withtheoldbreed | d-day ✯ spam

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d-day ✯ spam

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[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]

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[Look, it could be a lot worse. Take his word for it.]

5-11. [He points, right down the hall. The door looks familiar.] Be right back.

Hey, cool, I'm 502.

[He hooks a thumb in the direction of his own door and shrugs with a little nod in the direction of Gene's room.]

I'll just hang out here.

[Gene nods and heads to his room, stopping in front of the door and-

Yeah, it's definitely familiar.

He unlocks the door sort of hesitantly and steps inside, staring at his bedroom. His bedroom from home, which he hasn't seen in well over a year by now, maybe closer to two, and he hesitates in the hallway for a long moment before slowly stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

It's like walking into a memory, and he suddenly feels very much like a ghost, a stranger in his own room. Like all of this belongs to someone else, and he's just a filthy, bloodied intruder, and for a long moment, all he can do is stand and stare.

So it takes a little longer than a second while he takes it all in, but then he spots his seabag tucked in a corner, complete with a spare, clean set of dungarees, a new t-shirt, socks, everything but his boondockers, so he puts them on and carefully folds up his tattered, worn set on the floor next to the bag. He'll have to see if he can wash them, or maybe they should just get thrown out.

And although there's a moment where he almost considers leaving his belt, rifle, and sidearm in here, but he steps back out into the hallway with all three, plus his helmet. Isaac's still waiting, and Gene does his best not to let on how badly shaken he's feeling, even though he knows it's probably not working.]

Deck One, you said? [The Navy slang comes out out of habit because, well. They're on a ship.]

[Okay, Gene still smells a bit like dirt and death and blood but the clothes are a big improvement. Unfortunately, the way his heart's beating and his breath is a little uneven - while not something someone without supernatural powers would notice, not to mention the odd emotional tang in his scent - are kind of a giveaway that something's up. It's weird. Isaac's always found his room kind of strangely soothing, being familiar.

... Then again, if his room had been his room from home, instead of his bedroom in Scott's house, maybe he would've been shaken too. So while he's definitely eyeing Gene the tiniest bit oddly, like he's trying to figure him out, he doesn't comment. Not yet, anyway. He just pushes himself forward from where he's been leaning against the wall and nods.]

Yeah. C'mon.

[He takes in Sledge's weaponry at a glance as he starts to lead the way upstairs.] You, uh-- probably aren't gonna need the helmet on the ship, you know.

[His feet still hurt thanks to the sores, even though they've been treated and bandaged and feel a hell of a lot better than they did, but he keeps up with Isaac without complaining. Gene doesn't quite meet his gaze when the other guy looks back at him, and he glances over his shoulder more than once, missing the feeling of having one of his buddies watching his back, even if he knows they're supposed to be safe here.

Safe enough.]

Feels strange, being without it, [He winds up admitting, not quite intentionally. It's the same reason he hadn't put his weapons away, even if he knows that's probably strange for people to see.]

[Isaac glances at Gene again as he says it and just shrugs with a little frown, but he doesn't try to tell him he should take it off or leave it behind or anything.]

So... where were you, dude? [He can guess nowhere good. And he also knows a little about military equipment, thanks to Camden and Bucky's boot camp, and he knows they're from before his time. He doesn't really think about whether or not someone else has explained the time difference thing.]

Uh. And when, I guess. I mean, those aren't modern guns.

I was on Peleliu. [Which he's definitely starting to realize might mean literally nothing to some of the people he's talking to. Probably most of them, unless the papers had been making a big deal out of it back home, and even then, he'd guess the average young adult back home where he's from couldn't tell you that much about what happened at some specific Civil War battle. The time difference is almost the same.

So Gene's expression is still definitely weary, and he's lonely too. He misses his buddies and he still doesn't really want to think about what happened to Ack Ack even if he can't forget about it, and this is hard, but he's got to push through it.]

It was October 12th, 1944. I know I'm pretty far behind.

[He says it just like a fact, because that's what it is. A fact. Complaining isn't going to change anything.

And, because it's probably only polite, he turns the question on Isaac.]

Where're you from?

[Peleliu pretty much means nothing to Isaac, unfortunately. Cam was the one interested in war and history, not him. But he does know the big dates, at least, so while the name doesn't get much of a reaction, the date makes him falter a little as they climb the stairs.]

Shit, World War Two.

[He says it over Gene's question, glancing at him with eyebrows raised. That explains pretty much everything, even if he doesn't actually know what it was really like. He knows enough to know that nowhere good was a pretty accurate assumption. He manages not to say something dumb like that's gotta suck and answers the question instead.]

Oh, uh-- Beacon Hills, California. In 2011. So, yeah, you're-- I mean, there's another guy from around then. He was in the army too, and he runs this boot camp? But you guys are kinda the minority.

I'm a marine, [He corrects automatically, because he might not hate the Army or anything, but he's a marine. There's a difference, and even despite how fucking awful everything feels and has felt, it's obvious Gene's proud of what he is. (And maybe a little annoyed to be mistaken for a doggie, even if his brother's one and Cap had been nice to him.)

But anyway, he nods. That's definitely what it's been sounding like, and he kind of just... Can't fathom that. He's barely been letting himself think of a future beyond the next fifteen minutes, let alone seventy years.]

That Captain Rogers or his friend?

[Mental notes: it's a rifle, not a gun; Gene's a Marine, not in the Army.]

His friend. His name's Bucky. Or Sergeant Barnes, I guess. He's kind of a hard-ass sometimes but he's cool. [This is all kind of said in a 'student explaining teachers to the new kid' tone, as they head up onto Level One and Isaac leads Gene towards the dining hall.]

Time stuff isn't the weirdest thing. At least we're from the same kind of world. ["Kind of." He's maybe not going to drop the werewolf bomb just yet.] There are people from different planets and stuff too.

[It's a tone Gene's familiar with, at least. Really familiar, and once again he catches himself thinking about stuff that happened and people they lost, and just- no. Stop. Bury it, deal with it later.

So the shift in topic is appreciated, even if it's still overwhelming in a completely different way. Science fiction isn't really his cup of tea, so the idea that there are aliens and other inhabited planets represented here is just strange, not even something he'd always really hoped for or something. He mostly looks confused, watching Isaac and the hallway.]

Do they speak English?

[Side note: he smells food, and it's distracting as hell.]

Yeah. Or-- [Look, Isaac used to be a bit of a nerd. He's never really thought about it before but he has some science fiction base to draw on.] I don't know, it could be some kind of perception filter thing where they're not talking English but we all hear it in English?

[Anyway, whatever the explanation, they're at the dining hall now and Isaac waves him in. Whatever the kitchen's serving smells pretty good today, huh?]

Here we are.

[Yeah, that's all kind of Greek to Gene, if only because that's just so far out of the realm of possibility from where he's from that it's just kind of impossible to really think yeah, that must be it. And maybe he'd have more questions about it, but then they're in the dining hall and his stomach rumbles painfully, reminding him it's been a long time since his last C-Ration and this smells so much better.

He knows he shouldn't overdo it - he's been eating shit for so long that eating much of anything complicated is probably going to make him sick as a dog - but his mouth's already watering, and he shifts sort of uneasily, like he wants to just bolt for the food but knows he should hold back a beat or two.]

This always what it's like?

[Isaac hears Gene's stomach rumble and he glances at him but otherwise doesn't hesitate as he leads the way over to the trays and plates, answering the question with a shrug as he goes.]

What, the dining hall? Yeah, pretty much. When we're not in crisis mode, anyhow.

What's it like in a crisis? [He asks, maybe a little bit warily, but he follows without further hesitation and takes a tray. He stays behind Isaac in an attempt to pace himself based on what the other guy does, but it's still hard to resist just dumping the entire tray of salad onto his plate. It feels like forever since he's seen a vegetable that isn't mushy, tasteless and totally unrecognizable.

Fresh bread, too, and he is absolutely getting two glasses of water no matter what else there is out there.]

It varies, but... Less people working in here and more food out of cans? [Still... probably better than what you're used to most of the time, though, bud.]

Um. You can take whatever you want, come back for seconds, whatever. If you ask nicely, the guys in the kitchen sometimes even take requests.

[Isaac stocks up his plate with... well, a lot of junk, honestly. He's a 21st century teen and he's going to eat a bunch of fried stuff with only a few fresh vegetables to be seen. It's not like he's trying to watch his diet to stay in shape for lacrosse - or that he would really even need to that much if he was considering the enhanced werewolf strength and all. Anyway, his plate is probably a dietician's nightmare by the time he's done and he's heading over to a nearby table.]

[Hey look, Gene's not judging. It's just a plate full of fried food is probably going to mean throwing up or otherwise getting violently ill, and let's just say he's not eager to do any impersonating Jay's sack race walk on his first day here.

Or ever, if he can manage that.

Gene follows, takes a seat, and has to stop himself from basically just descending on the tray of food. His hands are practically trembling, that's how bad it is, and he tries to keep it in check by just chewing what he does put in his mouth for a long time, like that'll help stop him from gorging himself. The meatloaf, the mashed potatoes, the salad, the bread, all of it tastes incredible, and he eats in silence with his eyes on the plate for a long several moments. So while he's not shoveling it in his mouth as fast as he can, he definitely kind of seems like someone who's been half starved.]

[When he sees how seriously Gene's digging into the food, Isaac just decides to let him go for it without trying to talk for a while. He tucks into his own fried mess and keeps quiet until Gene seems a tiny bit less desperately intent on his tray.]

So... I'm guessing whatever you were getting to eat before you got here wasn't all that great.

[Taking a break for a moment is probably a good thing anyway. Gene swallows and half smiles, maybe a little embarrassed. Maybe just feeling pretty weird, because he's starting to realize he must stick out like a sore thumb.]

C-Rations. Everything comes in a can.

[But he shrugs, because this might be something he would've complained about to one of his pals, but he's not going to give the impression that he's a whiner or that marines can't make the best out of a terrible situation.]

Better than nothing.

[Isaac's plate gets a little more of a curious glance now that he's less ravenously hungry (fractionally less, anyway), and Gene points with his fork at that pile of orange things stacked to the side of your fried stuff.

So, Cheetos.]

What are those?

Oh, dude, you've never had Cheetos?

[Here's something he's never thought about before: when exactly Cheetos were invented. He turns his plate a little so they're closer to Gene.]

You wanna try them?

[He doesn't say no, but the pile of Cheetos is still being regarded with curiosity rather than genuine desire at this point. He's just really not sure what they actually are.]

What are they?

They're like cheesy... puffed corn or something? I don't know, man. They're junk food.

[Okay, not necessarily a concept he's familiar with, but he is curious, and it doesn't sound like something that's going to make him sick if he just has one, so he takes one and pops it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully.]

Kinda salty.

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