E. B. Sledge (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withtheoldbreed) wrote2014-11-23 07:54 pm
withtheoldbreed) wrote2014-11-23 07:54 pm
d-day + 9 ✯ video & spam
[There's something like hesitation in Gene's expression when he clicks on the video feed. There are still some cuts and scrapes on his face, and his wrist is still bandaged with thick, white gauze, but for the most part, he's in a lot better shape when he showed up.
Except he still looks exhausted, and maybe a little shellshocked.]
Is all of this normal, where you're all from? [The question's phrased as carefully as possible, because he's not trying to piss anyone off, but the disbelief is still apparent.] But where I'm from, we don't have vampires, or... spacemen, or magic.
Kinda hard to know what you're dealing with when you don't know anything about what you're dealing with.
[Open Spam]
[He's been here for a little under two weeks, and as good as it is to have access to clean water and not be getting shot and shelled at, Gene's not anywhere close to calm or relaxed, or really taking it easy.
If anything, he's antsy. There's not a lot to actually do here, and not keeping busy means he has time to think about things, like what brought him here and how it'd felt to have Isaac's blood gushing out over his clothes as he'd helped him down to the infirmary. That fledgling feeling of safety and comfort that'd come when he'd really realized he was off Peleliu is gone, so he still finds himself wandering around in uniform, carrying weapons, and startling at sudden noises.
In the dining hall, he still doesn't gorge himself, but his tray is usually pretty full, and he eats with the intensity of someone who either expects their food to be taken from them or who doesn't know when their next meal is going to come. Most of the time, it's pretty standard fare, but at least once or twice, he'll help himself to a couple wedges of lettuce. No dressing, no croutons, no carrots or anything else to make it a salad, just lettuce.
Every few days, he stops by the infirmary for fresh bandages and antibiotics for the sores on his feet and arms, usually looking for Scott because he's familiar, but not avoiding the other doctors or staff if they're around. The library is nice, at least, and he finds himself spending a lot of time in there as the days stretch on with no assignment, no places to be, nothing to do. The history section is largely avoided and navigated around, but even here he seems restless - pulling a book off the shelf and putting it back, pulling one off and flipping through it, maybe even carrying it around for a while before putting it back - but occasionally he'll find a chair to sit in and read about birds for a while, or check one out and take it back to his room.
Sometimes he spends a long while in the chapel, sometimes praying, sometimes just sitting quietly. He pulls his ragged Bible out of his breast pocket and delicately turns the filthy pages, glancing over the cramped handwritten notes in the margins like he needs to remind himself that yes, that all really happened. You didn't just dream the whole thing.
It's hardest at night. Gene honestly can't say that he dreamed much on Peleliu, but over the last few days, he's had several - a Jap sneaking across their lines and getting in his and Snaf's foxhole so he can stab them both to death, watching Burgie and Bill and Oswalt get torn to pieces, tripping on the airfield and knowing he's got only a couple seconds left before he's killed - and it always ends the same way: untangling himself from sweaty bedsheets and panting for breath, sometimes choking on a scream.
Sometimes weeping.
In what's become something of a routine, he usually puts on his uniform and a jacket, or at least a housecoat before going out on deck to smoke. The air's still too chilly to be comfortable, but it helps wake him up and the cigarettes calm him down as he watches the unfamiliar stars pass by.
Sometimes, he goes back to sleep and sometimes he doesn't. It's hard to track time without a sun, but some days, he's still on deck when other people are coming out for their early morning runs, even though he shies away from people attending boot camp. He's not interested in doing that again.
(Most of all, he's lonely. He's only been here for ten days, and he already misses his buddies with an ache he hadn't had time to consider when the Admiral had first offered him a deal. It's hard being an outsider again, harder with the time difference, and he misses that sense of belonging that had come with being with K/3/5.)]
Except he still looks exhausted, and maybe a little shellshocked.]
Is all of this normal, where you're all from? [The question's phrased as carefully as possible, because he's not trying to piss anyone off, but the disbelief is still apparent.] But where I'm from, we don't have vampires, or... spacemen, or magic.
Kinda hard to know what you're dealing with when you don't know anything about what you're dealing with.
[Open Spam]
[He's been here for a little under two weeks, and as good as it is to have access to clean water and not be getting shot and shelled at, Gene's not anywhere close to calm or relaxed, or really taking it easy.
If anything, he's antsy. There's not a lot to actually do here, and not keeping busy means he has time to think about things, like what brought him here and how it'd felt to have Isaac's blood gushing out over his clothes as he'd helped him down to the infirmary. That fledgling feeling of safety and comfort that'd come when he'd really realized he was off Peleliu is gone, so he still finds himself wandering around in uniform, carrying weapons, and startling at sudden noises.
In the dining hall, he still doesn't gorge himself, but his tray is usually pretty full, and he eats with the intensity of someone who either expects their food to be taken from them or who doesn't know when their next meal is going to come. Most of the time, it's pretty standard fare, but at least once or twice, he'll help himself to a couple wedges of lettuce. No dressing, no croutons, no carrots or anything else to make it a salad, just lettuce.
Every few days, he stops by the infirmary for fresh bandages and antibiotics for the sores on his feet and arms, usually looking for Scott because he's familiar, but not avoiding the other doctors or staff if they're around. The library is nice, at least, and he finds himself spending a lot of time in there as the days stretch on with no assignment, no places to be, nothing to do. The history section is largely avoided and navigated around, but even here he seems restless - pulling a book off the shelf and putting it back, pulling one off and flipping through it, maybe even carrying it around for a while before putting it back - but occasionally he'll find a chair to sit in and read about birds for a while, or check one out and take it back to his room.
Sometimes he spends a long while in the chapel, sometimes praying, sometimes just sitting quietly. He pulls his ragged Bible out of his breast pocket and delicately turns the filthy pages, glancing over the cramped handwritten notes in the margins like he needs to remind himself that yes, that all really happened. You didn't just dream the whole thing.
It's hardest at night. Gene honestly can't say that he dreamed much on Peleliu, but over the last few days, he's had several - a Jap sneaking across their lines and getting in his and Snaf's foxhole so he can stab them both to death, watching Burgie and Bill and Oswalt get torn to pieces, tripping on the airfield and knowing he's got only a couple seconds left before he's killed - and it always ends the same way: untangling himself from sweaty bedsheets and panting for breath, sometimes choking on a scream.
Sometimes weeping.
In what's become something of a routine, he usually puts on his uniform and a jacket, or at least a housecoat before going out on deck to smoke. The air's still too chilly to be comfortable, but it helps wake him up and the cigarettes calm him down as he watches the unfamiliar stars pass by.
Sometimes, he goes back to sleep and sometimes he doesn't. It's hard to track time without a sun, but some days, he's still on deck when other people are coming out for their early morning runs, even though he shies away from people attending boot camp. He's not interested in doing that again.
(Most of all, he's lonely. He's only been here for ten days, and he already misses his buddies with an ache he hadn't had time to consider when the Admiral had first offered him a deal. It's hard being an outsider again, harder with the time difference, and he misses that sense of belonging that had come with being with K/3/5.)]
private
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[Her hilarious joke.]
I meant the other thing.
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I'm human. Just like you, presumably.
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Well, maybe he is, because it's certainly weird, and he's already very uneasy about the vampires on board, but.]
I'm human.
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So what do you need to know?
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[It comes as a surprise, sort of, but at the same time, he's been aware of that being a very possible outcome for a long time. Maybe he hasn't fully accepted it as much as some of the other guys - he can still remember Snaf saying ain't nobody going home to the Seabee - but he knows it's possible.
This place just seems a whole lot safer than Peleliu, even with the vampires.]
private
I'd say money's even on brutal murder or total freak accident.
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[Which still feels stupid to need to explain to people, and there's a part of him that feels a little bitter about it.]
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The Second World War. I'm in K/3/5, 1st Marine Division. We landed on Peleliu about a month ago so we could use the airfields to support MacArthur retaking the Philippines.
[Except the Philippines are basically already liberated, and they're still on the fucking island.]
Or do they not talk about that where you're from?
[He doesn't even sound mad, just tired and bitter. He wouldn't be shocked: they forgot the first time how bad war could be. At least he's heard of Verdun and the Somme.]
private
We talk about all kinds of wars, all the time. People love to talk about wars. This war, specifically, people talk about all the time, only the Philippines aren't as popular a topic of conversation as the western front. I assume that's why you're looking at me like you just swallowed glass.
I was a Marine, too. For the record.
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Where'd you serve?
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no subject
[Andrew: so helpful.]
Most people don't just wake up knowing about this stuff or anything. Something happens and you find out and you deal with it.
no subject
[Did that come out a little sassy? It might have.]
no subject
You said you didn't know anything about this stuff.
no subject
I don't. It's not real where I'm from.
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Library spam
She doesn't teleport (that's one lesson learned, it does startle people) but pads by casually past the shelf.]
Oh, there's no need! If you put them on the cart the staff can re-shelve them.
Library spam
But he'll stop, if it's really a problem.]
Sorry, ma'am.
Library spam
Library spam
Library spam
She tries to say it as gently as possible.
Library spam
[He doesn't think so, anyway. He just needs to get out of his room for a while, and the library is a convenient place to go.]
I'm just looking around.
Library spam
Library spam
[This time, he manages a very small smile, at least.]
deck spam;
He doesn't smoke - nicotine does as much for werewolves as alcohol does - but he's on deck anyway tonight, sitting in the cold in jeans and a t-shirt and basically just brooding over everything. He hates the cold. Hates it with an intensity that he hasn't really ever told anyone about. He feels like he deserves it right now.]
deck spam;
(Sometimes, he wonders if it'd be different if he had his friends around, but he doesn't think he could really talk to them about what was wrong, either. Talking about it barely occurs to him as an option at all, honestly.)
But eventually, he comes over to the other warden. He doesn't take a seat next to him without invitation, but he does offer him a cigarette from his pack because it's just a learned behavior by now. One he'd never thought he'd pick up, but here we are.]
Aren't you cold?
deck spam;
Not really.
[He waves off the offered cigarette.]
I don't smoke.
deck spam;
He misses his friends.
The pack gets returned to his pocket and Gene sort of cautiously sits down next to Isaac. He doesn't say anything else, just smokes in silence and stares off at the stars. He's not exactly in great shape for small talk.]
deck spam;
Finally, after quite a while - Gene's cigarette nearly burned all the way down - he glances over and quietly breaks the silence.]
I forgot to say thanks, before.
deck spam;
There's a lot of things he wants to ask about what the hell happened, but there's a part of him that almost isn't sure if he wants to know.]
How'd things work out?