withtheoldbreed | d-day ✯ spam

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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]

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[Helena, of course, recognises his face as Dillon's. The thing is, she also recognises the rifle and the uniform as one she's seen pictures of in books about World War II (she tried to find out more about Bucky's war after he'd first told her about it, explained about it and, although she's not exactly a scholar, she has learned a little). She's used to the idea of Barge twins by now - not that people sharing a face sits entirely comfortably with her - and she knows this isn't Dillon.

She sidles up and regards him from under the furred hood of her cold-weather military jacket, hands stuck in her pockets. (There's a silence before she actually speaks that he might recognise as not so different from the pause that usually comes before Snafu talks.)]

Who are you?

Edited 2014-11-15 02:45 (UTC)

[Her accent's different, and not quite one he recognizes, and he's not really sure what to make of her almost scrutinizing him before saying anything.

But yeah, it does kind of remind him of Snaf. God, he's been here for barely half a day, and he already misses the other guys of K/3/5 like he's missing a limb.]

Private Eugene Sledge, ma'am. United States Marine Corps. [There's a slight beat of hesitation, like he's still thinking this over a little.] I'm a warden here.

I'm not. [She smiles as she says it, a little, eyes fixed on him. She tips her head back a little, lifting her chin, and one of her hands dances out of her pocket to tap fingers at the corner of her mouth.]

Do you feel out of place?

[Anachronistic, she thinks, remembering Will explaining the word to her.]

[Yes, he thinks immediately, because he does. He's filthy, and she's not, her clothes are different and unusual, and he's without his friends. That's really the hardest part, and the biggest way he feels like he's sticking out like a sore thumb.

It'd be easier if he had some of the guys from K/3/5 around with him, or even just guys he went to boot camp with, or even just other marines, but he hasn't seen anyone. Hasn't really seen anyone wearing anything close to the uniforms that've been a part of practically every waking moment of every single day for three years.

Gene doesn't wind up saying any of that, and though he sort of tries to smile, he doesn't quite get there.]

It's a lot colder here.

Mm. [She doesn't say yes but it's definitely an agreement. It is cold and he doesn't look like he's outfitted for cold weather.]

Where were you, before?

[He's definitely not - for the first time in weeks, he's almost disappointed he's not wearing his t-shirt under his jacket, even if it wouldn't do much good. He does, however, put his helmet back on and swing his rifle over his shoulder so he can more easily wrap his arms around himself and try to conceal his shivering.]

Peleliu. [And because he's not sure anyone who wasn't there would know what the hell that is, he clarifies:] The Pacific.

[The name Peleliu really doesn't mean all that much to her: her scattered reading has been focused on Europe and the places Bucky had named. And it hasn't exactly been extensive, even so. She's aware of the war in the Pacific but it seems somewhat distant and unimportant to her in the way the war in Europe had been before she started to really care to know more about her warden. She doesn't actually say so, though. Instead, she doesn't really seem to acknowledge his answer much at all.

There's something that could almost be a hint of strange amusement in her tone when she asks her next question. The Admiral never tells his wardens enough.]

What year?

1944, [He answers immediately, sounding a little confused, like she should know the answer already. Obviously.] Why?

[It's sort of nice to know how things work (or to have more information than the person you're talking to) even if said things are the weird different timelines of the people on an intergalactic space prison. She tilts her head at him under the hood, her fingers trailing through the fur on its edge, and her voice is a little more sympathetic rather than just oddly amused.]

There aren't many people here from your time.

What's that supposed to mean? [And again, he sounds more confused than disbelieving, because he really doesn't know. Again, he can tell by her clothes that she's dressed strangely, but that's not necessarily enough of a signal that hey, you're really far behind the rest of us.]

It was 2013 when I died. [Simple and stated absolutely as fact.]

Edited 2014-11-15 07:34 (UTC)

[There's a small beat of hesitation, and then:]

You think you're from the future?

No. [There's no hesitation before that first word and she regards him frankly.] You come from the past.

That's impossible, [He starts to say, but then - like he's just remembering it - he glances back out at the stars. Maybe not impossible, then.

He still looks super confused, and more than a little disbelieving.]

[She didn't laugh before but she does now, just a low, momentary half-chuckle, and her smile is not exactly a nice one.]

You think so?

I would've, [He admits, looking between her and the stars again.

(That smile is definitely not reassuring.)] Is this... normal?

[For lack of a better word.]

[She looks up to the stars and shakes her head a little. It's not a no, more just an acknowledgement of this place being far from normal.]

You have lots of things to learn, here, pryvatnyy.

I can see that, ma'am.

[A lot more than he'd thought he'd need to. Jesus.]

[She could explain a little more of what he needs to learn. She could, but she won't. Instead, she says something that will probably just be more confusing, turning a slightly narrow-eyed gaze at him.]

There is a boy here. You have his face.

You mean he looks like me?

[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.)]

Like a twin.

[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.