gorygllory
♞ ℒ ~
It was good to be back at camp. Lancelot was looking through a box of her things, books, cards, poker chips, meager amount of cash, and then she found it, her small package of hard candies saved for special occasion. She popped one in her mouth and in a flash hid them in the box again.
The sweet tasted the way roses smell.
It’d been a hard day on the field, and she’d very nearly died, but it was Merriel she’d been worried about. He’d nearly gotten himself ambushed. He was surrounded, and if Lance hadn’t come, he’d be dead right now. She had run in with her pistols, shooting all of them, taking a grazing from a bullet meant for Snafu’s head, then a second later Du Lac had him on her back, running the hell out of there before the two would be shot to death.
Only a few hours afterward she full body tackled him, a push that got the both of the soldiers out of the way of a hot grenade - saving him two times in half as many days.
Poor bastard was glad he had her as a friend.
Lancelot left the cabin to go down to the beach, as she liked to lie on the rocks near the sand && look at the stars in the sky. There was no light pollution, so the constellations and milky way were beautiful.
She’d passed a group of boys on her way, so it wasn’t all too surprising that in a minute, one of them was out with her in the rocky beach area. Lance had a knife with her, which she began to sharpen pointedly with a rock, so as to stop them from trying a stupid move or anything worse.
Lance turned to see Snafu, and sat up, surprised he was out on a night there’d surely be poker.
❝ Fancy seeing you out here. ❞
She was smiling.
[ blessed be pavuvu, merriell shelton ponders to himself as he meanders about the somewhat-sacred island, for 'least it ain't nuthin' like peleliu, with japs always tryin'a shoot heads clean off theys shoulduhs. he'd gone about doing this for most of the day; wandering aimlessly wherever his battered feet took him, contemplating everything & anything to the deepest depth of philosophical he could attain. of course, his thoughts often returned to his bitterness of lack of replenishing fodder to the cannon, blaming his near- death experiences to the lack of troops rather than his own stubborn tendencies to dive headfirst into danger.
but whether it was a fault of his own desire to get a taste of the fruits the tree of war bore, or a mistake of the folks back home determining who was shipped off and who was to stay back home, there was no question as to the valor exhibited by his cohort in saving his ass. of course, the cajun dares not express it directly-- getting too close to someone would only inevitably end up with him being traumatized if her imminent death was to arrive--but his gratitude dwells deep within, irregardless of what he chooses to convey and what he decides to conceal.
he wandered from the moment of arrival on the island to past the time when the sun cast its last dying rays upon the rugged terrain. banding with buddies to keep himself company, he only strays aside when she strolls past him. following at a safe distance until he decides the time is opportune for his entrance, his voice is low & heavily accented, eyes conveying what his tone could not. ]
❛ --ain't s'posed to be out here, you know. lights out. they gon' court-martial ya if they find ya. ❜
