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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[Iris is on her way back from testing out the new Enclosure with her dogs when she sees him. Her first thought is Dillon?

But she's gotten close to Dillon, and although the man shares Dillon's topology, it's clearly not him: the body language, the facial expression, the clothes are different and the dogs are earpricking in their alertly friendly Stranger?? mode.

She keeps them closely at heel and goes to investigate the newcomer.]

Evening, my love. Quite a view, isn't it?

[Steve is just coming down from checking out the new "room" that appears to have taken the place of both the CTS and CES; naturally, he's in uniform, with the shield strapped to his back, but he's pulling the helmet off as he heads down to the deck - it wasn't really necessary, but he'd figured (for once in his life) better safe than sorry.

He plans to stop for a couple minutes on deck - it's chilly, now, and he might just like the fact that weather like this doesn't bother him so much anymore, but that's when he catches sight of the figure standing, alone and looking a little bewildered, just down the deck.

He approaches, gets a better look, and starts to say,]

Dillon - ? [But no. That's not Dillon. It looks like Dillon, but there's no way Dillon would be wearing Marine dungarees and looking like he just stepped off a battlefield. Dillon's strange, but he's not that strange.

Plus, the look in this guy's eyes is very different.

The craziest thing is, maybe, the way the guy looks is so familiar - Steve saw the newsreels, and he did plenty of research when he "woke up," that it's almost comforting, even though this guy is clearly lost. And clearly new.]

Hey, Marine.

Hey, Dill Pickles! Catch!

[All of a sudden, a Nerf football comes rocketing at Gene's head]

[Cain is investigating, making sure everyone is more or less stable before he heads out. It says a lot about the type of boat this is that when he sees that scraped up, muddy, bloody kid he doesn't necessarily assume it means the kid's eggs are scrambled.]

You'd be amazed how much better you feel when you've washed it off.

[Meaning the blood more than the grime.]

[Gene hears the three of them coming and turns quickly to see who it is. The sound's enough to snap him out of his daze, because he's alone, without Snaf or Jay around watching his back, and switching your mind out of survival mode to something closer to normal isn't exactly easy.

But it's a woman and two dogs. She doesn't look armed, or like she's planning on doing anything, so the rifle stays down and his helmet stays held in almost limp fingers. There's a little more life in his expression, but it's surprise and wariness. Not exactly enthusiasm.]

Where are we?

[He's not sure where he really expected the ship to be, given what the Admiral was offering, but it definitely wasn't this.]

[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?

[The smell of blood and dirt and sweat are unmistakable. Isaac doesn't really close his heightened senses off like Scott does, and he catches the scent strongly as he's heading up from his room on Level Five. When he steps out of the stairwell it's easy enough to see who the scent's coming from: the muddy, bloody, exhausted-looking guy with the military pack and rifle who looks - under the grime - like Dillon (not that Isaac really knows him but he's never looked like this) but also like absolute hell. Getting a little closer - speeding up because wow, dude, what the hell happened to you? - the scent gets more complicated, notes of gunpowder and grief and fresh antiseptic and bandages and raw wounds underneath.]

Whoa, dude, are you okay?

Edited 2014-11-15 02:01 (UTC)

On the Barge, sweetheart. We're between stops at the moment. You've been in the wars, 'aven't you, my love? Got any that need medical attention?

[She makes a tiny hand gesture at the dogs and they lie down at her feet - this one's jumpy, and she has a few shrewd guesses why.]

We've got a very good sickbay if you need it. And decent rooms and baths and the like if you don't. I'm Iris, I work 'ere. Welcome aboard!

[The sound of footsteps gets his immediate attention, and Gene turns around quickly to see who it is, what else is coming. It's a relief to see it's just a guy, who looks and sounds like an American, even if his uniform (is it a uniform? the stars and stripes kind of make it look like one) is completely strange, and Gene honestly doesn't know what to make of it.

But he's not really sure what to make of any of this. Doesn't know who Dillon is, either, but maybe the guy just mistook him for someone else. Fair enough. If this Admiral's offering deals to save lives, he wouldn't be surprised to find out there are a lot of other marines on board.

Something about the way the guy greets him makes Gene straighten his spine despite his shivering, and look the other man in the eye, because maybe he can recognize something in Steve the same way Steve sees something in him.]

Sir?

Edited 2014-11-15 02:30 (UTC)

[Maybe it'll be embarrassing later, when things like this still make him think grenade or mortar instead of it's just a game, idiot when they catch him off guard, but now, Gene just reacts on instinct and throws himself to the ground and away from whatever it is. His arms go over his head automatically and he braces himself for the explosion, however bad it is.

... Except it never comes, and eventually he lifts his head and sees Chris.]

What the fuck is wrong with you? [Definitely not Dillon, if the distinctly south of the Mason-Dixon Line accent is anything to go by.]

[Gene's a little less in shock by the time Cain gets to him, but the question is still met by a confused look.]

There're showers?

[He doesn't sound skeptical so much as he just isn't sure if that's too good to be true. If all of this is too good to be true.]

[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.]

[Gene knows he stinks, even if at the same time, he's almost gotten used to it. It's easier to focus on himself now that he's away from the rest of it, away from the smell of rotting corpses and the overwhelming heat, and all he wants is a shower and clean clothes. And maybe to sleep for a month.

So he's kind of in a bit of a daze by the time he's headed towards his quarters- room? - but gets snapped out of it when yet another person - a guy, maybe around his own age - approaches him and asks how he's doing.

Really, how the fuck is he supposed to answer that?]

Doc says I'm alright, [He finally offers. Better than just staring at him, right?]

[The guy responds almost exactly how Steve expects him to - although there are a couple of possibilities, and this one's the best, if you ask him. He offers a salute as he gets closer - and then offers his hand to shake, even if that's not exactly protocol.

What he is thinking, though, based on the reaction he got, is that familiarity wouldn't be a bad thing for this guy right now. Which is why he says,] Captain Rogers - Army, [he clarifies, given that his uniform isn't exactly recognizable.] Where did you come from?

[By which he means, where were you before this, because he, at least, knows why you're here. Or, at worst, there's a 50/50 chance.]

I meant "where is the ship", ma'am. [His accent's all wrong to be Dillon, or Dillon's twin brother, or some alternate universe of Dillon, but he's very polite, even if his voice sounds a little hollow. Or dead.

The dogs aren't really what's making him jumpy - he likes dogs, might even be sort of irrationally comforted by seeing them here - and the offer of a bath gets something almost like hope or disbelief in his eyes, but for now, the offer of medical attention goes ignored. He could be worse. He can deal with it.]

Private Eugene Sledge, ma'am, I'm a warden. Pleased to meet you.

[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)

[Gene stares at the offered hand for a second or two before shifting his helmet under his arm and cautiously accepting the handshake. His grip's gentle because he's still not sure of what to make of this. Is this just how familiar people are with each other in the Army? He's never seen a Captain shake a Private's hand before, not even Ack Ack.

(God, Ack Ack. How could they lose Ack Ack?)

Plus, his hands are filthy, and this guy looks like he's had access to clean water and clean clothes for a while, so there's a weird mix of guilt and maybe resentment or jealousy coiling in the pit of his stomach.]

Private Eugene Sledge, sir. I was on Peleliu when the Admiral offered me a deal.

[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?

[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 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?

[It's definitely not Army - more Captain America, honestly, because Steve's happy to stand solely on the protocol they both recognize... but this guy looks like he could use a friend.

And Steve's all the more decided when he mentions Peleliu; his face doesn't show shock so much as respect, because he learned more about it after the fact, but what he did learn is pretty awful.] Right in the worst of it.

I was in Europe. [Which he assumes the Private will assume, given Steve's Army - and he also knows Sledge will assume it was right before he made his deal, and not seventy years ago, but he figures that can wait. The guy's probably had enough dumped in his lap at the moment.

Although if there's one thing Steve doesn't care about, it's shaking a hand that's dirty, and he shows it - his grip is firm.] You need some water? And maybe someplace a little warmer. [Don't worry, he'll suggest a shower, too.]

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.

[Gene's still in shock, still worn out and exhausted and grieving, but something in him brightens just a fraction when Captain Rogers doesn't respond with "where?" or "what?" It's good to know they're not actually forgotten on some shithole of an island fighting and dying while no one else cares.

So he tries to find something like a smile, even if it's maybe a little shy, or just fleeting.]

My brother landed in Italy, [He offers, maybe intending it as some kind of peace offering. Sure, he thinks the Marines are the best, and knows they are, too, but he's not going to insult the Army and seriously mean it when the guy's reaching out to him.

Especially when that suggestion just reminds him of someone else, because Ack Ack had always been trying to find ways to make people feel more comfortable, less scared, less homesick, and he's gone. It's been less than an hour since it happened, and he still almost can't believe it happened at all. It makes it easier and more difficult to say what he does next.]

I can manage, sir. [He's a marine, he can take whatever anyone has to throw at him.

But he is cold. And he's pretty sure he's never going to turn down fresh water after what he's been through.]

[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.

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.]

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spam; after someone else presumably gets him to the infirmary!!

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