands, brothers and sisters.'

Ironically enough, Jean could imagine that most of the wives, husbands, brothers and sisters they mentioned in their defaming motto were either already pressured to join the frontlines or had been killed as a result of it. Mindless drones wandered the streets daily and picked their targets at random, ensuring to stalk and pounce upon their prey during highly populated moments. Where a dense crowd of eyes could stare towards them and judge their every move, anyone who was a target was surely to fall prey to it all. If they refused, the public would deal with them accordingly. Abuse and insults, all of the horrific slander that was only damaging the Europan spirit from the inside further more: everything was bludgeoned by their ceaseless movement of aggression. Jean knew this better than anyone else. He'd seen countless outside his house be shamed for it, only for him to find the blame seethe into his own life.

Jean looked at Michael with a sort of vapid glare, trying to think of the correct words and phrases to describe how vanquishing their motives were. A criminal to society, one would call them. Hunters of the innocent and stalkers of the mighty, pawns of the war-mongering high-chariots that profited from the deaths of many others. Marxist beliefs like that were a common target against the White-Feather movement. Many were. Many still were that day.

"Only the most cruel punishment for those who have a sense to survive. Anyone who was caught wandering the streets, no matter their face or their background, without a uniform to go with it was stopped in the middle of any highly-dense populated area and shamed. All it required was a single white feather to be passed onto them, and words were barely spoken if they didn't react." Jean began to motion his hands, as if acting out instinctively what it looked like to receive one. His eyes dimmed and flashed many blaring flares of coarse tertiary shades before refocusing back on the matter. As his voice reconsidered the past, recognising the point of no return, his mind was brought back to that time, where he stood amongst the market square with the pale, crystal white feather plastered directly between his fingers. Its spiteful softness was the only comfort left as the eyes and ears started to slowly descend upon him, judging him silently or audibly without any consideration for his age or personality. "It's a fiendish tactic to scare people into joining, and yet it still works. I had fallen prey to it. The eyes, the threats thrown towards your family's house afterwards...It...shames you. No one wants that, nor do they want to go through it themselves. The public turns a blind eye and pretends to be on its side in the hopes that the feather doesn't get passed onto them. Devilish, I say!"

"Holy fuck..." Thomas gasped whilst his mouth was still full of Diana's succulent cookies. He seemed to have snuck two from her tray and indulged in their sweet bakery, no matter how cold they may have become from their long travels to the frontline. Either way, to him it was better food than the stale biscuits usually given out alongside their soup rations. "Talk about being stubborn, but this Francian government doesn't like to fuck around, ey? Back in Oceania all they did was just promise us more land, money and some additional rights. Sold us on that. Bish, bash and bosh-it all off, ay cunt?"

The differences were there. Socially, all three of them were different. Well, four if Isaac was to be counted alongside them. Two farmers, though one from the other side of the planet. A rich Europan and a moderate Francian. Corporals and Lance Corporals, privates and dead men, all were strangely unique despite being labelled under one uniform, one flag and one faction. All completely different. An animal man, a philosopher, a charismatic foreigner and a nervous writer. From their congress there, they couldn't get any more socially different if the gods themselves beckoned. Jean simply began to smile to himself as soon as Thomas' outlandish personality once again revealed itself to the community. All the strange dialects and odd cursive tones were far too comical for him to almost ignore, causing him to faintly chuckle to himself and turn away before recomposing his mood. Yet just before he could respond an equally as comedic sense, another unfamiliar voice suddenly intercepted their conversation.

Sliding up to Jean's side was a spry young face that felt entirely shadowed in naivety. None of his facial features really spoke of a combat experienced individual, and so Jean inferred that he was one of the fresh recruits they picked up on the train ride to Amone those weeks ago. It felt quite upsetting to see the slimy grin of a childlike innocence beaming from his ignorant face. Either way, he spoke timidly and with a seemingly unfathomable amount of praise and respect, as if everyone who wasn't Thomas were a war hero too.

"Corporal Robin-Charpentier?" Straight as a schoolboy in assembly, the soldier turned his head and scanned the group for Jean before meeting eyes with him. Jean didn't even get a chance to answer back before he seemingly belted out the message he'd been told to pass on. "Staff Sergeant Baker wants to see you at the street's barricade, as soon as possible preferably."

"Uhm, thank you Private?" Before anything else could be commented on the matter, the Private rushed away into his own private group, sinking in with another wave of freshly carved faces pulled from training. Jean pitied him as much as he pitied himself. The chances of those boys and girls surviving were as low as the sea's depths could go. War was indeed unfair, such as life in the Europan theatre was. Jean turned back to the triage surrounding him and bowed his head with respect towards his parting. It was always a distressful thought to be pulled out of relaxation to speak with any member of a higher rank, especially a so-called Staff Sergeant he'd met potentially only once before. "Well, I must beg my leave. Isaac, please tell Britta that she's supposed to be cooking our squad something tonight. One of the Sergeants gave all the squads who entered Amone first the chance to cook up somethin' special and Thomas seemed keen on voting her to try it out. Sorry to depart so early. I'll be back whenever I can be."

Leaving the group was obviously the easy part. The hardest feat was wandering around and locating Staff Sergeant Baker's position. Several walls and barricades were set up a few hundred metres away from where the group had formed, where huge assortments of wooden furniture, barricades, sandbags, makeshift vantage points and machine gun nests had been forged in order to repel any counter assaults. Even now, days after it'd first been formed, soldiers were still being given the duties of reinforcing its stature and ensuring every little vulnerable spot was patched up immediately. Whether it was damaged from the atmospheric weather or the simply raiding parties that occasionally took to their wall, everyone seemed to have done their part in their construction bar those pardoned from its menial labours. Eventually, Jean found his target.

Baker stood with his head poking firmly over the walls, watching through a pair of binoculars not too similar to Jean's own. The face seemed somewhat similar, though only from a few interactions back at Garnia. The Staff Sergeant looked far more presentable, yet approachable, than Middleton could've ever been, with a loving sort of paternal gaze in his resting expression. Even as a liaison between the lowest ranks and the highest forms of command, Baker still kept a down-to-earth look in his uniform. Several parts were slightly torn and muddy from previous incursions whilst the main physical features were neatly kept to the standard of any appropriate and well-trained NCO around. Upon his back was a slung rifle, hanging loosely by the threads of his strap. Up close, the sandbags only went up to his chest, and the helmet atop of his scalp remained as the only line of defence between a bullet and his skin. Though despite this, he kept his duty as a sentry seriously and continued to roam his eyes across the vapid wasteland of previous bustling market places.

Jean began to ascend the makeshift steps up to him, sinking into the hardened clay-like sandbags that bridged the way up. Like solid bricks, his feet barely moved an inch whenever his full weight was placed upon it, and yet the ascension felt evermore uncomfortable than any other steps before him. Just as he arrived to Baker's side, Jean pondered over the possibilities of one of them getting their heads swept clean off of their shoulders from their exposed levels of sentry-duty, but if Baker himself was up there then Jean felt a little more safer in doing so.

"Staff Sergeant? Corporal Robin-Charpentier, as you requested?" At first, Jean expected for him to silence his introduction, or to give the usual snarky remarks most superior soldiers were known to throw out there. However, Baker simply lowered his binoculars and shifted his eyes over, before smiling and welcoming him with a solid pat on the back. The feeling was strange, entirely alienated to the usual treatment officers gave. Indeed, Jean was quite pleased.

"Corporal! Ahh, yes! Right on cue, good man!" He began to clear his throat before turning back to the open vastness of the clouded streets ahead. As the mood settled from the cheerful introduction, Baker began to point a finger out into the distance, Jean following it with his own eyes. "D'you see anything out there, Corporal?"

A few seconds of silence paused as Jean scoped his own binoculars and eyes in onto the street, where nothing but rubble and dust settled into the distance. For a few moments, Jean wasn't really convinced there was anything of note, and maybe Baker was leading himself up to some sort of joyful joke towards the emptiness of the streets. It was as if the Imperials had packed up and gone home at first glance, but Jean knew better than to judge it so foolishly. He didn't have an answer to satisfy him though, and so instead he just shook his head and quaintly shrugged at the query. Humoured by his answer, Baker simply pointed again and nodded exactly at the lack of a response.

"Nothin', I know. But that's what worries us. We don't exactly know what's waiting ahead. Now, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Corporal, but in a few days we're expected to push forward and seize the rest of Amone once and for all, or however the big shots up top put it. Problem is, estimating how the Imperials have reacted to our import is...rather unfitting for such an operation's complete success. I was told that your squad was quite capable though." Suddenly, a sickly feeling came into Jean's stomach. He didn't like where it was going, and with good reason. Seeing the vapid quietness of the streets somewhat reminded him of the horrifying emptiness of the gas-ridden streets two weeks before. Oh, how terrifying it would be for such a day to come back again. "I want you to take five people with you tomorrow morning and head out there. Not my call, clearly, but the Majors back home want to be sure we're able to send the masses forward. Think you can do that?"

At first, Jean was completely silent. More orders that could've led to indefinite demises? Of course he'd be absolutely bed-ridden by their unruly sacrifice. What if Jean never made it back to the barricades, or perhaps his friends and those he took with him were eviscerated. Eventually, Jean seemed to clear his mind and turn back to Baker, looking at him sternly with an obedient nod towards the order. Without even giving a simple confirmation, his response was enough to reinforce the idea that Squad 1 were the proper people for the job.

"How far will we be required to go, and what can we take with us?"


"That fiend! That deviant little shit!" With an exasperated roar, Middleton threw his clipboard towards the wall and broke it into two in doing so. Lucia, still silent from the fear of his outrage, sat quietly on a small wooden stool and waited patiently for him to finish. A fit of rage had engrossed his soul yet again at the thought of being challenged. She didn't want to interfere, yet here she was, being puppeted once more to bend to his will. Alexander continued his blasphemous bellows of profane slurs as he sloshed around in the room, violently thrusting a clenched fist against any wall that stood before him. "Does he not know his place? Does he not understand the damage he may cause?! Well, Lucia? SPEAK UP!"

A twinkled shimmer of tears in her eyes caught Alexander off guard, her face slowly crumbling up into a silence sob once more. He stood, unknowing what to do. He didn't want her to cry. He never wanted her to cry. She needed to be stronger, that was it, wasn't it? That's what everyone had been saying all along, before the slaughters in the fields, the forts and the forests that year ago. She couldn't be left to rot away as some feeble tool, not to Michael nor to anyone else. Middleton wanted to snap into change, before turning around and plotting directly to himself.

"N-no...I'm sorry, little one. Don't cry. But do know, I will take the life of those who are tampering with you if they continue. Be it that fiendish Edinburgh pompous twat, or the rest of his blasted squad...Anyone who threatens you will die by the edge my my blade, mark my words, Lucia. You understand that too, don't you?"