withtheoldbreed | 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]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

d-day ✯ spam

spam;

spam;

spam;

spam;

spam;

spam;

spam;

spam;

spam;

spam;

spam;

spam;