d-day ✯ spam

[withtheoldbreed]

[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]

Comments

[americasdirtiest]

[Mickey's not good at immediately discriminating between facetwins yet, and his first assumption is that it's Dillon. A very dirty, bloody Dillon, for some reason, but Dillon all the same.]

Hey.

[It's exceedingly, cautiously neutral. The last time he and Dillon spoke, they had sort of come to a silent mutual accord, but he does not really want to tip his hand one way or the other right now.

Until he spots the rifle and his eyes brighten.]

Shit -- where's everyone getting their hands on all these M-fucking-ones? 'Zat from Barnes?

[withtheoldbreed]

[There's zero recognition in the familiar face, and Gene mostly just looks confused. He doesn't raise the rifle or move to pull it closer or anything - it's not like he assumes the guy's about to try and pull it away from him or something - but he doesn't get why he'd be surprised to see someone with one.

Hell, if he knows what an M1 is, wouldn't he already have one? Or is this poor guy still stuck with some rifle that hasn't seen action since the first war?]

Who's Barnes?

[The accent's all wrong for Dillon, unless he's suddenly decided to start talking like a character from Gone With the Wind.]

[americasdirtiest]

[Mickey doesn't know Dillon well enough to pick up the difference after just a couple of words. It sounds off, but he just cocks his head, then shrugs and waves a hand vaguely.]

Uh, you know. What's it. The-- Bucky. Or did you pick it up back in port?

[withtheoldbreed]

I just got here. [He wants to ask where they stopped last - feels like forever since he's been anywhere close to civilization, and if port here is like getting dumped on Pavuvu for weeks again, he is staying on the goddamn ship, thanks - but he's also a little eager to learn the ropes and who's who, even if it's frustrating to have to do it all over again with a new group of people.

This guy's clothes are kind of different, too, but not strange enough to register there being something really wrong. It's definitely strange to see so many people not wearing uniforms, though, after how much time he's spent in a world where that's basically your only option.]

Barnes passes out weapons?

[americasdirtiest]

Oh. [His brow furrows, but then the accent clicks.] Oh. Son of a--

[He shakes his head and rubs his brow. His clothes, it's true, really aren't all that outlandish from the perspective of Sledge's time -- they're workman's clothes, functional, nondescript -- but the writing across his knuckles is probably a... little more unusual.]

You got a twin running around, just FYI. And no. I wish.

[withtheoldbreed]

[The tattoos definitely get a confused, but still slightly dazed look before he focuses in on the other, perhaps more important part.]

Pretty sure I'd know if I had a twin.

[americasdirtiest]

And now you know. His name's Cole. Dillon.

[withtheoldbreed]

Where is he?

[He's totally asking it in a tone that implies he knows this is just some hazing thing, and will tolerate it for a little while if necessary, but no where near the long term.]

[americasdirtiest]

His room? Like fuck if I know, I'm not his babysitter.

[He's starting to pick up on the tone, and it's starting to annoy him a little. Of course, that's not hard to do. He puts his hands on his hips, eyeing Sledge over.]

Look-- you a warden or an inmate?

[withtheoldbreed]

Warden. What about you?

[The question's turned back to Mickey pretty non-judgmentally, even though he knows he probably shouldn't underestimate how bad the inmates here might be. Not that he knows much about what kind of person gets brought here, or why.]

[americasdirtiest]

Inmate. [Despite his demotion, and whatever feelings he might have about it, he says it in a perfectly matter-of-fact way. Honestly, he's pretty sure that to look at him, it makes way more sense anyway.]

You're gonna be a warden, man, you need to get way the fuck more up to speed, or some of these assholes are gonna eat your ass alive. Okay? Friendly advice from me to you.

[And because that's pretty much his quota for small talk or being friendly to strangers, he makes as if to go.]

[withtheoldbreed]

[Gene doesn't try to stop him, and while there's a prickle of... something working its way through him and passing by without much thought, the comment isn't really taken in a bad way. It's not the first time someone's said something obnoxious to him. Not by a long shot, and it's also not the worst thing he's ever heard someone say or imply about how capable he is of something, so he doesn't get all hot and bothered and offended.

Except this guy probably isn't another marine, and so it irrationally does grate on him a little.]

Thanks.