Jeep Wrangler

The Calling ~ Persona 5-esc RP

Interested; or may not have an old Emperor I might want to use. Either that or a new Moon possibly, maybe something more.

@Savo

Great! Join through the discord link listed earlier!

The Calling ~ Persona 5-esc RP

@Ammokkx Here's the Discord invite for you!

The Calling ~ Persona 5-esc RP

Oh I love persona. I just might, keep me in the loop.

@Ammokkx

Will do! When we get a few more I'll be creating a channel on my discord server later today to act as our more frequent OOC.

The Calling ~ Persona 5-esc RP

Tag, even though we were already talking lmao

@Smike

Welcome, boyo!

The Calling ~ Persona 5-esc RP

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_{Enter the Metaverse}

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A concept of Cognitive Metaphysical existence? To many, that sounds like absolute rubbish or a jumble of words, whereas to those who go beyond the veils of reality, its quite a common subject. Welcome to 'The Calling', an RP inspired by Persona 5 and adapted to fit under a more-narrative based RP experience here! Here, I plan on embarking on a new tale completely built from the basic premises of the aforementioned universe, this time set on the unfamiliar streets of London, England. Completed with a new cast of characters, events and possibilities for a story, as well as a new system for how battles and palace invasions work, I'm hoping I can bring something to life with the help of a group who are interested in the concept itself. As a note, I don't really expect anyone who joins to have played or even really understand what Persona is as a sort of concept, as that can be explained rather solidly by others and the community who gets involved with this project. The story itself will be kept a bit of a surprise for now until interest is garnered, but with an array of distorted hearts, strange mysteries within the Metaverse and an array of characters we can introduce to our very own rendition of Thieves of Hearts we can hopefully deliver a great narrative that blends character depth and strange supernatural occurrences from within the series itself. However, if you are willing to give your interest, I'll explain some basic plot elements and changes to how the RP will run so you can grasp and direct your questions more easily:

The RP itself will have no canonical connection to the game so we're free to exploit and play around with certain laws of the universe as we see fit. Whilst I don't plan on changing far too much to how the metaverse works, I'll be glad to work alongside everyone in making it more interesting and adaptable for those taking part. Equally, the combat system itself will have changed. I will not be implementing a dice-rolling or RNG system for the regular turn-based strategy seen in the game and will instead take it as a more cinematic approach to enemies, where you have the freedom of movement and creativity with how you, your tools and your persona are used. Shadows of your own, as well as your own personas, will be able to be created for specific scenarios and all of that jazz. Within combat, you'd still have your regular physical style attacks, ranged/gun style attacks and skill sets, however I plan on segmenting the sort of 'elements' out into different directions. This would mean that one person may specialise far better in, say, Nuclear attacks than another who uses Fire. These will be covered more as to their variations, changes and differences once the OOC is set up and the interest is there. Equally, I plan for palace invasions to work with a bit of freedom, where characters can separately, or together, explore different parts and encounter different foes to one another, choosing whether or not they succeed in bypassing further into the metaverse's depths.

On top of all of this, a large emphasis on character narratives will be encouraged. Developments, relationships, rivalries and different reactions that you and the story puts them in will be key to creating a more lively atmosphere and potentially engaging style. Traits and personalities will be highly looked forward to on my end as a diverse and flashy cast of characters will be adored from my own personal perspective. Once again, the character sheet itself will go up around the time the OOC does, so it keeps it all well organised. On top of this, the RP will not only focus on the metaverse shenanigans, as just as important is the lives of the regular people behind those masks. Planning next moves, simply hanging out, things at school and all the regular antics of a student can be explored and used for characters to prepare for the traversal into the metaverse. As well, I do want to implement a win-fail system where certain contracts and targets may not entirely be defeated or beaten in the ways expected for a happy ending, adding a level of consequences to the actions you make as a player.

Honestly, I would love to talk more and more about the topic at hand but I'm first waiting to see if any major interest or minor interest garners from the suggestion. If you have any questions or would like to drop your interest below, just go ahead and tag me in it. Thanks for reading this, and let's hope we can start up a new expansive story as Thieves of Hearts!

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 26th - White feathers and Black birds}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 26th - The Plot}

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

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

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

_{@Conscripts@FalloutJack}

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 26th - T'was a long way to go...}

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

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_{The Siege of Amone, September 26th - Girls, oh what lovely girls...}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_{@Conscripts@FalloutJack@CFProxy}

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

---

_{The Siege of Amone, September 26th - The Talks}

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_{@Conscripts@Landaus Five-One}

~ Valkyria Chronicles - Changing of the Guard ~

---

_{The Siege of Amone, September 26th - A Conversation that was needed}

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Previous relationships?"

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

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