- To Serve With Honor -
'Well, I'd say that that's a suitably vague and unhelpful note to leave off on,' Jaune noted with some small measure of pride as Professor Ozpin and Miss Goodwitch stared at him expectantly. He opted to offer a blank stare in return as he settled into a loose parade rest, feet spreading apart slightly as he held one hand in the other behind his back.
General Ironwood, in his rare moments of candidness - during which he managed to willfully forget or ignore Jaune's presence - was fond of ranting about the Beacon Headmaster's propensity for deliberate and cheerful obtuseness. 'I can see the appeal,' the Legionnaire grinned like a loon internally; the air of mystery and control almost helped him forget the nerves which threatened to reduce him to a babbling, apologetic mess.
He noticed that Miss Goodwitch looked to his left at Winter for elaboration; he needed only to watch the Deputy Headmistress's dry, half-hearted glare to know that his mentor remained just as stone-faced and silently obstinate.
Finally, Ozpin cleared his throat and raised his mug to his lips once more. "I assume that the two of you have already been briefed in regards to your roles here?"
"We will be cooperating with the Vale Police Department and any other relevant investigative services in the pursuit of determining the motives behind the recent Dust thefts in the city," Winter recited coolly. "Once the culprits have been identified, we will then be assisting in their apprehension, so as to stabilize the local economy and allow the normal Dust trade to resume."
Ozpin nodded along; when the elder Specialist stopped, however, he continued to look on expectantly. After several moments of confused silence, the Headmaster's lips curled upwards, and he chuckled quietly.
"It seems that there was a failure of communication on James's end. You will also have your secondary assignments: This is the condition by which you will be allowed to remain at and operate from Beacon during your investigation." Glynda sent the man a sideways glance.
Jaune felt the latent knot of anxiety in his stomach double in size, and coil even tighter. "What exactly would these assignments entail, sir?" he rasped from the combination of healing vocal cords and a suddenly dry throat.
"You both will be assisting the staff of Beacon in regular instruction during the coming semester," Ozpin declared with a decidedly unsympathetic smile as Jaune choked on thin air. "Miss Schnee will provide introductory political science lectures each week, to supplement the material taught by our resident historian, Doctor Bartholomew Oobleck; while you, Mister Arc, will be expected to sit in on standard first-year courses as a Teacher's Assistant, rotating to whichever instructors have greatest need of your services at a given time."
Winter was more controlled in her astonishment, restraining herself to a sharp wince. "Professor, are you sure that there has not been some misunderstanding…?" she trailed off weakly, and wilted when even the implacable Miss Goodwitch smirked back in amusement.
"Quite certain I'm afraid, Miss Schnee," Ozpin replied cheerily. "James was very clear in assuring me that I was free and in fact encouraged to put both of your talents and experience to good use amongst my faculty and staff. I feel I must also note that, should your investigation conclude early, you will still be required to remain until the end of the marking period in your respective capacities, as per this arrangement."
Jaune was finally able to settle his racing heart and end his pantomime of a drowning statue long enough to shoot Winter a panicked glance. She caught onto his concern immediately, and schooled herself before turning back to address Ozpin. "Professor, with all due respect... While I am aware of my own qualifications for the assignment, having lectured at Atlas Academy on several occasions; I doubt that the same holds true for my colleague."
"Do you truly believe that, Miss Schnee?" the Headmaster asked dryly as he leaned back in his chair.
"My personal belief in the matter is not the issue, sir," Winter replied evenly, standing tall and meeting the man's gaze.
"You need not be concerned, Winter," Miss Goodwitch took a short step forward, one eye flicking over a stream of information crossing the screen of a Scroll tablet as she watched him with and spoke, "Mister Am- Arc. Your service record indicates that, prior to your nomination and enrollment in the Specialist Program, you were on the fast track for a squad-level command in the Sixty-Third Foreign Quick Reaction Regiment." She cradled the device in the crook of her arm and swiped a finger across the screen. "Reports from your superiors note your propensity for acclimating fresh recruits and replacements to their rank and station within a squad and section; as well as your tactical acumen in taking charge of small units for spontaneous and often life-saving maneuvers in unorthodox combat situations. Along with these notes are several accolades and informal commendations for courage and honorable service."
"I see no issue with allowing the presence of such a decorated young veteran in our midst," Ozpin concluded, looking between the two Specialists with an innocent smile.
"The issue is that none of that is connected to Jaune Arc," Jaune himself stepped forward and rumbled weakly. "That service record in your hands is for Corporal Jonathan Amsel."
Miss Goodwitch frowned in confusion at that. "Vale's records can be legally amended-"
"No." Both Beacon administrators started slightly at the vehement denial. "I don't want my service in Atlas to be tied back to my… my family's name."
Ozpin's brows furrowed. "Might I inquire as to why?"
Jaune sighed, his entire body uncoiling in a single long breath. "I just… Taking off for Atlas after I was turned away was an impulsive and stupid move. I've made mistakes in my service; but I was fortunate enough to have taken some good advice when I enlisted in giving up my family name. This way, I still have the opportunity to start from where I left off once my enlistment ends."
The Headmaster contemplated this for a moment, and nodded faintly. "Well, why not get a head start on carrying on?" he offered with a gesture of his hand and a small smile. Jaune quirked a brow.
"I'm not sure that I follow," the younger man admitted.
"When you go out into Vale to carry on with your investigation, you might consider doing so under your given name," Glynda caught onto Ozpin's scheme and elaborated. "Your family's name is, if not particularly well-known, at least more familiar to the kingdom than your Mantlese name. Working as such allows the local police and investigators to save face by having another Valean citizen on the case, as opposed to an Atlesian soldier; it also allows you, personally, to begin cultivating a proper professional reputation now, as opposed to waiting another four years."
Jaune spared a glance to Winter; his mentor's expression was oddly neutral, though she did offer a tiny twitch of her lips that must've been an attempt at reassurance. "It makes good sense," she said quietly with a weak shrug. He frowned at her uncertainty and looked back to Ozpin.
"If I'm not participating as a Specialist, then what authority would I even have to take part in the investigation?"
"Beacon's, of course," Ozpin leaned forward with a gleam in his eye. "You were previously unqualified for admission; however, after a period of independent study abroad, you've returned to us to fulfill a personal request of mine. When the investigation eventually comes to a close, your contributions will of course be formally noted, and - should you choose to take up your old torch once your service has concluded - you will be invited to return to Beacon one day for examinations to determine your qualifications for the title of Huntsman."
It was too good to be true, Jaune admitted behind a vacant and glassy gaze. There was a caveat - some hidden condition or contract or obligation that would leave him subservient to the Headmaster for the rest of his days. Ozpin had someone waiting in the wings to poach him or make him disappear in the midst of the investigation, and he would be trapped into secretive errands to further Beacon's agenda until he was no longer fit to serve.
But what if it was actually his way out? Karma worked both ways, didn't it? He'd ended lives, sure; but he'd also saved scores more, Legionnaires and civilians alike - the odds had to be weighted in favor of his salvation.
It all came back to a conversation with Chief Sergeant Hoess in the perpetual winter of the Ammer Saddle - an eternity in the past, it felt now, but actually only a little more than a year ago.
'Maybe this really is my boon,' he considered timidly. 'After all… This isn't Atlas.'
"I think I understand, sir," Jaune finally spoke haltingly, taking a step back in acquiescence.
Had he turned to look at his mentor at that moment, he would have noticed the pain that flashed across Winter's face; all the same, by the time he did look, she had schooled her features into neutrality.
"Excellent," Ozpin clasped his hands together with a nod of satisfaction. "Then you will participate in the investigation as Jaune Arc, and assist in instruction here as Specialist Jonathan Amsel - I suggest you puzzle out some means of effectively distinguishing the two.
"And now that we are all in understanding - I'm sure that you're both quite tired from your journey. The location of your quarters, along with further details on your lodging arrangements, have been forwarded to your Scrolls." Like clockwork, the devices resting at either Specialist's hip flashed twice. "Mister Arc; while I'm sure we can have confidence in Miss Schnee's battlefield medicine, you are more than welcome to pay a visit to our infirmary for a second opinion, and perhaps something to speed along your recovery."
"Thank you, Professor," Jaune hesitated for a breath before adding, "... For everything."
"Identifying and cultivating youthful talent is my vocation," Ozpin waved a hand, "I would be remiss not to offer you another opportunity after the lengths that you've gone to in pursuit of your ambitions."
"The Chief of the Vale Police Department will be here tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred hours," Glynda added sharply. "We would appreciate having one or both of you in attendance while we finalize the details behind our collective collaboration in the investigation."
"We will be present," Winter nodded before turning on her heel and striding towards the elevator. Jaune offered one last tentative smile to the Beacon administrators before mimicking the maneuver and following.
A few moments after the elevator doors had closed, Glynda finally released a breath and looked to Ozpin, eyeing the Headmaster intensely as she contemplated her next words.
"I don't like this," she finally said. "I don't like that you kept this from me, and I don't like the idea of him interacting with students in combat scenarios."
"Just so we're on the same page - for what reason, exactly?"
"He's a headcase," Glynda replied bluntly. "As his combat effectiveness increased over time, so too did the number of referrals from his field officers for him to undergo psychiatric evaluation. Which, of course, never happened, since Atlas sees no reason to spare expensive mental health care on disposable soldiers. Not to mention the fact I have only now been made aware of the potential for a personal identity crisis; there's just no telling what might set him off."
"Assuming that he is significantly affected by post-traumatic stress in the first place, or that he is prone to lash out under such stress," Ozpin pointed out mildly.
"We have no records to predict an outcome either way; which is why he will submit to psychiatric evaluation by a Beacon staff member prior to being permitted to assume his role here."
"You'll have to talk that one past Miss Schnee, first."
"He will submit, or neither of them will be permitted to reside at Beacon, and they will fail their assignment and instead submit to punishment from James."
Ozpin folded his hands in front of his face and met the unyielding stare of his lieutenant. Finally, he closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. "I leave the logistics of the matter to you, then."
"I would expect nothing less," Glynda replied with a half-hearted roll of her eyes.
"I get the feeling that you're mad at me."
Winter continued to stare unwaveringly at the inside of the elevator doors.
"Actually, is it really me? Or is it Ironwood? Maybe Ozpin," he continued to verbally prod, apparently undaunted by the chilly treatment. "Am I getting warmer?"
"..."
"Is it about the fact that we're sharing a room?"
"Jack," she finally bit out tersely.
"Yes, ma'am?" he replied conversationally.
"Cut that out and explain to me what just happened."
Jaune's brave face finally broke down, and he slumped back against the wall and massaged his throat. "... I panicked," he wheezed. "I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and I ran straight for it without thinking. I'm sorry."
"This is exactly what the General warned us about, Jaune," Winter sighed, massaging her temples. "Ozpin just… Propositioned you, right in front of me, and you folded. Our position here has been compromised, because he now has power over you, and will leverage it at every opportunity until we might as well be reporting to him instead."
"Now hold on!" he protested, "I haven't agreed to anything! He made a recommendation, and I can still decline and stick this whole thing out as I am!"
"Don't be naive," the older woman hissed, snapping around to face him. "He's no doubt already passing this information onto every relevant authority in Beacon and Vale - reneging would only serve to complicate our mission and further jeopardize what little authority we have here, particularly now that they know that we've been consigned here by General Ironwood!"
Jaune stared fearfully in silence as his mentor seethed; she glared back, her teeth bared and her lips twisted into a frustrated snarl. It melted away, eventually, and he felt a twinge as her eyes softened into something far worse: Disappointment.
"I thought we had a deal, Jaune," she said tersely. "But you seem to have conveniently forgotten that in the presence of a better offer. Perhaps there is a reason why my father may like you after all." The panel above the doors chimed, and Winter's walls rose until the stony visage of Specialist Schnee returned in her place. She turned away and stepped out of the elevator at the floor for their quarters, departing without another word.
Jaune remained in place, folded against the back of the car; the door remained open until he reached out and jabbed the button for the ground floor.
The doors slid shut, and the deceptively thin-looking brushed metal of the wall took the full force of a Legionnaire's rage in stride - he felt the Aura gathered about his fist shatter pathetically on impact, and all he earned for his troubles was a harsh ache in his knuckles that would undoubtedly bruise and then fade in the next few hours.
'When am I finally going to stop fucking up?' he pondered with a hefty sigh, straightening up and running a hand over his close-cut black-dyed hair. He raised his Scroll in the other and contemplated the pair of dull cobalt eyes staring back at him.
'When am I finally going to stop being everyone else's pawn?'
-To Serve With Honor-
L2C Jonathan Amsel
Sixteen Months Ago
Firebase Omega - Ammer Saddle - Mantle Interior
There was something profound about just how cold it was in the Ammer Saddle.
Atlas, with its numerous environmental control modules integrated into the city's base plates and surrounding mountainsides, was pretty chilly most of the time.
The areas beneath the plates, along with every other part of Mantle - from the coasts, to the ruined cities and settlements, to the barren wastes and Grimmlands - was nearly always really cold.
The Ammer Saddle - the northern valley which constituted the largest point of flat overland passage between the naturally-isolated Kingdom of Atlas, and the rest of the "forgotten" lands of the former Kingdom of Mantle - could at the best of times be described as unnaturally, blood-numbingly, stupidly fucking cold.
The Saddle was where Legionnaires were consigned to stare into blizzards for months on end, praying each and every day not to find a horde of Polar Ursai and Tundra Beowolves staring back at them.
Under Atlesian law, attempting to enter or exit Atlas over the mountains or through the Ammer Saddle was entirely illegal, and punishable by summary execution carried out by the arresting authority. This meant that the only legal method of entering Atlas was by train or airship, which allowed government and military officials to freely scrutinize and keep tally of each and every person to enter and leave the kingdom, ensuring that undocumented or overstayed visitors could be tracked down by the military's Special Task Force, and subsequently either tried and sentenced, or swiftly deported and blacklisted.
Consequently, the Ammer Saddle was designated at its north end as a free-fire zone - any organic or sentient life identified north of the installation was to be immediately fired upon until definitively and permanently dead. And finally, the fortifications constructed within the Saddle by the Atlas military were to be manned solely by personnel from the Atlas Foreign Legion, with the exception of a pittance of commanding officers from the regular military for supervision.
For the said officers, the posting was tantamount to exile.
For Legionnaires, it was considered a rite of passage - and also one of, if not the single shittiest garrison posting in all of Mantle.
The wind was a reminder of their collective station; because regardless of rank, age, nationality or crimes, every soul in the Ammer Saddle garrison resided in the same frozen hell.
Legionnaire Second Class Jonathan Amsel - also known at different times in his life as Jaune Arc - contemplated all of this from his watch post, rifle clutched in deadened fingers, and asked himself for the eighth time since arriving if taking up smoking would be enough to de-ice his blood and innards.
"Hey, Chief," he muttered into his helmet's proximity comms, "Does smoking help out here at all?"
"Not one bit, kid," Chief Sergeant Hoess drawled back from half a meter to his right, his linear rifle slung over one shoulder as he scanned the blizzard in front of them through an infrared visor. "It's expensive, it kills you faster, and any sniper worth his salt can pick out the cherry at two clicks when you light up."
"Is that why you smoke?"
"Damn straight." The Chief shifted the cigarette in his mouth from one side to the other.
Jaune huffed in annoyance, watching as the air departed from his mouth, froze instantly, and fluttered back onto his lips as tiny frost crystals. He growled silently in annoyance, tried in vain to brush it away with the back of his glove - which was also frosted over - and settled for tugging his ice-stiffened scarf back over the lower half of his face.
It was three months since he had completed the Legion's Basic Military Training, after which he had been assigned to the Sixty-Third Foreign Airmobile Regiment. He'd spent his first two and a half months operating with his new platoon from a Forward Operating Base on the edge of the city of Asteria, one of the few cities of Old Mantle to officially "survive" the Great War and the subsequent shift of power and population from Mantle to Atlas.
Then, after ten weeks of patrolling ruins and being shot at by human and Faunus insurgents, his section had been informed that they would be rotating out to the Ammer Saddle installation - but first, he and and half a dozen other men from Third Section had been sent back to Ramstein, and subjected to a two-week crash course in Combat Engineering, focused specifically on using, defusing, and destroying Atlesian and improvised explosive devices like those encountered almost daily in contested area like the Asteria Restricted Zones.
And so, after spending two weeks playing with high explosives, he and his comrades had finally been sent out to rejoin their section at Firebase Omega. They'd been somewhat surprised to find that their section's Chief Sergeant had been pulled from duty on medical, and been replaced by Jaune's own recruiter, Aaron Hoess.
They had also been introduced to their new daily ritual: Eight hours on, split into two four-hour shifts of patrols and static watch on the fortifications; and the rest of the day off, huddled in circles in whatever free space was available in the barracks or chow hall, freezing their asses off and bitching about the weather, their Atlesian officers, and life in general.
Jaune could honestly say that he would rather be getting shot at in Asteria. He'd been here for three days, and the positions had engaged a whopping two Beowolves - both of which had been dispatched in a few shots by snipers from the watch at Firebase Alpha. The rest of the time had been spent staring into whiteouts, trudging through blizzards, playing cards and fighting the temptation to pick up a drinking habit - and freezing his balls off.
"Chief Sergeant?" he called over proximity comms.
"Speak, son," the human mountain rumbled back.
"What are we even doing here?"
"Border security," the Chief replied flatly - he'd probably heard the same question a thousand times over his career. "This is the largest geographical point of entry between Old Mantle and the Kingdom of Atlas, which also happens to be unsuitable for conventional methods of transportation due to the lovely weather that we get to enjoy," his gloves crackled as he pulled a hand off of the stock of his rifle to sweep it across the white tempest in front of them.
"Because Atlas doesn't want anything to do with it, they built two bases and a fuck-ton of dragon's teeth, and stuck a thousand Legionnaires out here to keep out the Grimm, as well as other undesirable personages."
'Like us,' Jaune tacked on with a mental snort of derision. "Does it really take this many Legionnaires to stop a few Grimm and trespassers, though?"
"The largest migration of Grimm to ever enter the Ammer Saddle was twenty years ago, during the Conciliar Succession Crisis," the Chief grunted. "The people in Atlas got a bit unsettled when thousands of soldiers took to the city streets and pointed guns at each other because a Councilman didn't want to step down; and before anyone knew it, over two thousand Grimm of all shapes and sizes flooded into the mouth of the Saddle, overran the garrison of a hundred Legionnaires within minutes through sheer momentum, and didn't stop until every Hunter in Atlas, including the entire student body of the Atlas Academy, turned out and stopped the horde within five clicks of the city, taking massive casualties in the process.
"It's how General Ironwood kick-started his military career, actually," he added off-handedly, still staring out into the storm. "Huntsman certification and a fresh officer's commission in hand, he took his forty troopers out of their positions in the city and reinforced the Hunters' defenses. Lost over half of his men, but single-handed slaughtered close to a hundred Grimm; walked away with two promotions, a bunch of medals, and a lot of influence in the political scene as the regular military's posterboy."
"Sounds like a real hero of the people," Jaune muttered absently.
The Chief's mouth beneath the edge of his faceplate twisted into a thin, bitter line. "He won a lot of brownie points with the army's High Command for being one of the first to publicly blame the Legion for the failed defense of the Saddle. He conveniently failed to note that all Legion deployments are ordered by the regular army. And from that day on, Captain James Ironwood had the ears of every career General in the military."
And suddenly, in the increasingly perverse context of Atlas, it all made sense.
'How am I going to get out of here?' the wayward son of Arc thought dejectedly.
He had no hope of reaching his dream in a system as twisted and utterly wrong as this one. The only hope for success in Atlas was being born Atlesian. The bastion of strength and security that General Ironwood flaunted for the rest of Remnant was built on countless bodies, cutthroat politics, and a culture of racism and martyrdom. And he'd gone and volunteered - with a smile on his face - to become yet another faceless martyr.
The Chief must've guessed at the unsettled nature of his silence, because the close comms crackled again. "You a man of faith, son?"
The unanticipated and distinctly personal question startled Jaune from his malaise, and his entire train of thought quickly rerouting to contemplate it. "I was under the impression that we were discouraged from practicing religion," he replied nervously.
"Publicly punishing and humiliating recruits for expressing belief in something besides our Code of Honor goes a little beyond 'discouragement,'" the Chief stated frankly. "Besides, that's not what I asked."
Silence fell for some time as Jaune honestly considered the question. The Chief wasn't a rat - he had even less love for the more blatantly oppressive regulations than most.
Besides which, now that he thought about it, he truly couldn't claim a connection to, or even a regular contemplation of faith. There were a few out-of-the-way temples and sanctuaries back home where different small groups would worship based on religions from the cultural melting pot of Mistral, or the somewhat archaic practices found amongst the nomadic tribes of the Vacuan deserts; but the Kingdom of Vale itself was largely devoid of organized religion.
Instead, it seemed that every family had a set of values tied to a specific vocation. Families that traditionally hunted game or gathered from the great forests of the kingdom practiced reverence and respect for the flora and fauna; likewise, farmers prayed and left small offerings for a variety of different spirits or ancient deities representing bountiful harvest and the wind and rain.
The Arcs were historically generals and heroes, and so upheld a set of moral values akin to chivalry; but his father, adamant that none of his own children would become fighters or soldiers, never imparted much in the way of a warrior's code.
So, if there was anything Jaune could say that he had faith in in his service, it was the Legionnaire's Code of Honor. And even that had become increasingly marred in the face of what reality and Atlas expected him to do to his fellow man.
"I can't really claim to be faithful, Chief," he finally confessed despondently. He really wasn't much better than the mindless cog that he was expected to be.
"You want some advice then, son?"
"Not much better to do out here than listen, Chief."
"Smartass," Hoess chuffed, shaking the legs out one at a time and twisting to lean on the sill of the post's eastern observation port. "Take a look at your life right now."
"Already don't like where this is going," Jaune snorted. Hoess reached across the space and cuffed him across the back of his helmet.
"Can the snark and listen, kid," the older Legionnaire gestured at him with a sharp knife-hand; Jaune flinched instinctively and clamped his mouth shut. "Look at where you're at. Think about all of the reasons that you're here - who and what got you here, and what all is keeping you here. Think about everything that's got you down and dissatisfied with you life."
He still didn't like where this is going.
"And throw all'a that shit away." Jaune's head jerked around to stare at the Chief incredulously from behind his opaque faceplate. "You heard me. Take it and shit-can every bit of it, and think about what you have that keeps you going. Think about the good that you've done and that you've found since you got here, no matter how weak or relative it might seem right now."
He had his squad, he admitted. His section, in fact; not to mention the few friends that he earned and fought for in Basic. The men that he fought and bled with, that killed so he might live, and - he shuddered faintly - vice-versa.
"Now shelve that for a minute, and think about the future. Where you want to be one day when this shit is over and done. Paint the sweetest damned picture that you can possibly imagine - pretty wife, bunch of cute kids, big house in the woods, loved and revered by everybody around you. The whole nine yards."
He still wanted to protect people. He wanted to know that his training and years of service wouldn't be wasted; that he could still stand to atone for his crimes. He wanted to carry on his lineage and be someone worthy of respect and admiration.
"And then put that one up a nice high shelf where you can see it, take the other stuff that you can be proud of down and put it on the bottom shelf, and focus on filling the space in between until it's all put together." Hoess glanced back out into the distance and took a drag of his cigarette, puffing the smoke out into the howling wind.
"I've seen and done some fucked-up shit, kid," the older man spoke candidly. "And I'm gonna do more of it, and you're going to as well, before we get out of here. But everything I've done, I did for others. My family, stuck waiting for me all of these years in a ramshackle house in a Mantle village, living off my salary. My brothers that I've fought with - the ones that I bled and killed with, the ones that are still alive, and the ones who've gone before their time. My boys - all of you kids stuck here with me that I keep fighting for."
He snuffed out the dwindling cigarette on the windowsill, and flicked the remnants outside, placing the hand back on the stock of his rifle and resuming his vigil over the unseen landscape. But he also reached down to his wrist, and disabled the proximity comms; after a moment of hesitation, Jaune did the same.
"Faith is all I've got left, son," the weary old Sergeant spoke into the wind. "But my faith says that, for all of the good I've done, I'm due for my boon someday. I could be dead wrong, and all that's waiting on the other end is a bullet and a shallow grave; but I believe that I'll have my justice, someday, somehow." He turned his head and retracted the faceplate around his eyes to fix Jaune with a resolute emerald stare.
"You've got something good coming your way someday, Jaune; you've just gotta have enough hope left in your soul to keep looking out for it."
End Chapter 1
Author's Note: Welcome back, everybody.
So, a bit more on what to expect: Multiple unreliable narrators interacting in a perpetual cycle of dramatic tension; multiple factions working towards converging and yet distinctively disparate ends; trauma, drinking, intrigue, infrequent partial nudity, deceit, occasional bouts of profuse casual swearing... And original characters. Mostly Mantlese and Atlesian, particularly since we only have a handful of canonical Atlas characters; but a number associated with parties in Vale and abroad, as well. Not too many in prominent roles, but if they appear, they will either be recurring names, or tied to significant events in one or more characters' histories. Chief Sergeant Aaron Hoess is of course one of the examples of prominent recurring OCs.
Flashbacks to Jaune's service days in Mantle/Atlas will be sporadic. Several might appear within consecutive chapters, or there could be none for an entire story arc; ultimately, they are a device to be applied where they are most effective.
As a writer, I am either very show, or very tell. In the past, I have primarily abided by a "tell" mentality; this work, however, will lean more towards a "show" approach, placing emphasis on body language and actions, which are in turn interpreted by a given narrator to discern emotions. Sometime's they'll get it right, and sometimes they won't; and other times, I'll kind of take the reigns and walk through the scene from behind the narrator character for the sake of storytelling clarity.
Overall, as a rule of thumb, I would suggest paying attention to how the characters' preconceptions color their interactions, and how these conceptions change over time. Everyone has a reputation, even if by all indications they've done nothing more to earn it than exist in a given space. Such is the nature of stigma - a fact of life associated with interacting between cultures.
Finally, in regards to a release schedule: I truly wish that I could offer promises for consistent and timely updates. But alas, my studies naturally take priority; though my writing is my balance, and comes in a close second. This is probably the quickest consecutive release that will occur for the story, and Chapter 2 can probably be expected in the next 1-2 weeks. I make a general practice of releasing a chapter only when the one to follow it is mostly complete, to minimize turnaround while still allowing time to process and potentially implement feedback.
What I can promise is that I will not release a chapter until I have done my level-best to ensure the highest possible quality of work, and have run it past at least one other person for basic readability and quality control. I absolutely abhor putting out any work that I can't claim to be content with, at the very least; I also hate going back through and having to edit published chapters for major mistakes, because then alerts are sent out and it becomes confusing and annoying for everyone. That being said, if someone points out a glaring flaw, I will fix it as soon as possible, and make note of the revision. Much as I am loathe to accept them, mistakes are a part of learning, and I will own my mistakes and endeavor to learn from them.
I'd like to thank everyone for showing their support and offering feedback on this concept, and I look forward to bringing you more of Jaune's story.
-Knightmare Frame Razgriz