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.)]