E. B. Sledge (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withtheoldbreed) wrote2014-11-14 06:54 pm
withtheoldbreed) wrote2014-11-14 06:54 pm
d-day ✯ spam
[Open Spam for the Deck]
[It happens quickly. One minute, Gene's sitting in the rocky Peleliu hills, hearing Burgie's voice over and over in his head - Sniper got the Skipper, Ack Ack's dead - watching someone pull the wool blanket over the Skipper's head, and the next, he's here. Standing on the deck of a ship, looking out at a seemingly endless horizon of stars. He remembers the conversation, the promise that this could be fixed, a wrong could be righted, and he remembers agreeing, but he blinks, and suddenly, the hills, the crackle of gunfire, the solemn footsteps, his buddies are all gone.
He's alone. For the first time in well over a year, he's alone, and that hits him like a ton of bricks.
It's cold, is the next thing he realizes. At least, it's colder than the hundred and fifteen degree temperatures he's been forced to cope with for the last month, and he shivers involuntarily. He's still holding his helmet in one hand, his rifle in the other. His pack and sidearm and filthy fatigue green dungarees he's been wearing since they landed on that fucking beach have all come along too, along with the dirt and dried blood. Sometimes, it feels like he'd do anything for a shower, even a cold one with salt water.
He's filthy, exhausted, and he's staring out at an ocean of stars. Everything hurts - the scrapes and sores on his face, arms, feet, his feet in general, but his chest, too, even if that's a different kind of pain entirely - but for a moment, he's utterly distracted, staring. What is this? What kind of ship had he volunteered for?
For the hundredth time since he got on the LVT, Eugene Sledge wonders what the hell he was thinking when he volunteered for any of this.]
[ooc: multiples & fuzzy time are all welcomed. c8]
[It happens quickly. One minute, Gene's sitting in the rocky Peleliu hills, hearing Burgie's voice over and over in his head - Sniper got the Skipper, Ack Ack's dead - watching someone pull the wool blanket over the Skipper's head, and the next, he's here. Standing on the deck of a ship, looking out at a seemingly endless horizon of stars. He remembers the conversation, the promise that this could be fixed, a wrong could be righted, and he remembers agreeing, but he blinks, and suddenly, the hills, the crackle of gunfire, the solemn footsteps, his buddies are all gone.
He's alone. For the first time in well over a year, he's alone, and that hits him like a ton of bricks.
It's cold, is the next thing he realizes. At least, it's colder than the hundred and fifteen degree temperatures he's been forced to cope with for the last month, and he shivers involuntarily. He's still holding his helmet in one hand, his rifle in the other. His pack and sidearm and filthy fatigue green dungarees he's been wearing since they landed on that fucking beach have all come along too, along with the dirt and dried blood. Sometimes, it feels like he'd do anything for a shower, even a cold one with salt water.
He's filthy, exhausted, and he's staring out at an ocean of stars. Everything hurts - the scrapes and sores on his face, arms, feet, his feet in general, but his chest, too, even if that's a different kind of pain entirely - but for a moment, he's utterly distracted, staring. What is this? What kind of ship had he volunteered for?
For the hundredth time since he got on the LVT, Eugene Sledge wonders what the hell he was thinking when he volunteered for any of this.]
[ooc: multiples & fuzzy time are all welcomed. c8]
no subject
no subject
He still looks super confused, and more than a little disbelieving.]
no subject
You think so?
no subject
(That smile is definitely not reassuring.)] Is this... normal?
[For lack of a better word.]
no subject
You have lots of things to learn, here, pryvatnyy.
no subject
[A lot more than he'd thought he'd need to. Jesus.]
no subject
There is a boy here. You have his face.
no subject
[He's assuming she means they just look alike, not that he literally has his face. Or that they're twins.
(Or clones, but that's not really a concept he's even vaguely considering.)]
no subject
[Naturally, she's thinking clones too. She asks her next question - or her next demand - with a tilt of her head.]
Tell me about your family.
no subject
no subject
And your mother and father?
no subject
no subject
no subject