Kalisa kept her eyes on the other Darcsen as he rose from his position. He looked very tired and broken from possibly his previous operation. The moment his gaze met hers though, his expression slowly got brighter by the second. She was taken aback at his sudden motion to hug her but stood her ground to not knock them both over.

"H-hey, yeah it's me." She gingerly hugs back with her free hand to confirm that it is indeed her and that she is with him right now. It has only now dawned on Kalisa that she had been away from the group for a few weeks. "I was told to stay behind and got reassigned to a different company. It sounded like they were short on people. I thought you guys knew, I'm sorry." The day that she was reassigned, she was suddenly transferred without having to confirm with Jean despite him being her superior. It seemed very urgent so she didn't ask questions.

Jean pulled back and returned her gaze before eyeing the scarf that he had given to her some days past. "Yeah, I have. It's been helping me sleep this past week." The girl flinches a little when she remembered the nightmare that she experienced earlier today. Nights have been difficult, and the comfort of the scarf gave her some relief. It didn't completely ward off the nightmares but it helped stave off the worse ones that she had gotten before she joined the army.

In her moment of self-reflection she had missed her fellow Darcsen's attempts at flirting, but managed to catch his calling her of a nickname that she once had. She gives a gentle smile in response to his awkwardness before replying. It seems that he's still pretty unsure around women. "You can call me Kal. My parents used to call me that." Memories of happier days flashed in her mind. Ones of peace and honest hardwork. Days that were no longer here.

Because of her--

Kalisa suddenly shakes her head to reset herself and push the negative thoughts away before returning to the conversation at hand. Now's not the time to wallow in self-pity. "Thank you. It's nice to see you alive and well too." She was genuinely happy to find that Jean was alright, if shaken from the events that happened. "Thomas?" Was he referring to the soldier that she passed by earlier who was missing a leg? His face looked familiar now that she thought about it, as he was a member of the company. But she never got his name so she wasn't sure. "But you're here aren't you?" She knelt down and took his hand after he sat down. Looking quite serious as she did so, but also gentle enough to not scare him away.

"Everything's going to be fi--" The girl stopped herself from continuing that train of thought and took a mental step back. It would be very insensitive of her to casually say that things are going to be alright, when they're not. "What happened at the scouting mission?" Kalisa hesitated as she wasn't sure if asking was the right call, but she wanted to understand and not knowing the details wouldn't make for a good conversation. The Darcsen female stood up before taking a seat next to Jean, patiently waiting for him to possibly open up more about what happened.

@LetMeDoStuff

Never before had Jean's heart and confidence been touched so lightly as it had by Kalisa's presence and closeness to the gift he'd given her a month prior. That scarf was indeed the closest memory he had of what life he used to live, where he still had a family to love and people to call his mother, father and sister. Deflecting nightmares and disturbances in the sleep was the perfect send off for such a scarf to Kalisa. Indeed, Jean did want to reunite with it at some point in the near future, but whilst it was around her neck he couldn't be more satisfied if he wanted to. There were points where she seemed disturbed by thoughts of her own, none of which Jean could narrow down or pinpoint to any cause. Seeing her shake her head to refocus herself only added a slight layer of worry across Jean's mind, leaving him to think about what she had to say next. She did question Thomas, though. True, they hadn't spoken probably at all, but she was there and fought alongside him at least once. It was hard to keep track of your allies sometimes, but Thomas...he stuck out clearer than anyone else.

Her voice softly resonated with his ears as she took his hand, taking a knee before him. Draped in the most gentle tone and blended with the absolute tenderness of her soft grip, she spoke of his presence still being around. At first, Jean wondered if him even being around meant anything to anyone. He was here, just a nobody with chevrons failing at delivering the orders he wanted to give out. People died because of him and others thus refused to listen to him. He wasn't a Corporal, nor was he a real leader at all; but instead, he'd become a coward. If Victoria, Luke, Inès, Franz, Michael, Isaac, Britta, Diana, Reyna, Freya or anyone else in the squad burst through the closed flaps of his tent and barked ferocity over his lack of confidence, there would be no surprise to the Darcsen. Failure was a common practice. At times Jean was unable to remember the very day he met Kalisa, in which she commented on his confidence in the face of danger. Those days were almost mythological now. Unreal. Unbelievable. Unfathomable. Was there ever a time where Jean had risen up to the challenge like so, and delivered the results people wanted? No one ever admitted it, nor did anyone speak of it. And thus, he was left in the dark to wallow in his own pitiful anguish.

And despite the coarse nature of his mind, Jean felt the softness of her hand tenderise his pity. His expression froze, crossing the boundaries between sadness and pure joy. From where she was knelt, he stared into her glistening eyes and brandished a small burst of happiness in doing so. With the very touch of her skin, he felt invigorated, blessed by the visions of her glorious nature. Jean didn't hold her on a godly level like some may have expected of his stupid awkwardness, but he did indeed see a light like no other in her soul. She was a Darcsen, and the bond those felt was either fragile or brilliantly strong. Jean hoped for nothing but the latter with Kalisa, for she could've very well been the one thing left to save him in that moment.

He looked down, twiddling his thumbs as he thought of how to respond. She stood up and sat beside him and for a minute his heart leapt a beat. At first, she nearly stated that everything was going to be fine, when in fact nothing was really going to be fine unless someone acted upon it. They were left a man down and with holes in their hearts.

"It was...beyond hell. They sent five of us out to scout the area. They say the big attack is tomorrow, Kal'..." As he said the nickname she told him to say, he felt a tiny smile come onto his face before it faded. Slowly, his left hand lodged itself between her fingers once more as she sat beside him, only to help him comfortably get the words out. "In the dead of this fucking awful weather, we neared the end. And then a shot rang out soon after the large explosion here...When we turned back, a trap had been initiated, and Thomas' leg was separated from his...from his body."

He wanted to stop, to cease talking about the viciousness of the skirmish and how it had taken its toll on him, but his mouth kept running, flowing like an uncontrollable tsunami unable to be halted. Every word he uttered was drenched in hours worth of pain, sadness, sorrow and anger. Why couldn't he stop? He felt a small tear begin to formulate in his eye, the first of one in weeks. He thought he'd suppressed the emotional distraught he'd felt, and yet here he was, letting loose the droplet that spelled out fear. His hand gently clasped tighter around Kalisa's hands and locked itself into a hardened clasp. He never wanted to let go. The smoothness of her tender skin kept him alive, and at least reminded him that there was something to feel.

"We...tried to help...no...Inès tried to help. I was helpless. Luke...the...the fucking bastard Luke and Victoria ran after the sniper, chasing him for glory...They left him to die, they did. And...we're here, listening to them celebrate outside. And all things considered we...we couldn't do anything. He was going to die without the help we couldn't give, and the help the others refused to show. We let a man die. A single man who'd done no wrong to us die. And for what?" He buried his chin into his palm and sat, staring blankly at the walls. For once he wasn't crying anymore, just...he sounded disappointed in himself more than anything else. "I'm...sorry Kal'. I'm just not a good person anymore. I'm not the leader people want, not the one they get."

---

"Hey Richelieu, here's your letters."

The passing soldier tossed the stack of envelopes onto the two sibling's table, his gaze of envy wandering in his line of vision. The letters were numerous, some of which a couple were from the same person. But as blinded by romance by the young, energetic and naive the soldier was, he didn't even bother to read under the line, but rather only glances through names and the embellished envelopes, his jealously was completely off the mark.

"Thank you Daniel. Have a good day."

Those letters almost entire went under one name: Richelieu.

"Heh, looks like elder brother's enjoying the water of the channel." The young boy next to Anna sneered, both in jealously and petty wish-fulfillment. "Let's see if he'll enjoy it once he gets back to the front."

"Owen." Right then and there was Anna's sharp glare. "Stop it. He's your brother."

"...But I can't stand the fact that he's boasting about how good his vacation is." The boy, his hierarchy, quickly turned sullen, before waving the piece of paper before her big sister. "Just read the letter!"

Oh yeah. He did sound a little snobbish when he wrote this. It appeared like he was just trying to piss Owen off rather than sharing a happy moment and wishing the others all the best. He did wish for Anna's well-being though, so that's at least something else.

'Aaayyy, guys...'

Really, they ought to learn to work together more often. She knew they were brothers, so fighting among them are almost inevitable. But seriously, their jealousy with each other were intolerable from time to time, and being the only female of a male dominated family, her job as the rational voice and the calm face amidst the chaos was like in a crow's nest. Even when they were hundreds of miles apart, they still somehow found ways to duke it out at each other.

It didn't even help her the fact that her parents were almost entirely away throughout her whole life. As beautiful as the family looks from the outside - a rich and hard-working parent, five healthy and lovely young children - the reality of her whole life had been entirely hollow. Their parents weren't parents at all. They were just offspring producers, pumping out children in the fear that their genes would be extinct, after generations of some branches of their family going heirless for one sickeningly unfortunate reason or another. After that, they didn't care. Their only presence in the sibling's worlds were just to give some crucial information about education, accommodation or whatever. Their care belong to the servants instead. And they were paid. Ohh, the beauty of capitalism. Their only drive to care for the young kids were if they get a raise from their sweet sugar parents, though in this case it's not a romantic relationship. Anna's just one of those victims. Growing up without those parental love that every kid around her got, her brothers were the only ones she had. She didn't want to lose their love too, or see their love for each other dwindle. But apparently, that latter half were under serious doubt.

"...I get it. But it's not a reason to respond with a spiteful tone that intends to turn the table." She scolded. "If you keep being angry at each other, when will you be caring toward each other. You're brothers."

"But why am I supposed to be the one defusing it? He's the one who started it first!"

"I will say the same to him as well, but continuing a fight is not a sign of a man, Owen - it's to be the one to stop it."

Her calm rationale seemed to have broken through to the young soldier. But youngsters will always be youngsters, and teenagers will still be teenagers. He sullenly pouted, tossed the envelope onto the stack before heading off somewhere else - a typical sign of defiance. Oh well, it's just a phase. He'd grow out of that soon.

She was thankful that she didn't bring him over to meet with the sappers of 15th Atlantic Rifle the day before. It would've been demoralizing and a total embarrassment if he displayed his childish face to the squad. She didn't know the other sapper, but especially to Michael, who apparently is a person of upper-class too. Who knows what negativity could be circulating in his head if he saw it?

Anna simply just forgot about her idiotic younger brother, letting him have his own time while she read over the remaining letters from her two older brothers. Mostly about their break, but they also mentioned about how their platoons were also planning an assault, a pretty big one at that, so they would have to return to the front a little sooner than they expect. They were pretty excited too. A liberation perhaps. Whatever brings the Feds closer to the end of the war, she guessed.

But all of a sudden, a huge thump erupted, shaken her out of her thoughts and back to earth. 'What the hell was that?' she mused. A period of silence ensued, before the whistling danger of an incoming object siren her senses. Combat training basic, Anna immediately leaped from the table onto the dirt, covering her head and curling her torso a bit upward, leaving a bit of space between her chest and the ground.

And without long...



The deafening roar of combustion blasted through her ears, even when she had already covered her ears somewhat. She was expecting shrapnels to pierce her fragile mortal body, or at the least a huge shockwave to rock her senses to its limits, but thankfully enough, it was not that bad. The shell probably landed a bit further away from where she was, so she was totally fine, aside from getting a little dirty from instantly jumping onto the ground instinctively.

She was safe. But her brother...

"Owen..." Her thoughts came right to her younger brother. Was he caught in the blast? Or did he remember not to keep his chest too closely to the ground? "Owen!"

Anna immediately got up and paced around the camp ground, forgetting even her rifles and the letters, trying to look for even the slightest of her brother's look. Scenarios of what could happen began to run inside her head, as she passed through soldiers that were still listless from what just happened. That maybe that moment when he crudely tossed that envelope to her would be the last time she ever saw him alive. She ought to have gotten used to it as a soldier, but she couldn't. It was way too strong to be desensitized.

But thankfully, it wasn't that. Owen was easy to be found, as he was standing right there in the open.

"Owen, thank god." The first thing he felt when he turned around to the call was his sister's warm embrace around his shoulders. He could tell she was sickened worried, even for just that tiny harmless shell, she was already dying to look for him.

"I'm fine sis. It's ok." He couldn't help but smile, but wished that she didn't need to be this tight. "Don't worry. Those Imps don't have a chance at hurting me with just that!"

"I know you're strong, but..." She sighed. The encouraged attitude was endearing in a normal scenario, but Anna wasn't impressed. "Remember to follow what is said, alright?"

The sapper nodded enthusiastically. Whatever if that's just to reassure his lovely big sister, or he really did keep that in mind, it did its job. Anna let go of the boy, sighed in assurance and patted him on the shoulders before going back for her belongings and her gears, before someone took it away in mistake, letting the upper-class boy do whatever he wanted. She needed her own time

---

An hour passed, and Anna had finished her lot of letters to be sent back to her two older brothers. Having it carefully folded and sealed, she was on her way to deliver them to the mail soldier when she saw a crowd suddenly gathering over the camp barricade. A lot of talking jumbled over one another, which Anna found it difficult to decipher what they were referring to, before a clear, firm and loud noise dominated all of them.

She couldn't see him clearly, but what was uttered were so familiar to her. That's right: the same thing that drew her family in and kept them completely devoted to this...'thing'. The all too well-known "Federation rocks" and dehumanizing patriotic speech of the enemy. Making your enemies look like pig dogs may seem like harmless fun now, wait until some innocents die over a brainwashed maniac who listened too much of propaganda and given a dangerous weapon. Or even better, when you blame your own faults on those demons you create, and then they get mad and start the next Europan war. It took more than that to impress and motivate people like her.

Seeing that many people fawning over such a speech, Anna didn't know what to think of the situation. On the one hand they were motivated, but one the other she felt sad that they were so hypnotized by the blatant and overused media tactic. And looking even closer, she could see that her very own brother too had fallen into such a camp of people.

'Just forget it...'

She didn't forget what she had to do.

---

Compared to back then, Reyna's sleep was not the best. In a warzone, she always had to be ready for anything to come up. The scout team went that off to do their mission that morning while Reyna was still snoozing. The shell, although it shook the ground, was far from her so when she did wake up she was not among the injured. It was when the scout team came back that Reyna started to be truly worried.

There was Ines, Luke, Jean, and Victoria, but where was Thomas? Where was the nice Oceanic guy? It was only moments before she saw what Victoria was carrying: the body of Thomas, whom was missing a leg. It was not moving..... Reyna froze as she spotted this. She saw many bodies of the dead, even in the gas attack. The civilians they talked to simply....dead. However, nothing hit her as hard as the nice Oceanic guy not moving and obviously now gone from this world. By the Valkyrur and every other god there could be, she didn't know how to deal with this. She should have talked to him more, she should have went with them, she....

No Reyna, stop that. Reyna had to remind herself. The first time she ever showed visible worry and sadness before the others was this moment. Why? She wasn't there when he died but the others were. Why was this hitting her this hard? Suddenly the words of McGriffin rang in her mind again. You weren't guaranteed to survive no matter how trained you were, how elite you were. How...veteran you were. It came to both luck and skill, but not just your's. It also was the enemy's....

And for the first time Reyna was starting to understand the plight of the lower enlisted truly. Even as one herself at the Hill helping with artillery, after even the act of killing and seeing the death of countless others, she finally fully understood. They weren't just fighting for a country, fighting to push back the Imperials. We're fighting to survive. She spotted Luke making an announcement to soldiers about the Green Fox and attempting to rile them up and paint him as a martyr. But how many more "martyrs" were there? Those on the cavalry charge, those on the hill, all of those who fought before them and died. Inevitably, there was going to be more and no amount of glory would be worth it all. That did not mean they couldn't be proud of their service and their accomplishments, but glory was often fickle.

Reyna attempted to step away from such thoughts, now leaning onto partial wall and gathering her thoughts. She couldn't let anyone see her like this...not in this state. She had to be calm, but it was a difficult thing to do. She started taking deep breaths, breathing in and out. She could mourn later, but right now she needed to stay calm. Something could happen at any moment in this foreign city.

@LetMeDoStuff

A pleasure it was to be welcomed by one who seemed loving and kind. Taking her seat she adjusted her coat, keeping it straight and perfectly lined up as she gently placed her hands in her lap and gave him a warm and endearing smile. Without hesitation, she spoke in both gratitude and curiosity.

"You're a kind man, Michael. Generously giving like the son of man- though may we all strive to reach the bounds of the love he shows for us all. I do wonder about the squad in its entirety- but you I find so much interest in right now. Do you mind if I ask about who you are? What you did before the war? Oh! And would you like a snack later? I'd be more than happy to bring you something."

It was a rather high paced flurry of inquiries and responses for sure, but all the more did it speak of just how much she wanted to say to the man who spoke so little.

From Michael's point of view, it felt a little funny that when he mentioned about how he sort of had that strange feeling with Cruxians who tend to romanticize their own religion, one paragon appeared immediately when he called it. What she said was indeed taught in the holy book, but that's not how you normally approach a person, regardless if he or she shares the same belief system. But hey, she was nice, polite and seemingly more than a kind person for Michael to tolerate it. Unlike a certain Cruxian he met on Hill 58.

Regardless, the barrages of questions he was asked too were a little strange, considering the two probably had never met in their entire life. But it wasn't that personal to be uncomfortable. Nothing shameful or worth hiding in fact. His family had been respected mostly, and was never too deep in politics or royalty to be marked as overly pompous or obnoxiously ignorant.

"Who I am? Well, aside from being the son of the 2nd Viscount Daunte, I'm just a normal citizen living in Tyrella before being dragged off to war. I was...well am...an engineering student, if this war doesn't affect it in the end." Michael said. "I grew up to a pretty academic mother and father, and was about to be admitted to university, where my father now teaches, before being drafted, and here I am. I don't have that much of a backstory I'd say, but perhaps you may find it different."

Senja's offer for a snack was also a nice gesture Michael appreciated, though he probably didn't have that answer now.

"I'll see if I need anything later, and I'll tell you, is that alright?" He replied, before trying to get to know Senja more. She did want to know him after all, and that in turn made him also as curious. "How about you? You look a little different than Europans I've met. Are you by any chances from north Europa?"

Nordic citizens are rather unique and interesting. Michael had read about them, but had never been there or met anyone there, so if it's the case, this may turn into an intriguing conversation

Senja listened patiently as Michael described his past to her. Although there was so much more to explore she was more than satisfied to get what she had. Maybe it was early to ask such thing and perhaps it was simply something that would have come naturally through a long term relationship, but this was only so far from war. She wished to know as much as she could without pushing too much. Discovery was its own reward and in her time of searching through the cold there were times when you found a treasure beyond belief. Mmm... but the snow was always gorgeous. Maybe once they were done here, she could return home to lay in it once more where it was the only thing in sight aside from the trees. God was always quite the artist, after all. Never a dull moment.

"You appear to be a man of talent. Being raised to be an intellectual must have its perks but I also believe there is so much more to it than what you tell. Your own stories of hardships, triumphs, and experiences do not fall on deaf ears when you bring them to me. I'm sure others would love to hear what lovely tales you have to share." A nod came as he brushed aside the question for now, not wishing to push it any further but so willing to provide should he ask. "As you wish."

She gave a giggle upon being asked if she was from the north. "And your intellect also reflects in your guess. I am from the Eastern Nordlands. Our culture seems to be a bit different from that of the 'mainland' as it is referred to here. Many of you seem to have more color as well, which is evident of the sun's warmer embrace. Given it seems to be my turn to answer, what are your inquiries?"

Senja had a point about that, but...what should Michael say? You're not walking into a library and expect a librarian to give you the book that would entertain you if you just gave the cue saying give whatever. He sure had triumphs, like the time he constructed a working glider with a couple of friends, or his experience going to the far away nation in the east, but it wasn't anything comparing to things like Jean's experience with the White Feather movement. Speaking it out loud out of nowhere would seem like bragging about it.

"True to what you say. The whole is not as meaningful as the sum of its parts, but I can't magnify on those sums unless you tell me so."

As an invitation to find out more about the Nordic, Michael felt a surge in curiosity, but was stopped by his own superego, letting only its carefully thought and chosen questions out.

"Thanks." He didn't forget that systematic word in a conversation. "You have good observation. I also notice, your skin color is more white than us, and pretty in its own way. As I read, I believe snow is a very common thing there. How do you find life in a snow-common country like that feel? And, if you don't mind sharing, how you feel about your life so far?"

A nod acknowledged Michael when he did in fact point out the awkwardness in her general gesture to openly speak of himself, but it was well placed in her heart. After all, she wanted to let the man know she was open to listen to the tones of his story lay out upon the sheet in the ballad of Michael. That was, at least, a piece of her hope. "Likewise, friend."

"Thank you, Mr. Daunte." She interjected, appreciating his liking for her skin. Returning to the task at hand, she spoke. "I have always loved the snow. Though harsh it can be in particular parts of the year, I do not regret living life in such a wonderland. It comes with its own difficulties, especial of automotive function, but I love its many splendors. The cool upon your skin, the shade from the blazing sun, wondrous nature littered upon a cool canvas of mountains, trees, and rivers. I could say that I couldn't imagine one living outside of its atmosphere- it would be out of negligence to the world around us. To answer how I feel about my life comes in this same view. There is yet so much to explore, and so much love to give. I am content. Through all things, explorations, and hardships there is but that one feeling. What of you, Michael? How do you feel about your life?"

The wondrous nature of the Nordlands, Michael didn't expect any less. Hearing Senja's descriptions of her life, her philosophy and joy for exploring and loving, although a little romantic for him, Michael found it admirable, and worth a learn. It was true that while what she had described were a lot more positive than what Michael had experienced in the latest years, it was probably worth looking her way. Politics, war and social issues is like a drug. You couldn't help but feel like you have to crave more, and when you encounter hideous things, you couldn't turn away from it, nor you could refrain from anger. Perhaps it is best that he focus on the more beautiful side of things. The innocent and pure minded. Nature, animals, children. The beauty that purifies the wickedness in humanity right now.

"I find most of my life to be fairly kind to me up until recently. You know I was born to an aristocratic parent, well-educated and caring, so my life has been quite easy-going. So this stage of my life has been...well, not so good at first. But I'm getting used to it. Humans do adapt well to changes. Well...some humans. And I find it quite amazing. But I have to thank the squad for the change myself. You're in right now at a good squad, I can say. You'd enjoy your time here."

Unbeknownst to Michael, his enjoyment of a good conversation ends right there.

"Say, do you-"

With a huge thump.

'What the hell is that?'

It sounded like an artillery shell, but it was way louder than what he normally heard back in training. Did the Federation even have artillery in this camp? It was loud enough that the Squad 1's sapper thought that it was coming from his side. Maybe they just transferred them in. He at first wasn't paying them much mind, and was about to resume the conversation when all eyes suddenly aimed at the sky. Shouts of curiosity and later panic, mixed in with a couple of finger pointers soon drew his attention again.

A black dot. Seemingly harmless at first glance. But upon sight, Michael knew that harmless dot could be the end of dozens of soldier's lives. And it is getting bigger. It's coming towards them!!!

"Oh my lord...Ms Senja, get under the table, quickly!"

Despite the plead, Michael still held onto her wrist instinctively, trying to pull her to the ground and to beneath the table they were sitting at just a second ago. He didn't want to lose someone before his eyes again.



He was fully expecting to die right there. Or at least a violent fling of his small and light mass. But by some miracles, he was neither of that. The explosion was deafening, and the shock wave blasting through him was nerve-wracking, but he somehow was fine. The shell had found its place hitting other places, sparing Michael's life for now, but in exchange probably had taken a bunch of other brave soldier's lives. It was disturbing to think about, but Michael didn't have the time for that.

"That was close." He said, turning to Senja, wherever she was. "Are you alright?"

"Hng!" The only sound that escaped Senja when Michael tore her from the crafted seating. With her own shattering thud she collided headfirst with the floor. Deafening silence came from her. No movement, sealed eyes, and soft breathing. Limp and exhausted of energy the woman did nothing but lay unconscious for the moment.

Soul seemed suspended in air as a revolving feeling swirled within her spirit. Neither awake nor asleep. No feeling yet understanding. A dialog erupted within.

Where am I?

Where is Michael?

God? Is it my time?

...

No... It's too soon...

Wake up Senja... The broken need you... The hurt need their healer...

Wake!

Feeling of limb returned as she hauled her head from the red droplets upon the floor. A soft groan waned as her hands roared across the floorboards. Clutched as a hammer she punched her fist into an anchor, supporting her superstructure with a heave bringing her back to life with dragging vision. Legs awkwardly positioned themselves before evening out and locking in place. Using the momentum of a hard forced push up she threw herself to a crouching position and at crawling speed moved to Michael with that endless smile still upon her person. Crimson river flowed gently to the apex of of her brow.

"I will be fine, Michael. Can you stand?" Senja asked, beginning to wrap hand around arm and back to help him to his feet.

”Thank you, Senja. I think I can stand.”

Even though the shockwave really shook him to the bones, thanks to prior preparation, Michael’s injuries were merely reduced to maybe little sores at the joints as they hit the ground first. After a brief moment feeling his body afterwards, Michael rose back to his one feet and a knee, under the support of Senja. It was then that he got full view of the Nordic girl after the chaos.

”You’re not fine. You’re hurt!”

He started to guilt if pulling her to the ground would’ve been worse. But what if in the case that the shell hit a little closer than it should have. What if...no don’t think about it now. What’s ahead needs to be done first. What’s to dwell on should be left for later.

’I need something...’ He rummaged through all his uniform, until a soft piece of fabric brushed through his hand. His cleaning cloth. And thankfully, it was clean.

Brushing her fluffy silky emerald hair aside, Michael gently pressed the cloth onto the fresh stream of crimson. His other hand now wrapped around Senja’s arm, just like how she did just before, trying to get her back on her feet and back on the table they sat on.

”Have this on, I’ll be right back!”

He needs some proper first aid tool.

After a couple of minutes running over to the medical area of the camp, Michael returned, the sack with the red cross bouncing on its handles. He could just get Senja over to the medic himself, but it seemed like the nurses and doctors were already quite occupied, with the number of casualties and wounds mounting non-stop, and Senja’s injury looked simple. Potentially dangerous but treatable.

”Tell me if it hurts.”

Basic medical training, he should do this fine. Clean the wound, check for debris, disinfect it and then wrap it up. The first part was easy enough, it was a head collision, so there’s little chances of an impaling object - otherwise it would’ve been way more serious. The cloth had somewhat helped with the cleaning partially already. The problem of keeping the bandage in place was usually the more difficult part. Thankfully it wasn’t that high above in her head so a little change in angle when he wrap the bandage could work.

It felt a little bad, as while treating the wound that he probably caused, he had seen and brushed a little of her face. Her skin really was that white, and it was soft, unexpected in a time of war like this. Her smooth hair appeared to be natural, an honest impression of Nordic citizens. It felt as if she didn’t really belong, or deserve to belong in this war. No one does, but if there is a group that least deserves it, she would be in that group, along with Lucia.

”Now that should work.” It was better than he expected. ”I’m sorry that happened.”

Truly his was a soul greater than his own body. Though it didn't seem to be much, character formed most from the smallest of details. The blood of one's body was worth as much as they were willing to lose to save their own. Any man in his position could have simply registered the shelling to be a reason to flee. Yet here he had been and yet still had he stayed. His priority was not himself. Even as she had told him she was fine he still went out of his way to provide a way to coat and purify the wound. A million thoughts could stop one from helping her. What if the Empire was about to run them through? What if another shell was due? What of his own life? What of his own family? Perhaps that's why she quietly and somewhat open mouth accepted his help. His touch had been gentle as the breezes of the summer night, spirit bursting of warmth where the frozen heart knew no comfort. Perhaps it was overly loving and kind to address him as such for one simple action, but it was always better to assume the best of someone rather than the worst of their character. Giving into thoughts of grief and anger- to judge with cynicism- was to be the downfall of the brokenhearted. No joy can be found in someone who has married themselves to sadness.

"I have suffered worse in hunting accidents. You're only helping me."

Even as her eyes slightly winced at the cleansing she gave a calm response. Though, she had the distinct feeling that what she was about to see at the bombing sight was going to hurt a lot more. At least he didn't seem so shaken for the moment, but war was hard on many and plenty wanted to go home after even one shelling. She couldn't blame them, especially when it was nearly the end of one's life... especially when it could have been her and Michael's. Though such thoughts faded away as he lay delicately fingers to her person. Now- was time to help those in need.

"Thank you for protecting me, Michael." With a smile she tapped the applied bandage and brought herself to his person, laying hand upon his cheek with thumb gently pressed against his chin. Bringing herself closer with grace did she secure her place in his space. With the other hand upon his chest she laid upon his free cheek a soft touch from her lips. It wasn't much, but it told of her gratefulness. Brief and affectionate. The moment, however, could not last.

With determination she stepped away from him, facing the direction of the blast and closing her eyes shut to breathe. "Michael, please, call what help you can. I have to help the survivors. I pray that I still have time!" With eyes open and breath focused the huntress pressed through the entrance as a predator. Strides of a fearless soldier dug into the ground.

Though it may not have been enough to save them all, it would have to suffice to save the rest.

Time was...something that had a habit of running out at the wrong moments. For some, anyway, this was the case. For others, not so much. In a fair and just world, this war wouldn't even be happening, but more to the point...better, decent men than those who hate everybody around them and always shoot their mouths off would never die. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. One thing at a time.

First, the explosion...

When Isaac had gone out to go look over the scene and see what had gone on - shouting for everybody to ready for combat - he had seen damage in the street, to old buildings, to some of the encampment, and so forth. He had no idea what'd done it or if they were really about to be attacked by Imperial soldiers. Something had happened, something with a single shot...and then no further action. It was like a sudden jarring threat, reminding them that their enemy can touch them, blast them to bits. The question on Isaac's mind had been how. they'd fired some cannnon, it made a severe impression on the area, and then...what? And then...they left? And then...they were on a smoke break? Did they only bring one shot? Because, if so, Isaac wasn't complaining, but it was damn peculiar! He looked left-to-right after lowering the binoculars, seeing a man from the next camp over basically doing the same thing he was.

"Did you see anything?"

"No!"

"Does anybody know what's going on?"

"Apart from getting blasted? Not a clue!"

"Keep asking down the line, then. I don't like this kinda' surprise."

"Who would?"

He didn't wanna answer that, because the obvious implications here were that the Imperials rolled up some kind of cannon and fired it at them...but what a cannon! It'd probably been worse than a mortar. If he and Britta had been closer or out here in the open, they'd been hit by all the debris thrown around by the explosion! Britta was, in the meantime, making rounds to check on everyone, seeing if they were alert and ready, or injured from the attack. Rikes was with him, by his side. He was silent, staring, but fortunately...not overtly reacting to any sounds he might've picked up.

Time passed...for some. For others, it had stopped.

He was watchful, keeping an eye out on the town of Amone, trying to spot the endpoint of something like a cannon or alot of troops or even a flash to indicate that something had fired. Hell, he almost expected another one of those machine gun cars to appear, but in this case...nothing. He kept his eyes open, drank shitty coffee that made him AND Rikes gag, and prayed he was wrong about everything, that there wasn't something bad going down. He didn't notice that the scouting team had come back until he heard some kind of commotion...and Luke Godfrey. There were worse things to hear, but right now, Isaac couldn't think of any. Luke was shouting on to some other soldiers that they'd been attacked by Green Fox...and that Thomas was dead.

Oh, shit fucking Christ...

In a fair and just world, none of this shit would be happening, but even in a marginally-decent world, Thomas would be alive and Luke would be riddled with holes, dying in a ditch, possibly having been killed by a Darcsen. But no, there was no luck today, no good to be found in the world. They'd been blasted by the Imperials and Thomas 'Marathon' Carter had been killed.

There weren't enough cuss words in the world for this.

He didn't even know Thomas that well. He was just an Oceanic guy who was working with them, pulling his own weight like everybody else, but Isaac did what they all did around here when someone new shows up: Treat 'em like family. Granted, that was a tall order with Luke, but he was a black sheep. There's always going to be problems with his like. Britta came up to him as he was petting Rikes, who had no idea why he was so somber, but stuck by him to alleviate that, anyway. The other Gunner was a bit ashen-faced right now.

"I guess you heard?"

"Yeah..."

"We have alot of good people in this Squad. I don't think we're getting over this easily."

"And, we shouldn't, but at the same time...we have to."

He could only imagine what Jean was thinking, right now. It'd been his mission, Thomas was under his command, and he'd been a friend to them all. No way was their Darcsen Corporal taking this lightly. Isaac didn't want to even guess at how distraught he was, and Britta picked up on that from the look on his face. Change of subject time. Maybe not a good topic, but a change nonetheless.

"You still think that Middleton will order us to go looking for whatever hit us?"

"He didn't when it struck, but I guess he doesn't have to. We're going on the attack soon, so we'll probably FIND it, on the way. They moved it here in the night, they couldn't have moved it far, by now."

"Unless it's like that car..."

Isaac stared at her a second, considering the possibility for a moment.

"God, I hope not..."

Kalisa stayed silent as Jean slowly found the courage to open up to her. The first few moments were awkward, but she endured. It was clear that what had happened had broken Jean. Even if she couldn't forgive herself for events past, she could at least be here for someone else. Help someone recover and move on from their mistakes, intentionally made or not.

Jean had begun telling the story of what had occurred maybe not too long ago. They were told to scout out somewhere despite the terrible weather, and for their efforts they were caught in a trap that had separated Thomas' leg from his body. The girl kept her gaze low, not really staring at anything in particular as she was imagining the scenario in her head. Paying close attention also to Jean's inflections and tone, prepared to stop him if he could no longer push himself to do so. But he kept going, and so she listened. Kalisa had reciprocated his grasp on her, as if she was wordlessly saying "Everything is gonna be alright", as he continued.

She didn't understand what had shook him up so much, until Jean mentioned names who chased after the one that supposedly lay the trap on them. They didn't listen to his orders, and now a man had died an avoidable death had they just stayed behind. At the same time however, she couldn't deny that them hunting down the sniper right at that moment would have also saved many lives in the long run. It was a hellishly tough situation to be in as a leader, one that Kalisa couldn't imagine herself being in simply because she wasn't there.

"I won't say that you weren't at fault. But I will say that it's not something you need to bear by yourself." She tried to say it gently, but she felt that she also had to say it firmly so that it would have some weight to Jean. "Had you been stricter they wouldn't have gone after the sniper, but they should have also realized that a comrade needed immediate care." She didn't have the full outline of the scenario, so all she could go off of was his word.

"It might not be enough to help you sleep, but you don't have to shove it in their faces either. I'm sure they're aware of it and they are reflecting on it now too." Although she had zero basis for the second part, she truly believed that everybody is able to realize when they had made such a critical error. Maybe they wouldn't realize it immediately, but it will eventually come to mind. People cope with mistakes differently, they may not show it but they're reflecting on it inside. Hopefully. "We can't change what happened, but we can prevent it from happening again."

The girl couldn't bring herself to properly respond towards Jean's last few sentences however. She hadn't been with the group long enough to really tell if Jean had been a good leader or not. There is a lot of criteria that can be used to determine if someone's been a good leader, but Kalisa's not in a position to know them. She continued staring at the floor, trying to find something to say. But she couldn't find a fitting response.

@LetMeDoStuff

A steady drizzle did not wash away the stains of defeat, now soaking itself into Inès with every marching step. The soldier grew more soggy, yet still the sheer residue left by the late Marathon ingrained itself into every fiber of her clothing, the rain only weighing her down further than any arduous slouch she might gait. It reeked, the saltine, acrid noxiousness of Thomas' blood and sinew now etched into her very skin, from head to toe, permeated thoroughly in some profuse ichor, only growing more bitter with every sinking step. Inès' mood turned all the more sour, the pitter-patter of rain upon her helmet-less head in the early morning reminiscent of her earliest days in practice. Of awakening early and dedicating one's self to the art of savate, only to find ones canvas thoroughly hideous, and carry naught but the feeling that this ugliness might be one's best effort. She lost track of time. All the memories, all the anguish, every last defeat in her formative years culminated perfectly, in one final opera in which her only choice was, as always, the Darcsen Mantra: Move Forwards, Everlasting.

It resonated too perfectly. The syncretic combination of toil and study, embroiled in a pedagogy of hardship, all coalesced into the sobering reminder that, in spite of one's knowledge, there are always more lessons to be learned.

And the best-learned lessons...are those learned the hard way.

When the familiar sight of those sandbags came to, Inès stood with some manner of strength; Not born of triumph or victory, no, but one born of necessity. No doubt, there would be an endless procession of queries and quarrels to come of why the only war hero of that posse...returned lifeless atop a comrade's back. Barely into his twenties, and already considered a veteran...Inès knew the feeling too well. Ghostly well, she dared to think, that inkling of being knowing that, for all she had experienced and taught herself months and years prior, that so instantaneous a decision, so quick a thought could so forcefully change the flow of life. With such a conclusion resoundingly reached, in a single blank stare, Inès wondered when might that time come again.

Oh, fear not. Inès possessed the certainty of knowing another misfortune would soon come upon her; It is a rare breed of Darcsen who goes through life without peril, and a more exotic ilk to trespass through its many corridors without reprise. Reprisal, yet, was an antagonistic virtue to the Darcsen people, for to wallow in its harrowing passage so long, so inescapable that it envelops itself as a pure staple of life, this alone seemed to touch the very foundations of their humanity. Such horrid acts would never be reciprocated, no matter the intensity of attacks weathered in times past, for like all things on earth, the Darcsen knows there comes a time when all things must wither away, and such antipathies - if we dare to say we have a choice on the grander events of this hallow Earth - should rightfully be the first to pass.

Thomas' death was...unfortunate.

A...certain type of Darcsen might have said.

Yet as Inès or any other denizen of the Northern Pisque of Francia might remind one, it is foolish to insist the Darcsens are a unified people. They might share common heritage - if that, on many an account - but to insist they all follow common law or ethic is, as no doubt many a traveler has learned, naught but stereotype. The Darcsens of Ostend were a fortuitous ilk, possessive of an uncommon resolve many would find irregular of a Darcsen elsewhere. And if such stereotypes were to be exclusively applied, Inès shone as the paragon of such lustrous generalizations. As it were...Inès found herself rather blank at the sight, so...accompanied with the sensation that was the loss of a loved one, if Inès felt so strongly to brave that usage. After all, much of him longed for her such that Thomas found it better to attach parts of him upon her. If only until she found a proper bath.

For moments, she made her slight way back to her tent, if she found herself uncaring as to whether Thomas - at his worst - clung to her for a bit longer. In all honesty, Inès found herself appreciating the company. Such trust placed upon her, such virtue was it for her to receive such parting gifts. Each step came, and as each puddle soaked more through her boots did she slowly feel him soak into her, as if she still bore her in her arms. Her face remained blank, yet with no visible exaggeration came a mental smile, for Inès - in a sense - felt a most peculiar honor; To accept Thomas at his worst, as his most fearful, at his weakest...Inès gazed down blankly...and smiled, for in the realization of such burdens, Inès knew the true meaning of "love".

And so it would be...until that familiar voice rung out.

That distinct Highlander voice...

That crude voice...

...the one who wished to become Thomas, without knowing Thomas.

And so when he spoke, so violently, so fervently, with such recourse and without such remorse, Inès looked down upon her crimson-soaked chest and felt a heaviness bear upon her, as if with every remark came a certain resolve, like parts of her grew from the experience alone. Such a dilettante demeanor towards heroism, that one, claimant of some testament of vengeance as if it were his destiny. For what Inès knew, he would make his destiny, his mark upon history...even doing so if it meant his name would be one, perhaps, not as fondly remembered. He had a goal and a creed, to not wish to fade away into some manner of void, unthanked and forgotten.

The upholding of a code is a most righteous thing, indeed. But even stronger is it to challenge it.

"You disrespectful son of a bitch!"

An ire pervaded the air so thick, the grounds about them became mist, so powerful was her choleric demeanor, it seemed to fry the puddles beneath their feet. A bloodstained Darcsen gave forth her Hell March to the unsuspecting Luke Godfrey, so proud of his demagoguery.

"And just what do you think you have accomplished?" Her stern pedagogy shut out even the rings of gunfire about her.

"You, of all of us, have no reason to say he didn't die in vain! You were the one to run away! When Thomas laid there begging for help, begging for his life, he looked to me in my eyes and called out for someone to help! And you looked at a man, crying in pain, and what did you do?"

The crowd slowly peeked around the tent cover, like the curious conscript peeking over a trench's top, for every veteran of the organization knew better than to possibly draw the fire of the woman producing such a Hellstorm.

"You looked him dead in the eye, and you said, "He'd be fine.""

"You say you wanted to draw away the fire so we would be safe, but you also seem to think that my eyes don't work! You didn't want to leave to protect us! When you ran off to charge after the Fox, you didn't do it with any sense of urgency! You fucked around, you talked him down, you taunted him, you cut his damned ears off, and you plucked your trophies off of his body!"

"So what did you do? While even Jean cowered and stood hopeless? You didn't care about Thomas, or Jean, or me, or any of us. The only thing you cared about was your own ego, and playing Mister Bigshot while you though helping Thomas - one of our own - to me: You were too good for it, so you went glory-chasing and left the dirty work to the Darkies."

"You had no orders. You had nothing but your own instincts."

"And you cannot even do "nothing" right."

"And you can say that Jean is a cowardly Darcsen, but i'll take him over you any day." she added, squaring up even more firmly to Luke in front of her. "And you're right. He is spineless. He is cowardly. He doesn't know how to do his own job. And I would still take him over you. Jean doesn't pretend he's brave. He doesn't act like he wants glory or like he wants to be respected."

Her voice maintained its steadfast austerity, yet lowered in volume. In comparison, she hushed like a disappointed mother as Inès slowly paced toward the man.

"And when we talked on your birthday, I really thought a bit about you. I just thought you were another dumb guy, wanting to look out for the people close to him. A guy with more guts than brains, but that's alright, because you still have heart."

"But now, I know why you want it. Why you went off to war, and left your family, and why you act the way you do."

At a hair's length away, Inès halted her march. She glared Luke down, like she might lunge at his neck at any moment and snap it with one quick wrasp.

"It's because you're afraid."

Kalisa began something rather...useful? Was this the first time the approach was more direct yet friendly in and of itself? When Jean looked up from his hands he saw Kalisa speaking down to him, and not metaphorically. She was actually making sure that she gave him advice, as if it were support to the ever-growing falter that was Jean's cascading lifeline. Beseeched by the smooth transition into said wisdom, Jean was pleasantly surprised by how little sporadic aggravation was introduced into the conversation. It was genuine help and not the kind that was crammed down their throat. Jean knew that it was his place to improve his ability as a leading figure, especially from within the ranks of the 15th Atlantic Rifles. He had the compassion to try and help others but he needed to also remove a dependency that anchored him forever against the seabed of human excrement and blood. Death would not wait for the weak, though it would also not wait for the strong. Whilst bravery felt pointless sometimes, he wanted to muster all the courage he could and show his squadmates all that he could offer. He had a legacy behind him, one of famous and honourable fellows who'd marched through obstacles and come out swirling, or at least died trying. From the days of exploration to the revival of the Robin-Charpentier connection, all the way down to the death of one Olivia Robin-Charpentier, taking charge and the prowess of undeniably scarce odds and using them to do the impossible. For those who didn't quite make it, they set a standard and example. His sister, Olivia, was told to have thwarted enough waves of Imperial aggressors to constitute for a medal of certification and outstanding achievement. Jean...Jean had his moments. For back on Hill 58 where he successfully gathered the Shocktroopers to their assaulting positions and the ambush from the armoured car, he'd taken the lead in places others hadn't. Perhaps there was that potential...perhaps.

Until then, Jean was still scrounging around for answers. Who was he really? What could he do to improve himself? Kalisa was presenting the answers before him, and as she did so he felt his eyes drift into hers with admiration for her stern yet peaceful demeanour. She said it how the truth laid itself out for them. Taking ones false lies and deprecations of oneself and then forging them into something useful, non-aggressive and genuinely pointed in the right direction. Truly, Jean hadn't been too mindful of their separation at first but her absence had become more apparent now that she was here with him. Compared to the likes of Reyna and Diana, who were both equally as kind-hearted when they wished to be, Kalisa felt almost...like Jean had met her before. There were ways in which she spoke that reminded him of a certain girl he once stood by, who once stood by him and who once loved him just as he might love her. Suppressing those emotions wasn't healthy, but it at least kept his focus on what she was saying. Some of it was definitely correct, without a doubt. Yet, even with that wisdom being showered onto him he felt some conflict in what she suggested.

"Luke has been tamable in the past, or so...so someone like Isaac might say. Sporadic and ruthless, but he sometimes listens when he can. Obviously we don't see eye to eye and I think regardless of my command he'd always do what he thinks is best. Sometimes for the better. Sometimes...well...well I doubt he's outside regretting his actions like we are, Kalisa. If you heard, he's parading his kill like he deserves a medal. Dunno if he's...braindead but y'know, that's a common consensus around our Squad in our viewpoints on him." Fumbling his fingers, he stood up and stumbled towards the other end of the tent, picking up his helmet and looking at the mud and blood that was still drying on its steel potted circumference. Beside the helmet, on the frail wooden desk, sat his rifle. The tool that had killed and would continue to kill was now his best weapon. The Longfield's design was sleek and angelic to some, though Jean only sought it to protect himself. Unfortunately, pacifism would never get him anywhere except at the bottom of the graves. Perhaps there were times where fighting would be avoided mutually, but in any given battle he would have to either kill or wound those who seek to reap his own soul before they could.

His eyes stared intensely into the pale, drab tent walls, which pattered with the sound of water gently trickling against its fibre-surface. A sigh escaped his jaws and exhaled quickly through his nostrils, letting him rid of the held tension clasped within his lungs. A motionless expression gazed upon the weapon before him, knowing full well that this was his new life. Regardless of where the war went, or if it ever lost its momentum and concluded in an untimely fashion, Jean had no life outside. Without a family and only the formal education to carry onto mainstream jobs, he felt like there was nothing left outside of the war. He'd been born and bred in the fire of unyielding bloodshed like never before. Or perhaps...a writer? Why yes, a writer of these experiences! Jean's writing had taken a backseat to his troubled mind as the trauma had been building up, and yet he was prepared, now of all times, to scribble the horrors down onto the paper. Perhaps someone could learn from the experience. Perhaps those who hadn't yet seen the vicious fighting would finally realise the bombastic devastation that had rippled through all of Europa, and potentially even the whole world to a certain degree.

"Victoria...fucking...I don't get her." He slipped a small graphite pencil between his fingers and began to start fluently sliding its tip across the pages, beginning the stance of a writer once more as he spoke to the angel behind him. "She arrived after you left, said to have lost her squad or something. She...she's an enigma. A drunkard, a fucking idiot sometimes. It seems almost perfect for her to have gotten through this war alone. Besides, she influences Luke perhaps more so than I hoped."

He walked back to Kalisa and stood her up without warning, scooting her suddenly across the room with a gentle grip upon both of her shoulders. As he did so, his fingers sank into the beauty of the scarf he'd gifted to her. Its fantastic silky touch mesmerised his temptation into fluent admiration, a fluidity of camaraderie sweeping him off of his feet and almost into her arms. Obviously, that was metaphorically, he didn't literally fall into her arms. But as he did so, he threw some papers onto the place she was sat in and quietly apologised, his face growing slightly more serious. She was right about her pep-talk, more or less. And he needed to begin work on himself as soon as he got the chance. A leader was waiting to be made, and that could only begin in its journey the day tomorrow, where he and his fellow brothers and sisters in arms would begin their ultimate march and descent upon the radicalised Imperial garrison who remained. Besides, they all needed to enact some form of closure here in Amone; whether it be the completion and liberation of the city, or the simple sweet release of death on their own behalf.

"Uhm...Kalisa..." Another stutter. For the lords above, would he ever stop? Instead, he turned back to Kalisa and drew her in to a gentle, yet firm, embrace once more. He stood there, with her in his arms quietly, for a solid fourteen seconds, letting the time slip by effortlessly as it did so. "Thank you so much for stopping by. I...really appreciate your being. Please...after tomorrow's assault...I'll find a way to return the favour of your kindness. And I know you will make it through. So far you've been cheating death time and time again, you amazing Darcsen!"

And with a chuckle, he began to shuffle her outside, waving her off with a kind and courteous smile. It wasn't over-exaggerated, but it was one of genuine gratitude. For he had a burst of inspiration. And whilst she sauntered away into the afternoon rain, he returned to his tent and zipped its entrances up. Yes...this was it! The time to put a confident paper down upon a page was now. At the top of the manuscript, he once again traced over his chosen title: Eyes of the Rifle. A magnum opus that even he didn't know was awaiting to burst.

---

The morning bell struck. No matter what the medical teams were doing, still catering to the far few wounded left within the remains of the Ragnite Shell's impact zone, Jean pushed the tent open and began to tie the helmet around his chin. Securing a steady protection over his scalp and hair, he walked with an estranged intent to get things done. Sure enough, Jean was frightened of the outcome of this war. For what he knew was that the upcoming offensive would claim many lives, both Imperial and Federation alike. He hadn't direct control over his squadmates as they were likely to be split in an unanimous fashion. Here, soldiers were directed to whatever site they were deemed most useful at. A small briefing could be given if the squadmates so wished to approach Jean minutes before they were due to set off. A bustling whisper unlike any other filled the streets as those who were kitted out waited in lines and in clustered their friendship groups saying their usual graces of good luck. Here, Jean looked at the watch he held closely to his chest. Rusty, barely functional, but at least helpful by whatever means necessary. September 28th. 1914EC. 0550 hours. A six o'clock start to the end of the lines. Assignments were more or less potentially done but those who wanted to run by their information could go to their squad CO to figure out their objective once and for all. The sappers had their chance to shine in the Tunnel offensive that was yet to be completed. For those around them, the variations of the assault on the cathedral, the push on the suspected headquarters, investigating the source of the giant shell and clearing out the streets. Here...Amone's fate would be tested with one fell swoop.

The first thing Victoria did was tear through the sniper's pockets, patting down his chest and legs for any hidden trinkets or valuables. Some sort of souvenir she could add to the growing pile of trophies she was beginning to amass. What was she going to do with all of them? Sell them? Not likely. Not many people would be willing to pay enough for bits of tin, tattered flags and racy photos of some dead man’s wife to make it worth seeking them out. Give them to her daughter? Liz was two. The only thing she’d use a medal for would be a teething ring. All these items she was stealing out of the pockets and clenched fists of dead soldiers and civilians would just end up strewn about a small apartment or stuffed in a drawer. But she kept picking them up, compelled to pry apart fingers and riffle through wallets for meaningless knick-knacks.

It seemed like she was going to have to go home empty handed. The medals that the Fox had undoubtedly earned weren’t carried on him, his pistol and rifle somewhere out of sight and likely under rubble. The Oceanic considered taking one of his spare clips, but there was nothing to differentiate them from the hundreds and thousands more scattered around Amone. His boots were another option but presented the same problem. He wore no jewelry, had no fancy cigarette case or gold filling she could prise out of his mouth with her knife. Vicky spat on the mutilated corpse and kept searching, determined to take something from the cunt who had taken Thomas from her.

Her perverse perseverance paid off, fingers scratching at papers concealed in the lining of his coat. With a quick tug she pulled them out, eyes widening as she read the addresses on the envelopes. Letters addressed to various family members and friends, a wife, a couple daughters, a father. Vicky slit open the one intended for Mrs. Von Harkvold and skimmed it. It was surprisingly short, just informing her that if she was reading this then he was already dead and that he loved her and was sorry he wouldn't see her again. In fact it was quite similar to the note she had written to Liz, the one sitting in her trunk back in the camp. It was probably safe to assume that the others would be like that one as well.

”Let’s trade then you smug fucking bastard. You stole Thomas, and I stole you. But I’m taking something else while I’m here.”

The only message the Green Fox would send would be the one carved into his face and jutting out through torn skin, the bloody gaps where his ears and nose had been sliced off and his bones splintered. The message that war was hell and you could only kill so many demons before they got to you. She and Luke had denied him the dignity of an open casket at his funeral and now she was going to take away his final words. The last thing anyone would see of him would be a butchered corpse, the clever Fox finally outsmarted.

The gesture was useless of course, and Victoria knew that. Making his family suffer when they saw him wouldn’t bring Thomas back. And Thomas was definitely gone. They had no medic, no medical supplies. By the time she would get back he would have already bled to death. But that was exactly why she had to do this. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Oceania, a country of dust and struggle ruled by distant masters who cared little for them, lost one of the few things they had to be proud of while the Imperials got to boast about their war machine and the thousands of bodies they had powering it. If Oceania had to lose a hero, it was only right that the Imps lost one of theirs. The gangs back home were fond of making examples of those who crossed them, she’d take a page out of their book.

The Fox was stripped of his bootlaces and dragged over to one of the pews that was still standing, Victoria lifting and dropping him into a seated position. A small book of hymns, coated with soot and dust from the carnage, was scooped from the floor and tied to the dead man’s hands with the laces. With his glass eyed gaze staring out eternally at nothing and his brutalized face lolling back awkwardly he was a perfectly grotesque parody of worshippers attending a sacred Mass. A nice little tableau for the Imperials to find.

Her final petty act was to steal the hard brimmed officers cap from his head, tucking it away in her fatigues. Now she had to make the walk back, silently tailing Luke to the remainder of their comrades. She didn’t need to see the look on Jean or Ines’s faces, didn’t need to look at Thomas to confirm what she had already known. All she did was shrug at the claim that it was all of their faults and spat on the ground at Luke’s prayer. ”We just bombed a church and slaughtered the man hiding inside. If there’s a god, the cunt ain’t listening to us.” There was nothing else to say, Victoria picking up her fellow Oceanic in a grim mockery of a bridal carry. She walked back in silence, thinking about everything she needed to take care of.

The very first task was to get rid of this corpse, put it somewhere far away so those hollow eyes couldn’t reach her. The medics would know what to do with him. Vicky set out for the field hospital, skirting around the outskirts of the camp to avoid her squad. She wasn’t completely successful, her cold gaze meeting one of her sisters in arms. It was the pretty sapper, the Vinlander. Her name was Reyna. That was all Victoria really knew about her. Too close to just back away unseen she continued on her way, one of Thomas’s hands just barely brushing Hall’s arm. ”Final chance to pay your respects. He’s headed home.”

She wondered if the sapper recognized that the hat on her head, the one with the feather in it’s brim, belonged to the body she was carrying. Maybe when he switched with her Thomas had doomed himself, given up a good luck charm he needed. She would never know, didn’t want to know. All she wanted was to set him down somewhere and drop to her knees in the mud. Still she pushed on to the medical tent, gently lowering him in front of an orderly. ”Corporal Thomas Carter. He’s dead, don’t bother trying. Just make sure he’s buried.”

”I’m sorry Marathon.”

Sorry that she hadn’t spotted Fox sooner. Sorry that it had been him and not here getting carried back. Sorry that she had never been really a friend, just another star-struck idiot with a crush.

She allowed herself a moment to mourn before moving on, straightening her uniform and pulling her hair out of her face. The higher-ups were a real pain in the ass about that sort of thing. The command tent was in the center of camp, the brass not wanting themselves at the front in case of an attack. Vicky became Private White, a proper young soldier stepping inside the tent to present her superiors with vital information. When an impatient looking shrew of a lieutenant with
a tight bun and sallow complexion beckoned for her to step forward she did so, taking out the plans she had found in the outpost. ”Ma’m, I found these on patrol. They seem important.”

Waxy yellow fingers reached out and snatched the folder, curling around it like the talons of a falcon. Private White let go and waited for the woman to pass judgement. The only sound was the scuffing of boots on the floor and the rustle of papers being turned. “Well fuck me, looks like we have to change some plans. What’s your name again Private?

”White, ma’am. Victoria White. Grating low class Edinburgh accent and profanity aside, Vicky didn’t want to risk falling into some sort of verbal trap. Better to play it safe.

”White eh? I’ll keep you in mind. Dismissed”

Just what she was being kept in mind for was a question VIctoria could answer later. All that mattered was getting to her tent. Her boots dragged through the mud as she stumbled into her shelter, tossing her cape and bandolier to the floor before collapsing onto the bare bones cot serving as a bed. White hot rage simmered just below the surface as tears welled up in her eyes. Cry, or head back out into No Man’s Land and slit the throat of every Imperial she saw. A hard decision indeed.

She ended up picking a third option, the one she almost always choose. One hand formed a fist so tight her knuckles turned white and the other reached for the flask. She was going to need more than one refill pretty soon.

A sense of exhaustion began to suddenly fill Luke as he walked through the camp, their previous encounter and the speech he gave seeming to take the energy out of him. Honestly some booze sounded like heaven right now, though he had a feeling most people here weren’t having a similar urge to have a celebratory drink like him. It sounded wrong given the circumstances of a fellow soldiers unfortunate demise and a part of Luke knew so, but the rush of their victory over such a huge kill went straight to the young soldiers head. To him it was better to raise a toast to the fallen soldier than mourn his death. It was strange, he knew he should feel more sadness over the man’s death, but for some odd reason he was somewhat numb to it. Did that make him heartless? No, no that couldn’t be the case. He barely knew the man, so how could he be broken about his unfair fate? He wasn’t heartless, he wasn’t a monster… was he? Images of Green Fox’s brutal end continued to flash within his mind, but he quickly shook his head before he could sink any further into it. He was dead, Luke wasn’t. That should be the end of it. Refusing to dwell on it Luke fell back into his state of victory and marched through the camp, satisfied with the results of the day.

That was until a familiar voice reached his ears and forced him to halt in his tracks. Quickly he spun around and was met with a furious Ine’s marching towards him, a glare of rage in her eyes. Luke was taken aback by the enraged Darcsen, but quickly stood his ground and locked his eyes with hers as she approached. What was she so angry about? What did he do!? His questions were quickly answered as she began to speak her mind, lashing out at him for his decisions and declaring how he didn’t care about them, only the glory in killing Green Fox. Luke’s fist clenched tightly as she went on, shaking his head in denial and his glare gradually increasing as she continued accusing him of aiding in Thomas's fate. “You don’t know what the hell you-” he was cut off, unable to defend himself as she went to saying he left the dirty work to the Darkies and how she’d prefer a spineless leader over him. Luke took a step forward with his chest puffed out, unaware of his now bone white knuckles shaking in anger. He could feel his heart race, his mind screaming out in denial at her accusations and rejecting the idea it was his fault. It wasn’t! It just wasn’t! Nothing she said was true! This lying Darcsen bitch!

Now, barely unable to hold back his anger, Luke listened as her voice lowered itself as if she was disappointed in a child. He felt like a spike pierced his heart as she spoke about their talk during his birthday, saying he wanted to do good by others around him and saying she thought he had a heart. Luke gritted and bared his teeth in rage, silently warning her to stop speaking with piercing eyes. His warning was ignored though and his mind went numb as she finished her ramblings, her final statement causing something in Luke to snap.

“It’s because you’re afraid.”

With a feral like growl Luke shot his forehead forward and slammed it against hers, the world around him melting away and his sights only on the Darcsen. With a swift motion he pulled back his fist and smashed it against her lower jaw with a shout of rage. Several muffled shouts surrounded him, but Luke ignored them and went to deliver another blow, but felt his raised fist be held back by an unknown assailant. With a shout of rage he attempted to pull free, but he was quickly pulled back by several soldiers jumping in to stop the fight. “Get off me! Get off me!” he roared as four soldiers forced him back a few steps and held their own against his rage. Luke’s glare remained glued to Ines and bared his teeth towards her. “What the fuck do you know you bitch! Huh!? What the fuck did you do!? What was I supposed to do!?” he shouted with anger. “I did my job! I killed the fuckin Imp gunning for us! That’s what we’re here for! I’m not a doctor, you’re not a doctor, none of us were trained for those injuries!” he stated as he began to gradually stop fighting against the soldiers holding him back.

“All I can do is set a broke limb and plug up a bullet hole, not a fuckin blown off limb! I couldn’t do a damn thing if I tried!” he defended before finally stopping his resistance against the soldiers. “How fuckin dare you blame me! I followed my gut yes, but it worked and it saved us! You didn’t do a damn thing to take that bastard down! You wanna follow that bastard then go ahead, but I’m not gonna sit around and let the fuckers keep shooting at us! I didn’t do it for glory or you’re useless respect! I did it for survival! I did it so I have a better chance getting home to my family!” he barked before spitting at her feet and growled towards her. “Don’t you dare talk about why I left my home and family, you have NO idea why I left! Why I decided to put my life on the line in this fuckin war! Fuck you!” he roared before slapping his hand against his chest, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. “And of course I’m afraid, everyone is! Not a day goes by when I think a fucking bullet through the skull will solve my problems, but I don’t because I’m afraid of dying! I’m afraid of looking too weak to move on! I’m afraid of leaving my sisters alone to grow up without me! I’m afraid!” he declared with a loud boom before tears began to stream down his face, every sense of holding his composure fading away.

“But I won’t fuckin die doing something I’m unable to prevent. I can’t save everyone, I couldn’t save Thomas, but I’ll be damned if I’m blamed for his death because you got an issue with me! All we can do is move on, to use his legacy as an example and fight on. Not just for the Federation, ourselves, our homes, but to end this war as soon as we fuckin can,” he stated before taking a step back, the four soldiers separating him from Ines. Finally noticing the warm stream of tears on his cheeks Luke wiped them away and looked to the ground with a frown, his eyes exhausted and his soul slowly deteriorating. “I’m… I’m sorry he died, but I couldn’t save him, neither could you or anyone that was out there. So get your shit together and move on,” he finished with a heavy voice, any urge to fight now non-existent within him.

@Yam I Am

Diana’s Brutal Reality – The Firecracker, Diana – September 27th, 1914 (Siege of Amone)

---

Diana, a bit later in the day, which had some good news at least. The scouting party did come back, however, Thomas who basically hit on her was completely dead. This shocked her to her whole core, it made her utterly terrified for what’s going on in this war, will anymore people be killed. She couldn’t help but walk around the camp, after the said explosion. However, something worst happened she literally walked into the worst thing she could see, Luke & Ines basically fighting but some soldiers did stop it. ”This is terrifying… guess this is what feels like to be useless among everyone or something to that effect.” Diana thought to herself, while starring in a bit of fear directly at the two in question. Basically yelling at each other for Thomas’ death, however, she wasn’t close enough to hear what Ines’ said to make Luke snap directly at Ines like that.

It scared her, she’s now more scared of her existence because of what she feels like is tearing apart the squad. However, she tried to hide her fear with a gentle smile, even though it was a cover for how scared she was. The small miracles is she did not go with them since she wouldn’t want to disappoint her mother in dying in a place like this. It was pretty much obvious that Luke & Ines’ needs to cool off but she gained some courage to talk to at least one of them. She was highly nervous about it because of her multitude of different feelings but she would be not even to save Thomas either. In how, Luke responded about no one could have saved his life. She walked up behind Luke, hopefully he wouldn’t make it worse by doing something stupid. However, she decided to say something under her breath before she spoke loudly. ”If my mother was here, she would probably say he’s blowing certain things out of portion? Like that speech he done… because she can see a bullshitter a mile away. But I wish I wasn’t forced into this war… But I am and I am as scared as everyone here or really even more scared...” Diana said, under her breath. It took her a bit to clear her throat because it was a bit of a thing.

There’s one thing about Luke when he goes off the rails, he sure does. Out of everything, he is speaking the truth here about they should calm down but her two little cents might make it worse. But its better to be a fish in the ocean than being swallowed by the vortex of depression, despair, etc. She blinked slightly only to do something she never thought to do like ever, she sighed deeply for what she was going to say to the two. ”Fuck… it. I can’t stand it any longer but why does this have to be like this? It seems like my lot in life is being trapped in between people who can’t keep their anger to the minimal. The only people in this squad that are actually nice are Jean, Reyna, Kalisa, Britta, Isaac and Michael. I know I have said some mean things to you Luke Godfrey, but this got to stop. You two cannot do this to our squad, if it wasn’t for everyone here I would probably be dead somewhere in a ditch in this war. It was that everyone helped me to be a better soldier and all you two are acting like are a OLD Married Couple. I worry about every single person in this squad as if they are my childhood friend Anna from Castleton because I only have her as my best friend. I don’t see any of you minus you know who as family.” Diana said, basically hinting at the Captain without saying his name or anything. She couldn’t really smile anymore because this is hurting her morale more than anything, it hurts to see anyone fight or threaten death on another person in the squad.

Diana sighed at what she said, but she does mean what she says. If it wasn’t for this squad, in terms of Jean and everyone who is underneath Captain Grumpus she would definitely be dead. All she can do with a certainty is run and that’s not really going to save you from a bullet or whatever that artillery shell was because she certainly doesn’t know. ”This is so confusing… Why are the two men I’m attracted to are so different or that I see something differently in them? Luke Godfrey & Jean." Diana thought to herself. However, she accidentally spoke a bit louder when she said Luke & Jean at the end of her thought. It clicked to her right away as if she hit something and almost spilled the beans. She sighed a bit and hoped that Luke would just ignore what she said and not pry in what she meant.

At least she didn’t say anything about Reyna other than she being nice, which would be a complete an utter fuck up. ”I do hope you listen to what I said. Because I don’t want to lose anymore of this squad to this bloody war. We are fucking family for fucks sakes, not by blood but by the fact we are all fighting for the Federation. I will make sure I don’t die for my mother’s sake since she would be utterly depressed at my death.” Diana said, with a smile. She did regain her smile after all but it was because she had to make an example out of this hurtful harmful thing that’s going on in this squad. It is only because she is finished with this bullshit almost like how badly her mother Rebecca was done with bullshit. Her mother basically said the same thing to stop certain people in her family that was twice removed cousins to stop fighting each other.

Aw hell...

It was bad enough that Luke was going on the way he did, that the man with no tact was either trying to boost morale with Marathon- No, Thomas' death, or that he was trying to become the unsung and desperately underappreciated hero to take down Green Fox. It was a completely other thing for this to start devolving into a fight, but devolve it did. Let's be clear: As soon as Isaac heard Ines talking, he was definitely thinking 'Oh shit...', but there was also a part of him that said the dressing-down that was taking place was also necessary. Luke's behavior was wrong, and so was his attitude towards the Darcsens or most anybody that pissed him off. He was a loudmouthed pain in the ass whom you would never admit that he was right about anything without the word 'Unfortunately' or 'Sadly' or 'begrudgedly'. Isaac really wanted to let this go, but he couldn't. He knew trouble when he saw it. Hell, the wolf was flattening his ears back now! The Gunner looked over his partner, who was watching this with a little concern, and indicated with his head that they'd better deal with this.

They arrived to see Luke flipping out. Seems like Ines touched a nerve. Maybe 'stabbed it' was the better term. So, the two Gunners happened to be part of the group that held the guy back from just completely losing it, with Rikes growling at the guy's flank, swinging at the Darcsen for being completely justified in chewing him out. The way she did it wasn't exactly right either, but you'll notice Isaac did NOT keep her from delivering the tongue-lashing that she did. Luke eventually petered out in his yelling and he could be safely released, having let out in front of god and everybody over his fears, and things he thought were right. And then, they heard from Diana, who couldn't keep her thoughts bottled in either. Diana was always good for an emotional speech. Her emphasis on family pretty much underlined what was wrong with this situation, right here. Isaac now got in the middle of all this, between Luke and Ines and everyone else packed in here.

"Somehow, I don't think Luke has the patience to get married, Diana, but I take your point. This needs to stop."

He looked around those who were gathered.

"This squad IS like a family. It bickers and argues, but it also cares, or at least that's the way it should go. We're not a bunch of super-tough soldiers who can take on the world. We're just human."

He caught a tilted head look from Rikes.

"Mostly. The point is that we have to look out for one another. Because, Luke, we don't want to end up shot to hell, alone and afraid-"

"Isaac, don't."

"-with no one there to pull us out, stop the bleeding, or just anything that might save them from the cold embrace of death...or not face it without knowing that someone is there or cares that it might happen. We are not leaving people like that, dammit."

Now, Isaac looked directly at Luke.

"That's how Middleton works, and I'm not doing it that way. Thomas deserved better."

He looked over at Ines, then.

"I'd kind of appreciate it if we don't talk about Jean being a coward like that. We all know that he gets put under alot of pressure that he's forced to deal with and he has about as much experience as the rest of us being in charge, which is to say none, so the fact that he hasn't abandoned us in a fit of madness - considering what he has to deal with, at times - is pretty impressive. Now, how about we break this up, huh?"

That would be the end of Isaac's involvement with this, as he soon walked off to try and get some rest if this was all he had to look forward to until the time of the big assault. Chances are, he and Britta were going to be pushed towards assaulting their base out there, since alot of the rest around here were gonna sapping the tunnels. Britta soon caught up with him, though, starting in his path.

"That was going a little too far, don't you think?"

'What, comparing him to Middleton?"

"No, the other part..."

Isaac sighed.

"Sorry, I couldn't... I couldn't stop from saying that. He left Thomas back there, and did he even keep watch for the sake of those whom the world-class sniper hadn't shot yet? No. He left them all, and he came back here to yell about it when his actions about as appealing as a pile of shit. Some people are too much. I'm sorry. I know they don't need reminders of what could happen to any of us. I just don't want this sentiment of leaving people in the lurch to pass. I want to keep us in one piece, Britta."

"I know you do. Just try and keep being yourself, okay?"

"I will."

She was going off to make the rounds, see if anybody needed anything at the moment. Isaac was heading off to sleep again, leaving Britta alone for the time being. She knew, of course. It wasn't just Luke, or Jean, or Ines, or Diana, or anyone. They were all afraid of something, even herself. Even Isaac. She knew what he feared, as well. He had had his moments of flinching in his sleep, and only after that explosion before did she know that what he feared...was to vanished without a trace, engulfed in destruction and rendered no more.

“Ugh…”

From her spectacular view of the front line encampment, Inès couldn’t afford a spare uniform. Even the replacements others had received in the train just prior to Amone she had seemed to have missed out on; The result of her rushed redeployment, she had always begrudged. In a rainwater washbin, she scraped and scrubbed her fatigues to the stitch, the residual water becoming a thorough tint of bubbly red. Some stains remained incredibly stubborn, and even as well-toned a woman as she - her sinuous upper body tirelessly motioning back and forth as she scrubbed every last inch of her bloodstained jacket - were so sternly adorned with Thomas’ essence that, like the memory to just transpire...it refused to escape from her current state of mind.

Naturally, such expenditures required that she secluded herself to some manner of privacy, gad only in her equally worn smallclothes whilst the Darcsen toiled away in a race to utilize the last minutes of sunlight the best she could.

---

Earlier that day

Just as Reyna was getting her composure back was when Victoria, the woman who was carrying Thomas, moved by her. There was a heavy feeling of sadness in her heart as she gazed on the man who was just this morning was alive and well. Her effort in keeping her composure soon became in vain as she felt Marathon’s arm brush her. Victoria’s words reached her, but Reyna didn’t know how to react at first. Then, after figuring it out she moved herself slowly to Thomas, standing next to Victoria quietly for a moment before her lips moved, a quiet, solemn whisper following. “May you rest in peace, Thomas. Thank you for all you have done for us all.” After that, she nodded to Victoria and slowly spoke one line. “I-If you need something….don’t be afraid to ask.” Reyna noted the hat on Victoria, but she did not recognize it right off the bat in the midst of her own conflict. It’d only be later when she would recognize what it meant….

---

Present time

This dirt on her uniform irked her. Normally out on this battlefield Reyna gave her uniform a little leeway but with the death of Thomas still fresh on her mind and Luke’s glory-seeking attempt, Reyna had to do something to get her mind off of both what she was going to do the next day and the recent events. But first, a spot needed to be found. Reyna did find such a spot earlier while she stayed at this camp, but what she’d find there currently was a bit of a surprise to her. For two girls to meet like this would normally not be too big of a deal, but when she walked in on Inès, stepping loudly into the secluded spot, she found herself frozen as she saw that it was occupied: Apparently, privacy was much harder to acquire than she thought…

Thoroughly fixated upon her action at hand, Inès only barely looks up from her task to exchange eye contact with Reyna. Only a cursory gaze strayed upon her, then just as quickly, Inès returned to her task, particularly nonplussed at the sight of Reyna before her. Logically, she hadn’t much to fear, for the encampments were still largely segregated by gender for some modicum of privacy and such sights weren’t entirely uncommon.

The intense brushing came to a halt, Inès lifting her jacket from the water as steady beads of crimson-bubbled water poured from the article. She frowned, pursing her lips in a corner of her mouth, giving way to a short sigh. Small, faint blotches stained her jacket still, yet for now it seems she’d give it a bit of a rest. A curiousness etched upon her face - if still rather painted by her signature grim sternness - now looking at Reyna more firmly paralyzed in the doorway.

“Are you...okay?” she queried, an eyebrow steadily raising through the course of the question.

The question brought Reyna back to reality..and caught her off-guard. She barely formulated a response to the question “Y-Yeah, it’s just I haven’t seen anyone here before.” Her eyes gazed upon the scene and noted the water’s color. This red colored water caused Reyna to bite her lip. ”At least..around this time. I just came here to wash my clothes...” There was no telling how this was going to go. She heard of Inès’s yelling at Luke at least, and if Diana was any indication all of the other girls were crazy in some way. The fact she didn’t know Inès as well as some only contributed to the mystery.

Inès had made a few theories about Reyna, judging from both the scrawls as well as the limited observations she had of the young woman; If her writing were to be believed, she was rather...inexperienced, if curious. A definite shy type. An ambient soul with a desire to see the world around her...if she would prefer to do so in the soles of a life less frightening. With the struggles come experience - Inès knew - and there exist few who wish their wisdom had come at less of a price. But Inès joined those ranks as those with few truthful regrets in obtaining their fables.

The Darcsen motioned her eyes back to her washbin in a motion some might call dismissive, yet one the well-versed would correct to be, “acknowledging”. It was rarely on purpose that Inès averted only her gaze as a means to show antipathy; She was far more accustomed to a more direct means of assailment to get her point across.

“Get a bin.” she responded - if such a reply in so blunt a tone came across as more of a command than a suggestion.

Just as quickly...her eyes dived. A heavy, weary sigh came as her shoulders dropped, lowering in tandem with her jacket. Her posture remained straight, if considerably more closed, etching inwards like a contracting breath.

“Sorry. It’s that…”

She exhaled sharply.

“...a lot has happened today.”

Reyna could already tell that Inès was not in a good mood the moment she looked away from her. Then again, she should have known so even before speaking to Inès. The events today were not going to be gone from anyone’s mind anytime soon, if ever. Still, she awaited the consent of Inès before nodding and grabbing her own bin and sat down to prepare and tend her own clothing. A few moments of silence passed as Reyna did this before she heard Inès’s words.

Taking a moment to process what Inès said, she nodded to the Francian woman as she started taking off her uniform shirt. “I know. I heard what happened and...saw the result up close.” Reyna spoke softly, trying to select her words carefully. “If you want to talk about it, I don’t mind. Anything, really. I know I wasn’t there and that you might think I won’t understand, but it’s better to speak what’s on your mind than to hold it all inside…” How many times did her own mother tell her this? It worked each time, so hopefully it will help Inès too...if she chooses to talk.

“No, it’s-...”

Inès raised her hand, synchronized with the lowering of her eyes, waving away Reyna’s prerogative. Her head hung just slightly, the heaviness even visually imprinting into her sunken, sullen eyes, baggy from the transpiration of the day. Slowly, it rose once more to meet Reyna, just out of what Inès could scrape along to - almost jokingly, or even insultingly - call etiquette.

“...”

She sighed.

“He-...”

The Darcsen shook her head, her loose hairs obfuscating her equally-toned eyes.

“...that imbecile just doesn’t understand.”

“You mean Luke?” Reyna asked, recalling what happened earlier that day. It was an obvious guess, but the only other one that Reyna could guess was Jean, and she had no idea what Jean’s involvement was in the entire situation. Reyna slowly washed her shirt, but kept steady eye contact with Inès as she listened.

“Yeah…” Inès responded, rather fatigued at the mere mention of the man. A clear ire broke into expression as her brow furrowed into a deep, dismayed grimace.

“He acts like he doesn’t know what to do, or like he can’t do anything, but when he wants to be the big man? Oh, then he knows just what to do!” Inès mocks, shaking her head as she most venomously recalled her exchange earlier that day, “He must think i’m an idiot...i’ve been in this goddamn war longer than he’s even considered going…”

“I don’t know much about Luke, but honestly he always struck me as some kind of idiot the moment he made racist comments in front of Jean, an NCO. I’m sure he has his own reasons and he’s not that bad in some way or another, but he’s definitely not the smartest.” Reyna answered honestly, remembering the moment that Luke insulted Jean for being a Darcsen in front of, well, a group of darcsens, a NCO darcsen at that, and his bad decisions he has made. She wasn’t going to judge too harshly, but there could have definitely been better times to be brutally honest.

Perhaps not if Reyna was going to be the one to redact her words on the subject, Inès had no such qualms. They were…as Inès would put it, frankly demeaning, and only did well to show that Luke had much more to learn in his lengthy journey. For a man with such horrid esteem as he had just hours (as well as days) ago, Luke was certain to always fill the premises with some manner of bravado.

The likes of which Inès saw bring the haughty to…

...she would finish with “their knees”, but the woman stammered on that thought; It was an exceptionally fortunate soul who combined arrogance with ignorance and finished with functional legs.

So, she would have to settle with “His grave.”

“No. I’ve met a lot of Luke’s. All of them finished their first year of their careers with retirement.”

“It’s likely to happen if he doesn’t change his act. I won’t say it will but it’s likely. It seems to me he’s trying to act like a hero, but father always told me that the real heroes don’t truly seek such fame out. And acting like one for the sake of it gets you killed is what the instructor said.” Reyna called the lessons she learned. Of course, experience was the best teacher but Reyna didn’t have the experience to consider herself an expert, so instead she relied on those older and wiser than her to speak for her.

She shook her head. Strands of errant hairs split their way well along her already moody expression, and the sight of such obfuscants soured her expression to the point of palpability. In her off-hand, she grasped her jacket to her right and scrubbed against the washboard in a coarse manner more appropriate for smashing one’s being against a hard surface than for the gentle removal of a few missed stains.

“His act is going to get him killed.” Inès angrily vented as she scathed the words between her clenched teeth, “He’s afraid. And stupid. Like everyone else who came here and got told they would have a chance to see the world.”

Frustrated grunts escaped her maw, a grittled woman furrowing in disappointment. Surprised wasn’t how Inès would describe this particular quagmire. If anything...she had, in a sense, expected such from him, and was only waiting for the inevitable to transpire. And like everything else, this was another little horror that had perhaps spawned because Inès stood too firm: Too firm in the belief that there was nary a chance of Luke heeding her advice, no matter whether it was a sobering tale from her ex-lovers or from the battlefield.

“I wish he’d shoot himself in the foot and get it over with. Go home to the sisters he says he loves so much.”

“But if he gave a damn, he wouldn’t have gone.” Inès scoffed.

“Better to be a coward than a hypocrite.”

“If you say so. At least the former is more honest.” Reyna said carefully as she hefted her shirt up to inspect it. Already the shirt was cleanish, but not clean enough for the rich daughter of a captain of industry. Thus, Reyna got right back to cleaning the shirt again. “I think we’re all scared of what could come, just some know how to deal with it and others don’t. I don’t know about Luke and if he simply does not know how to deal with it, but I guess we’ll see what happens. Anything can happen, after all.” She bit her lip, recalling the task she’ll have to do tomorrow. What the sappers were going to be sent doing was no small task with those tunnels, and she had the night to think on what she would do, not knowing if it’d be her last moments or not.

Finally satisfied that she got the grime off of her shirt, Reyna moved on to the next bit of clothing: her pants. “You sound inherently distrusting of people like him, and as my father would put it: ‘know hardship like the back of your hand.’”

Though a series of particularly non-rattled gazes gave passes to Reyna, Inès made her intent of listening clear. Her jacket would slowly rink and grind away what remained of the bloodstains, until a deep-soaked olive color was all that transpired upon her Francian uniform. The constitution bore the uniform a distinct heaviness upon submergence, yet Inès herself was, perhaps, tempted not to bother with washing. If her command could be bothered to remember to give her her new uniform.

Her head turned again to Reyna. “It’s what I do for a living.” She responded, in a tone that might be called “risible”...if not marred by the harshness of which the Darcsen presented her statement.

“People love to go and ask what makes you go through it. How you can keep going when you’re surrounded, or when everything around you just tells you to give up. And the answer is that I have to.”

“People like Luke are always trying to look for some easy way out of being poor, or being a farmer, or working in a factory. Darcsens are also used to being poor. And the difference between Darcsens and people like Luke is that poor earthheads act like they’re not supposed to be there in the ghetto.”

Reyna listened closely, maintaining eye contact with Inès and processing the words she said. “Earthhead” was not something Reyna heard before, but considering that darcsens were called “darkhairs” and Reyna herself was a brunette, she could guess what it meant. Noting this new vocabulary, Reyna spoke softly. “It’s unfortunate people have to live in a ghetto in the first place, but I understand why it happens. Some spiral themselves out of control into them while others were simply forced or born into them. The latter is mostly what many darcsens fall under. Some non-darcsens, of course, but still equally bad.” Careful words were difficult to craft as she said “I’m only as wary of darcsens as the places they tend to learn resentment from, but that applies to any poor and desperate area. I’ve had darcsen and non-darcsen alike belittle me for my wealthier status, but few of them were willing to put in the work to dig themselves out of the hole through opportunities that required hard work. Some even opportunities my father gave them, at that.”

Memories of belittlement for her wealth and how she “never earned anything” flooded Reyna’s mind for a moment, a frown appearing momentarily before returning to normal. “I don’t like people who act like that, then don’t do anything to better themselves. Or those that give up so easily and then take their anger out on those who didn’t.”

“Pft.”

The notion of The Vinlandic Dream, told by the most Vinlandic Vinlander to cross the seas, was it? Perhaps the obvious need not be reiterated. Inès didn’t smirk, nor give nary a smidgin of sarcasm to her cold-faced expression. Like she had just so boldly pronounced; Reyna was acting like they weren’t supposed to be there.

“Everyone wants to leave the ghetto. But what happens when everyone leaves?” she queried, shaking her head once again.

“When you come from the community, it’s more than just a giant slum. You know, people have asked me, “Inès, why do you bother staying in Ostend if it’s so shit? All you do is complain!””

Inès cracked a smile.

“Of course I complain. I’m Francian! I sit, I complain! I bitch and moan and say how everyone doesn’t care! And you know what? It’s my home. Everyone I love lives there, and everyone there deserves better.” She laughed.

“But!” Inès interjected, lowering her gaze with a cynical smirk, “Nothing fucking comes easy to a Darcsen. You learn very early on that there are no easy ways out. There’s nothing waiting for you if you leave the ghetto except a lot of earthheads who wonder what a darkhead is doing in their neighborhood. And anytime anyone tries giving us something? Sure. We take it. We’ll have fun for a bit, drink, and try to forget we were ever enemies. Because we know the only time we seem to get along is when they’re either drunk, or when they want something from us.”

“Besides, if you leave the ghetto as a Darcsen to make it big, you become a Hotza.”

An unfamiliar term.

“Cold.” Inès translated.

Reyna listened, and then had to think for a bit about what Inès just said to her. It was...a unique perspective that she never thought she’d get. It was foreign to her to say the least, far from the merely academic perspective she experienced in the safety of her home. Concern was the first thing that popped up, followed by curiosity. Finally, Reyna thought of a reply to Inès.

“That’s...something I never heard before. I didn’t realize the racism was so bad. Still, I believe things should at least get better, even if they don’t want to leave their community behind.” Reyna answered. “In the country, even the poorest of us don’t live in horrid conditions. Most of those in Darport go hunting or poaching when they can’t get food on the table or receive meals distributed for those in need of them. Both the churches and the workers’ barracks do that.” She stopped cleaning her pants for a moment to think about what to say next.

“That all must seem strange to you, and you must see as privileged. You would be correct. I’m blessed, but that don’t mean those who aren’t shouldn’t be able to even surpass me especially if I help them… sorry, this must sound so stupid to you.” Reyna gave Inès a sheepish, nervous smile. If anything, she didn’t want to make Inès mad. Just speak what she thought and at least try to understand her perspective on things. It’s the least she could do.

“It’s different in the city.” Inès explained, “In our apartment-”

Inès reached her hand, generally pointing to the corner of the tent situated at Reyna’s heel.

“It’s about that big.”

Her hand waved over to a tent opposite of her. Barely the size of a large tent occupied by a superior officer. And this residence was intended to be permanent.

“My mother and I live there, and a lot of times, we have one or two more families living together with us.”

What Inès just explained to Reyna was even more foreign to her than the ghetto conditions and community. “You mean...you don’t even have a room to sleep in for yourself?” Reyna looked at the size Inès emphasized with her hand and imagined it, shivering slightly. “That’s really weird to me, and a little scary. At least here everyone is at least somewhat disciplined, but I am not sure if I would be comfortable with sharing such a small size of a place with people I don’t know very well and wouldn’t trust my safety to.” After hearing this, she was glad she was born in the country and in a relatively safe community. The most she had to worry about was someone trying to make her give them money and never return it.

Inès had suspected she would need to provide a more detailed narrative to...elucidate...Reyna’s comprehension. Not that she imagined the woman to be unintelligent, mind; Only rather ignorant of the true conditions of inner city living. Truth be told, Inès was a tad surprised.

“When I was twelve, we shared our apartment with two families; The Roux, and The Paget-Mullers.” she began, “The Roux Family had Madame et Monsiuer Roux, their youngest son, their daughter, and their oldest son, as well as Monsieur Roux’s father and mother. There was also Monsieur Paget and Madame Muller, who had their two children.

Inès gave but brief pause to allow Reyna to comprehend the absurdity of cramming thirteen people into the space of what was approximately a kitchen.

“...Oh my….” And it did take a pause for Reyna to digest that information, to put into perspective thirteen people in a single small room. The entire concept was absurd, but considering how much detail Inès told her about who was there this was not an exaggeration. Therefore, it was a reality that Reyna never knew. The first thought, however, was the hygiene.

“That has to be really dirty and unsanitary! I can understand living like that for a short time in bad times, but for years?” The thought made Reyna look at her pants again. As squeaky clean as they were going to get it seemed, so next was undergarments. “How did you clean yourselves and not get sick?”

“The yard.” Inès answered. Subconsciously...Inès was going to be more than a little amused telling the tale of the tenement yard.

“We have a central yard in the tenement where we the water pump is. Everyone uses the water pump there to do their laundry and bathe out in the yard.” she explained, “You take water from the pump and use the furnace in the basement to get it hot, then you use that hot water to wash your clothes in the yard. Sort of like we’re doing.

“It’s the same if you want to take a bath. You have to get someone else to help you carry the hot water to one of the bathtubs in the yard, then you bathe until the water either gets too cold or too dirty.”

“So...outside with little to no privacy.” Reyna concluded. “I’m no stranger to others in the bath or wash area, but that’s a little much. At least you had a way to be clean...”

“Yeah.” she nodded.

Truth be told...Inès had very little left to say on the subject. She could go off on some manner of pitiful tangent on how difficult it was, or how it was to be a Darcsen in the cramped city...yet, such pitiances would be both nonsensical and rather errant; Inès was never of the opinion that she was necessarily entitled to anything greater. She would spare Reyna the moaning and groaning of that conversation...if also because she had little use to complain, herself.

“Geez, I’m sorry you had to live in such horrid conditions….” Reyna responded with a frown. “You should definitely see the country when we’re not in a big war. I think you’d like it. Fresh air, lots of privacy, and small peaceful communities. Quiet aside from sometimes hearing dumb tractors.”

“With what money?”

“Hmm, maybe from what you get in the army? Or...well I don’t know what you exactly want to do but maybe that letter father wanted me to hand out to everyone in the squad could have something?” Reyna thought. “Father has been known to give opportunities to those with talent, no matter who they are. He’s...one with older views than I but he doesn’t let that affect his business.”

She couldn’t help it; Inès was a bit of a cynic, even by her own admission. And in such earnest self-admission, doubt arose at the mention of some manner of opportunity, for she knew well that with opportunity also came cost. If anything...it resonated, such that she felt as though her words went through one ear and out the other. Yet, Inès knew - as Reyna made ever clear - she wasn’t one to spread malice. And certainly, with opportunity came cost, but also came profit...and enticement.

Well..she couldn’t help but be curious. And a slight questioning would do nothing to harm her, if Reyna were to offer. Yet, miracles she did not expect.

“What do you mean?” she asked, a pique of curiosity coming over her.

“My father wants me to hand out a bunch of letters to those near me, namely squadmates. I have the feeling it contains more than just him asking to keep me safe or something, as corny as it is.” Reyna only guessed that was what it contained, but none-the-less she was going to do what her father asked. “If he thinks someone has the talent to make his company better and bring in more money, he will at least give an offer and even pay for travel expenses. I’m not sure what those contain exactly, but it wouldn’t hurt to read it.” Reyna tried to explain, though she felt her explanation was lackluster as she reached into her bag that was nearby and plucked out one of the letters and offered it to Inès. It was very obvious from the look on Reyna’s face that she thought the letters were dumb enough as it is, but to hand them to the rest of the squad made her feel like a spoiled brat.

“If someone has the talent”...? If Inès had imagined that to be just what she presumed, then she was rather...cynical of the fact. Though...it did not go without that same curiosity. Savate was generally ill-known outside of a more dedicated crowd, and Reyna herself likely knew little about the intrigue that was Inès’ career. That was, unless-...

“Wait, have-...” Inès raised an eyebrow, dashing her eyes over the letter, then back to Reyna.

“Have you…heard of me??”

“Hmm, I’ve vaguely heard your name before, but I don’t know if you’re of the same circumstances. Only in passing.” Reyna thought hard. “I don’t really keep up with those martial art things myself so I know next to nothing, but that’s how your last name is vaguely familiar.”

(“Shit...i’ll need to find out just who she is…”)

Inès nodded, wiping her hands on her camisole to rid themselves of water once and for all. She rose, appreciation coming about her otherwise stoic demeanor.

“Well. Thanks.” she responded, briefly walking over to her bag. As she knelt down and undid its buckles and belts, Inès was sure to open a second, thinner compartment within her satchel, stuffed there with an assortment of other varied letters, snippets, drawings, and other documents.

And among them, a little something...familiar.

Inès retrieved it, plucking its leather-bound cover from its confines...and smiled. She then walked over to Reyna, a light smile clear upon her face. She gave an awkward half-chuckle, then presented Reyna’s little book back to her.

“You…forgot this at the Inn… She laughed.

At first, Reyna didn’t know what Inès was doing. Curiosity kept her watching until Inès pulled out that little book that she wrote in. It may have been a plain blue book, but to Reyna, especially seeing it in another’s hands, it was the most embarrassing little book in her life. A great red tint came across Reyna’s face as she hurriedly grabbed the book, now feeling like she was about to die of embarrassment. It was clear: at least Inès knew what dirty secrets that book contained.

“Uhhh…...thanks. But uh...this is a little embarrassing…” Reyna stuttered. “....Did…..someone else….see?” She was almost afraid of the answer.

Inès giggled at her reaction to the reunion of her and her glorious collection of questionably-written pornographic content, starring the cast and crew of Squad 1 itself. And fear not, Inès knew full well that, perhaps inadvertently, Reyna had scored Inès a most pleasurable night with the ever-so-lovely Freya Baines. Of course, that meant that the contents of her book were kept with the most outwardly sociable - as well as possessive of the thinnest content filter - member of their lively band.

“You’ll be fine.”

There were some things that Reyna was better off not knowing.

She didn’t like that answer at all, but there was little that could be done with it. Quietly tucking away the book back into her bag, Reyna contemplated her decisions now. Was those nights she felt...unladylike all going to destroy her in the future?! She didn’t know the answer of that, but nothing could be done about it now. She goofed, and at least this explained why the book was missing when she improvised a dance with Jean.

“ Uhh, if they don’t know...I guess I will be fine. Uhh, I hope it’s not too awkward. I...just kinda have needs too, no thanks to those nights at the inn….”

“Maybe i’ll tell you about it the next time we get leave.” Inès laughed, holding off on any additional comment on, “Giving her new writing material.”

And as always, the rain started to fall again. If Jean had garnered a Ducat for every time rain had shed itself upon Amone those passing weeks he'd have garnered enough of a fortune to end world poverty. Ever since they'd arrived on the very first frontline, all that had bestowed itself upon them was the plight of heavy downpour. Lakes of mud housing tens of fallen bodies scattered across the fields where artillery shells had once landed. Wooden bridges were constructed so the alive didn't have to wade through the pools with the dead. Here in Amone, things were different. No one could be hidden by the degrade of rainfall. No thing could be censored. If the bodies of the deceased weren't buried in kilograms upon kilograms of brick, foundation, glass and whatever else made up the buildings then everything was simply laid out in the open, ready for the crowd to pick at and the men to walk by. Decaying flesh kept its harsh stench lingering for the months to come. Nothing was safe. Nothing was every safe. Those who came only to avoid the horrors of being a coward were left to wallow in their own suffering as they spied their fallen enemies and comrades, collapsed in pools of blood together. It hurt Jean's stomach to think about it. Some of those within his squad were only 16 or 17 years of age, still classified as minors or children by many laws. They could not go out into the public as a citizen and drink, nor learn to get an automobile test or some sort of high-class job. Instead, they were subjected to the torturous expectations that the Great War was bringing. A scourge of rainfall continued to moisten Jean's steel helmet, forcing it to drench itself once more in the basked glory of the morning peace. Tranquillity didn't come around often, so to make the most out of these next ten minutes was the best Jean could do. He rummaged around his webbing and picked apart a few magazine strips, before sliding a few more into his spare pockets. If he was going to get through this Assault, he'd need all the ammo he could get. Luckily, a lot was on offer. If the large artillery shell had hit a few streets to the right, it could've compromised a large amount of ammunition and limited the fighting capabilities of the Federation liberation advancement. There was no luck though to that. The trade off was the costs of a few hundred lives, many of which were waiting evacuation through the medical system.

All around the Darcsen was a never-ending hustle and bustle of life. Soldiers were grouped together and making their ways towards the assorted briefing areas. Some introduced themselves to colleagues who were joining them in recognisable locations all across Amone. The Tunnel raiding party would've already dashed past the boundaries of the Federation operating base, beginning their task a little ahead of schedule in order to quickly dive in whenever the main fighting force set their peace aside and charged into the fray. Jean was going to be amongst them. So was everyone. Every able body was called for the job. Whether they were Darcsen or not, male or female, young or old, Private or Sergeant...the total was immeasurable in comparison to what Jean had seen before. At Hill 58, the majority of the forces sent up with him were spread thin or in varied directions, giving off a strange and almost unrecognisable variation of clustering troops. Amone's assault force was roughly three times greater than that of the singular regiment sent up the Hill. A combined arms of mortars, riflemen, machine gunners, shocktroopers, marksmen, sappers, fusiliers, non-commissioned and commissioned officers made their mark together. Some bigged up the advance as something glorious, though Jean was far against such claims. It had the potential to be a bloodbath, and regardless of its victor there would be far more than just spilt innards plastering the pavements and walls. These Imperials were brittle to no one.

According to unforeseen changes, a new rough plan was made for those entering the area. Information had gotten out towards high-command, Jean unknowingly unaware of Victoria being the provider, about how concentrated the defences were. Whereas the original expectations thought that the Empire would spread themselves along a traditional line, instead they were reliant on smaller concentrations of fortified buildings, key strategic zones, choke-points and bunkers. They were very prepared. Alongside this, speculation as to what fired that grand shell were still up in arms. No one could truly pinpoint what it was, but its rough trajectory was pinpointed last night. Perhaps the army could find its source and for the hell of all things considered shut it down for good. Jean dreaded it being turned against their users, sparking a new age of cataclysmic warfare unlike anything seen before. As if the Great War itself wasn't that already...

"S-Standing ready, Sir!" An unprecedented, familiar tone suddenly caught Jean's lonesome ears. His attention quickly turned, seeing an ever-unforgettable, pale and meek face stare up at an equally recognisable man. Jean's interest wasn't just piqued out of its familiarity, but rather its distance. Stood a few metres from his own position, hardly sheltered from the precipitation that doused the wastelands around her, Lucia was overshadowed by the great Captain Middleton. Shivering from the cold nights that had ensued beforehand, separated from the group entirely, Jean felt rather relieved to see her in one piece. A smile brought itself upon his face, as he watched the two discuss something together before turning to Jean. Lucia didn't say anything, only looking away with a slightly stern face, as if the gaze was forced.

Jean looked up at the familiar Captain, watching his grimace turn into a blend of tiredness, frustration and hopelessness. Of course, he had something to say to Jean and none of them looked forward to it for different reasons. Personally, Jean never liked interacting with the Captain, even as far back as to when he was just a Lieutenant taking the piss out of his Darcsen heritage.

"Charpentier..." With a nudge, he motioned Lucia forward, as if to hand ownership off to Jean. The two shared a glare, one more powerful than the other both physically and systematically. Irregardless of the hierarchy, Jean wasn't too keen on showing him much respect, but had to submit to at least a semi-formal manner in order to maintain the peace before the great assault came forth. "Private Farris will be accompanying you under your guidance...Corporal. Hopefully she will receive relative combat experience but I want to make myself very clear, Corporal. Anything that happens to her, you will receive ten times worse. Understand?"

Jean's throat locked up slightly. For once, this was a new tone for Middleton to express upon the Darcsen. It wasn't that of a booming subjugation, one that would exile all silence and draw the attention of their fellow soldiers. No...he kept his tone low, brandished and sharp like that of his bayonet. In his hands was a revolver of his own, standard issue and ready to be used against the enemy at will. His participation in the battle would be limited to mid-line engagement, never on the frontlines until the main job was cleared by the first few waves. Slowly, Jean cleared his throat and stood firm, allowing himself to retort the answer Middleton wanted to hear, despite both of them knowing there was no guarantee that either would be unscathed.

"I understand, Sir!" Back straight, chin up: Jean kept his face stern and his voice as confident and neutral as humanly possible. Truly, he quivered at the threat inside but he knew that leaving himself too vulnerable was just a catalyst for a disastrous and volcanic eruption from his dear Captain. "She'll do what she has to, Sir."

"I don't need fucking reminding, Darkie. It's bad enough that I'm putting my trust in someone who's kind is about as cultured and superior as my grandfather's shrivelled, decaying testicles, so don't get all snarky with me." Showing the common agenda against Darcsens again, he leaned closer towards the Corporal and placed a gloved hand against his shoulder, keeping a firm grip against the bones of his blade. "It was either you or that pompous fucker from Edinburgh, so I didn't exactly have much of a choice. Anyway...keep her alive or I will kill you. I'm not going to sugar coat it, Corporal. I will fucking murder you. Now get yourself ready, because that Cathedral isn't gonna take itself."

Though mostly unwillingly, Jean saluted to the Captain and watched him leave, abandoning Lucia with the Darcsen once more. A few seconds passed, Jean watching the Captain return to several buildings to set up his own final preparations. Perhaps he was far more busy to really threaten Jean anymore than he already had. Thank god, if so. More seconds passed. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Trickle by, those seconds sure did. Eventually, Jean turned to Lucia, who refused to look up at him before she thrusted forward, wrapping her arms around Jean without uttering a word at first. It took him by surprise, his arms being left hanging in the air above her smaller, frail stature. Her grip was soft yet tightly constricting all at the same time. A million tears were vanquished by herself as she buried her face into his webbing, trying to restrain the sadness of her own self.

Jean slowly lowered his arms, placing them around her back as she did to him. It was a very familial embrace, one that felt more like...she was him, and that...Jean was Olivia? It felt weird to imagine, but was this the burden of the elder sibling? Well, it wasn't a burden, more of a tribulation. Lucia was in a crisis of her own, one that no one understood. In all honesty, Jean doubted that even Lucia knew what her crisis was or how to solve it. She was weakened in the mind, shattered by unknown months on the frontline without a family to call hers. Much of Lucia's background was unknown still, even to Michael under a certain degree. Her episode away from Jean's squad in the recent week had distraught a lot of minds, removing that innocent comfort that she provided simply by being present.

"H-hey, Lucia. What's up? Are you okay?" He stammered, trying to see if the hug was beyond a reunion at best. Deep down he wished nothing more than the unifying relief it brought, though whether or not she spilled the word it was obvious that there was more to her disappearance than truly met either of their eyes. "Hey, come on. Look at me-"

Jean moved her out of the hugging position to see her smiling, almost delightfully. She seemed to beam brighter than the missed Summer's contagious glow. Everything she held in that emotion-filled gaze was more than enough to bring a smile to Jean's own too. It was quite remarkable and contagious how one individual had the power to change the heart of a man just like so. Without hesitation, Jean sat himself down on the table he'd been plucking spare ammunition clips from and let her stand close by, the two sharing the moment to grin at one another kindly. Before long, she opened her small and mouse-like jaws to speak outside of her formal disciplinary voice previously heard.

"I'm so happy to be here to see you, Jean! It's been so lonely without you all around. H-how...is everyone doing?" A slight tremble of fear came about her voice when trying to force out her question. It was quite the hard thing to ask. Despite the expectations being low of any bad news, considering the group had gone so far recently without more than scratches, bruises and bullet wounds. Yet, even with those odds...the same really couldn't be said about anyone.

"I'm really happy to see you too Lucia...but, uhm. About everyone being okay..." As soon as the tonal shift came about, Lucia's smile began to fade almost immediately. A preemptive change in expectations, right before she found out the actual news to be revealed. "Well...most of us are...average. Lot of pressure going around, and...well...we unfortunately lost Thomas along the way..."

Lucia and Jean stared at one another in silence, before Lucia felt a small tear come trickling down her face. Instantly, she went in for another hug, tighter than before, and let the tears flow from her soft, emerald eyes. Fear had began to settle in again. Whilst Jean imagined it was the genuine shock from hearing of a lost friend, even finding the urge to suppress his own tears that he wanted to cry out, in reality it was a very different reason for Lucia's tears. She didn't want it to happen again. Not again. She couldn't lose everyone. Not out there in the fields of the war. Not leaving her alone and breaking the mental spirits of those who watched over her. Never again. Please...

"We shouldn't be...sad...though. He wants us to keep smiling, remember? Think about what makes you smile and hold onto that right now." Another minute passed with Lucia struggling to get a firm grip on her emotions. The dire zero hour drew far closer with every second, giving them less time to really take in the moment. It was indeed a horrible thing to dump onto her in the moment but it had to be said at some point. Jean would've killed to have the ignorance to not know of his fate. Either way, it was rather strange how she hadn't found out. The news of the 'Marathon's death spread like wildfire already. Sure enough, the next few days would be flooded in Oceanic newspapers calling out for a memorial in their heroes' namesake.

Lucia quietly nodded and composed herself, taking in the fresh air that was around her. It was a great idea to do so, as the next few hours would highly likely be filled with gunsmoke, blood and agony. It wasn't going to be long at all. Minutes were counting down. People were beginning to line up and prepare to oust themselves into the unknown depths of a worldly sorrow. Woe was that of the soldier, not of the survivor.

"You'll be coming with me to the Cathedral then?" Lucia quietly nodded, trying her hardest to smile again whilst struggling to do the chinstrap up on her helmet once more. Eventually Jean gave in to the pressure of watching her adorably struggle and helped her out, just like any old big brother would. It crossed his mind that she, for some reason, called him a big brother despite there being no relation outside of their friendship forged in battle. It was quite astonishing to think about. And honestly, it warmed Jean's heart to dare believe. "It'll be tough and scary, even for me. We'll get through it together, then you can go give Michael a big hug. Besides, Michael will be happy for you to defend the Cathedral, it's the birthplace of his religious motives after all." And with that said, she smirked again and chirped like a small fluttering bird, before the duo joined the now formed queue to rush into the underworld beyond Amone's safe boundaries.

Diana’s Brutal Reality – Before the Liberation of the Cathedral – September 28th, 1914 (Siege of Amone)

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Diana had a hard time, which also had a struggle to get out of bed with all that happened yesterday. It was a bit torturous for her to say the least. She couldn’t help but sigh at the whole situation, however, she heard the morning bell. It seems like the time to finally finish Amone is on, it would take all of her strength to not die and return home. ”I get so emotional… but this place is my new family until I can reunite with my love ones at home...” Diana thought to herself. It was definitely understandable for her, which she has been like this ever since she was a child. She shrugged her shoulders while finishing getting up, which was a good thing she was still wearing her hair like it was before. There was many things going through her mind and it made her slightly distracted. It took herself to calm down a bit but she couldn’t really keep a smile on her face because of the single thing that Richard said all that time ago.

All of this, which led her to decide something very important. It was a very tough decision for her, however, she didn’t know how her own mother would react to her decision. She decided only on the fact, which is she is fighting for the Federation and needs to act like a soldier of it. It hurts her that she basically has to leave her humanity behind for her primary goal of living, so she can reunite her parents after the war is over. ”I’m scared, I have to do what I must or I won’t be reunited with my parents… everything that happened yesterday taught me… I should do something more than just relying on everyone. If I want to grow up and save my sister Astra from Richard’s Evil. I must not stop and do my best in this war so I can finally stop being terrified of him.” Diana thought to herself, with a slight sigh. She put her helmet on, which her hairstyle is still in the ponytail style, since she changed it to that. In terms of everyone, it was nice she chose finally to do something other than allowing everyone else do the things for her.

Diana needs to stand on her own feet, however, it’ll be hard. Since she is terrified of what might come of herself if she does this. However, there cannot be second thoughts so she decided to leave her tent and then sigh a bit angrily when it was raining. ”Always… Always Raining… it’s like the weather is sad for what we have to do today.” Diana thought to herself, with a sigh. She walked towards where everyone was being stationed on the front line. It took a bit of her to find Jean, which she was shocked to find Lucia next to him. Guess that means Captain Grumpus let her do things again with the squad again, which was good. She brightened up seeing Lucia, which is nice to see.

It took her a bit to walk towards Jean, Lucia, and gave out a small sigh. However, it was only to get their attention, she was trying to do things differently compared to how she has been. It’s pretty intense that the continuation and the finishing of the Siege will take everyone to finish this. ”Oh… Hi Jean and Lucia. I will help you liberate the Cruxian Cathedral. It’s the least I could do for my family’s history and to see a smile on Michael’s face is going to be really nice.” Diana said, with a slight smile. In the back of her mind, she knows the reasons why her family left the Cruxian faith behind, which was because of the Donster Family nonetheless. However, her family’s beliefs are similar to Michael’s faith in a religion like Cruxian. She didn’t like the bloody weather, however, it always had to rain during a battle.

Diana tried to get herself focused on her assigned tasks in terms of Liberating the Cathedral and also in staying alive. Amone needed to be free from Imperial control, but she was going to do her extreme best to help her friends and herself in killing as many imperials. She hopes that she won’t be haunted by the choice she decided before finding Jean and Lucia. By allowing her goal of wanting to live to discard her humanity without even firing a shot at the enemy. Only time will tell, however, she put her left hand on where her silver necklace, holding onto it. ”I hope Gavin and Rebecca will still love me… for what I am about to do… I still want to feel happiness after this and not unbearable sadness or loss. Why does anyone have to die?” Diana thought to herself. This is the point of no return, when the operation starts anyways. She must kill the enemy, rather than be killed herself.

@LetMeDoStuff

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Senja's advances were sudden. Michael was still concerned over Senja's safety that he didn't expect her delicate hand laying on his cheek, chin and torso. And then she leaned closer. A soft touch of the lip rested on his right cheek for a few seconds. A moment in when time slowed down. A gesture of affection worth a thousand words.

But the intimate moment between the two of them ended quickly as the gravity of the situation pounced on them. The fact that in their place, dozens, or perhaps hundreds, of people were in the ground zero of the blast. Aside from the fact that these people are dying, the infrastructure of the site was probably in ruins. And Senja was the one to realize that first.

The sapper nodded firmly as he watched the Nordic huntress speed off toward the shell site. She was a kind and beautiful soul. It would not be the last time of the day that Michael would see her. He followed her soon after

...to the utter devastation.

Contrary to the atmosphere at the camp, this was an apocalypse and anarchy in the making. Weak cries for help haunted the air. In the corner, a soldier, who were caught heavily in the blast, whom Michael could barely identify, was just sitting listlessly. His face was charred by the ashes, his mind screaming for help but his body and mouth gave in. And there he was simply ignored...as soldiers were scrambling around the collapsed buildings, trying to save whoever they could still save.

He's gone before his body could. His eyes toward the sky sent a wrench into the Cruxian's guts. Eyes to the sky for the last time in his life.

"May God be with you..."

Michael approached the dying soldier. Those painful eyes looked over, as the man uttered the words.

"...through the storm of life,"

He gently placed his hand on the man's shoulder.

"a safe haven, voice of calm reassurance, healing balm;"

A cross drawn on his chest.

"and when the storms are over..."

Michael could feel the soldier's energy slowly limping away.

"...bring you safely home."

Not before long, he was gone. A bright soul ended in just a matter of minutes. The windows of opportunity for his future and possibly his country's and the world's slipped close as Michael slowly closed his eyes for the very last time.

Knowing that he couldn't really give the rescuers anymore works than they were overloading themselves, Michael carried his body over to the makeshift lines a few blocks away. Just another statistics.

This wasn't just a few dozens or a hundred. This was near the thousands. And it could very well break the record, as many more were still trapped beneath the rubbles. This many helpers were barely enough. Michael knew he had to help. And Senja's words rang with him. He knew he had to ask for more people to come over for help.

Michael briefly returned and went a few rounds through the camps. Unfortunately, his search for helpers went futile. The impact of the shell was as psychological as it was physical. People were listless in the horror of what could be facing them ahead of their iron sights. What monstrosity were they expecting to be ripping their carcasses in the next upcoming days? And among those who managed to reel in their sanity, they were distracted by the other event that plagued the day. Jean's scouting party had returned. And along with them...

"Thomas..."

The respected soldier who fought with him, whom he just had interesting conversations with the other day, is dead. A pale, amputated corpse was what remained of a lean, macho and energetic fellow. His warm, funny, charming voice was forever silenced. His only instances of life now only observable as distant memories. And it was like that: another person Michael knew personally one moment was dead in the next.

What was he supposed to feel right now? Like those shedding tears beside his remains? Or those chanting ideological slander over there that attempted to bargain for grounds for Thomas's death. And the head of that distasteful speech was no other than Luke. And without long, the disatisfied Ines lunged insults at him, which almost turned into a fist fight if it hadn't been for the few soldiers who held him back, or the calm defusal of the situation by Isaac. While he was grateful to them being the calm rationale of his NCO, what energy left that survived that shell blast that should have been reserved for the rescue and the comforting of the victims had been wasted on fighting ideological warfare with each other out there.

He's on his own now. The life of those who still lives in the blast is on him.

Leaving the bickering and the mourning of Thomas's death behind him, Michael set off back to the site of the shell. The screams of the wounded, trapped, calling out for the faintess light in the dark sky continued to batter his conscience as soon as he arrived. And he knew that once he steps in, there would be more to come. More people he couldn't save. More people he could've saved but was forced to abandon for the majority. More people on the brink of salvation only to perish only a matter of minutes or even seconds from rescue. And the burn would leave a mark for decades to come, or maybe even until he was in the wooden box.

It was worth it anyway.

---

Like some of his squadmates today, Michael also found it difficult to leave his bed. But the struggle was also a physical matter. The rescue of the trapped soldiers rolled steadily into nighttime, with no end insight. Throughout the entire day of the day before, Michael's only two locations aside from the destroyed street was the kitchen, where he briefly stopped by twice to eat, and the restroom. His fears of a counterattack, of another gigantic shell of this caliber were continuously swept aside by the cries for help beneath the rubbles. He barely even counted how many he did save, or did save successfully. It was just too many, and the raging muscle pain kept his rationale away from that. The pain that carried over to today.

"Oh my lord..."

His initial twitch of his limbs were pitiful. The fear of rushing pain prevented him from making any drastic movements. But eventually, he did force himself to get his body up from his bed. Michael had done these sorts of labour before; being a sapper is pretty demanding of that. But to do it from morning till night was, to be honest, even a little much for an experienced construction workers. Now, it was taking its toll on him. And he still had a mission to do

Today is the tunnel mission.

A dangerous road laid ahead. And there were only two outcomes for him. One would be the all too familiar grim reaper. The other would be Michael completely exhausted by the long hours of physical torture. Both are just as undesirable as the other. The only difference was the period. May the lord grant him the strength to grit through all of this.

Again, he was quite early for his mission. And by that a bit too early for anything. Perhaps the tension of the life gamble had brought him up before the sun. But if anything, he didn't find much point hanging around in the rain for too long, so decided to remain within the boundary of his bunk, hoping that the crawling nervousness did not overwhelm him before it all began. A death sentence hanging by a thread; Michael'd need a distractor.

Out of the blue, the reminder of the letters flew through his mind. Oh yeah, he hadn't replied to his mother's letter just yet. Funnily enough, it wasn't the norm that he did so. He had never let her letters go unanswered for at most a day, but he attributed this to the shouting showdown he had the other day with the accursed Captain Middlefinger. Thankfully he still had some time to compose a letter.

While thoughts of the worst news possible was dreadful to think about, that he was indeed writing in case of his death, the words Michael wrote today echoed none of that.

---

---

"Looks like you're ready for this."

Michael turned his head around, to realize that he had finished the letter, wrapped it up and was already about to deliver it to the soldier in charge of the mail. And the voice that brought him back to Earth was his companion for today: Anna. And coming along with her was this particularly young fellow. Except for the inheritance of her bluish hair color, he emitted the aura completely different from her. The wild and predatory sky blue eyes looking at Michael without batting away, it was as if he was going to gobble him if it hadn't been for Anna before him, telepathically holding him back. He seemed honestly curious over Michael's identity, but the gaze wasn't a desire to learn new things or meet new people. It was...something. Something that only resided in the energy of specific types of youth. He was also wearing sapper gear, so apparently he was also his to be partner for this operation. Well that leaves only...

"Reyna's not here yet..."

"Oh? Your partner?"

Michael nodded. Now that he thought of it, he hadn't known Reyna that well. She was mentioned often by the romanticist NCO Jean, and he had interacted with her briefly before Amone and inside the inn, but that was it. He hadn't worked with her or anything; this is the first time. A great opportunity to get to know the girl, and perhaps why Jean likes her that much, but might not be a great time for this mission that required a high level of team coordination. Well, if she knows what she's doing, that would relieve a lot of his worries.

"Well, we still have time. I'll wait here for you."

---

After speaking to Ines, Reyna was more than a little embarrassed as she hurried over to her bunk to stash the small book. Hopefully it won't go missing again, and Reyna will make sure it won't. She didn't want any more people finding out what she wrote about when she was....well she didn't want to think about it. Shoving the book into a discrete pouch, Reyna got to the next order of business: getting comfortable so she could sleep.

After disrobing to all but the minimum to keep her decency, the posh woman climbed under the covers of a blanket and curled up underneath. Tonight, however, more time would be needed before she was able to fall asleep. Her thoughts drifted to what happened that day, what she thought when she saw Thomas's body, and what that meant. She wrote down her thoughts in her journal earlier, of course, but that didn't prevent her from dwelling on them for an hour. Clutching her pillow, Reyna finally fell asleep, not looking forward to the next morning.

---

Reyna had only but five hours, waking up thirty minutes later than she wanted to. Normally, this was not an issue but she was part of the team that was to go into the tunnels as one of the sappers. She had a lot of trouble just getting herself up and dressing herself and preparing, getting a quick bite to eat and using the bathroom in a hurry.

She did all of this with a big frown on her face for two reasons. The first reason was she had to get up so early for this mission, and she was already a little behind what she wanted, though not late. The second, however, was very silly: the rain meant mud and that meant that she was going to get muddy, especially since they were going into the tunnels. After everything was all set and done, she was going to need a good shower.

Finishing with her preparations, she picked up her equipment and moved to the place she was to meet the other sappers, including Michael. She didn't know very much about the small sapper man, but first impressions told her that he was intelligent and religious, and that he very much liked tea. Lucia also hung out around him, and it seemed he was a influence on her. Well, now they will be working together as a team. At the very least it will be interesting.

By the time she saw Michael, her mouth was wrapped around a cracker and nibbling on it. It seemed she was among the last to arrive, not a bad thing but not ideal for her. With tired eyes, she examined the group and lazily waved to the three. Biting down on the cracker then taking it out of her mouth, she quietly spoke in her light southern Vinland accent.

"Hello.... Is this all of us?"

She was definitely not looking forward to the tunnels, but it was her job. And that job needed doing.

@Conscripts

Kalisa felt relieved as Jean slowly opened up to her. It's always hard to talk about painful experiences, especially the fresher ones. A small smile forms on her lips as she earnestly listens to Jean's side of the events earlier. "Thanks Jean." She watched as he stood up and made his way around the tent, staring at various objects of his possession and even the walls of the tent. Staying quiet as she let him collect his thoughts.

Eventually he was practically dancing around the tent as he found his spirits lifted up and over the heavens. He looked more alive than she had ever seen him before. Granted there wasn't a whole lot of happy times that she was present, but the girl is glad that he was almost glowing in a positive manner. An epiphany perhaps? Jean stood her up and gently guided her outside.

Right before they reached the exit however, he suddenly turned around and gave her a hug. It was very gentle and sincere, and she couldn't resist not returning the gesture. "I'm just glad you're alright. You really don't have to repay me." Admittedly the female Darcsen was getting a little embarrassed at his words. Compliments like these aren't her thing.

Kalisa was shortly forced outside and left to fend for herself. As she looked back at the other Darcsen wave her off with a smile, she began to think back at his words. That she had been cheating death again and again. "Sometimes I really wish I hadn't." The girl muttered under her breath as she shyly waved back. A ping of guilt hung over her heart, and she figured she should sleep it off before it got stronger as a sense of fatigue slowly washed over her.

Not a lot of time has really passed since she got here, but the amount of work she's had to do over the past week wore her out. Now seemed like a good chance to catch up on some shut eye before the big day.

---

She had a good night's sleep for once, as good as one could be on the front lines that is. Most of the fatigue had disappeared and she felt lighter than usual. She picked up all of her usual gear, making sure everything's in good condition before she set out on another mission. Wouldn't want to make the same mistake she did that one day with the other company. Almost cost someone else a finger.

It seems that she had been assigned to be a part of the assault force on a supposed headquarters that an officer was holding out in. The objective as she remembers was to simply take control and eliminate hostiles in the area. Doesn't sound like a fun time but the Darcsen doesn't really have much of a choice in the matter. "Oh well." With a shrug, she continued walking. While on her way to the meet up point, she had overheard that Jean and a few others were assigned to a different mission somewhere else. She had wanted to see them off but she was already running late and instead wished them luck in her thoughts. "I hope you all make it out safely."

Once there, Kalisa was looking around for the people she was going with. She hadn't remembered everyone's names that was assigned with her, but the girl hopes that seeing them in person here would jog some memories.

@LetMeDoStuff