Scotch

Len Maccfadden, 28, Leiutenant, Head Mechanic, Glasweigan. Love makes the world go round? Not at all. Whiskey makes it go round twice as fast.

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

P U P P Y:

Mihai watched the woman with an intrigued smile perched upon his lips and a raised eyebrow to complete the set. Her words were soaked in a bluntness that had the ability to either create a similar and rather hostile response from whoever was on the reviving end, or cause them to shrink away all together. Mihai presented a new option, amusement.

“Well if everyone operated by that belief, I think the world would be a better place” he chuckled lightly, choosing now to let his entire body be engulfed by the cluttered mechanics tent. There were metal parts, and wires everywhere, not to mention the lovely smell of grease that he despised far too much to be the head of aerial engineering. Contrary to belief, he didn’t enter the tent simply out of curiosity, there was something somewhere that he needed to complete his latest project, and because most others wouldn’t have a large piece of metal or the old battered side piece of a tank gun, he chose to come here.

“I don’t know you well enough to make that determination, but either way I’m never too often in the business of making assumptions. And I do actually need something; the pilots assure me that all of my bags were delivered, but there’s a new Avro Lancaster I’m modifying and its front navigation system seems to be missing. So it looks like I’ll be building another, and mechanics usually have all the shinny toys I need.”

“So do I but everyone else seems a bit too attached to their niceties for it to ever happen.” There’s a small curling of her lips that makes clear just exactly what she thinks about all the politeness that other people seemed to swear by. The Scot had never seen much of a need for it when it only saved people’s feelings and pride which both paled in comparison to the war that was going on. There was no time for tiptoeing around people when there would always be an urgency that required honesty, no matter how unwanted it might be.

Something of a smirk hovers along her lips, dry humour always being the most frequent thing she expressed after irritation. For a moment she pauses, sizing the blond man up along with the words that he’d given her in explanation. “What’s that saying about assuming?” The question is rhetorical, barely a pause before she’s clicking her fingers triumphantly. “Something about making an ass of yourself-” This time the pause is more hesitant as she realises that she can’t quite deliver the words with the confidence she’d like to so instead slim shoulders are shrugged before she acts as though it was nothing. “-but I don’t fucking remember the rest of it.”

Hazel eyes narrow at the thought of having to share when more often than not people that take things from her rarely brought them back willingly unless she began hounding then for them. It’s something that she says as much about, albeit with a light tone that is far more neutral than her expression. “Shiny toys, aye? You borrowing or commandeering them?” 

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

C R O W:

Her answer was incredibly pragmatic, which was undoubtedly something he appreciated — but that didn’t mean they could hope, right? Last year he was hoping by Pesach, but April came and went with no signs of this coming to an end. Now? Yom Kippur was days ago, and still nothing, and his guess was a lot less optimistic. “Ouais,” he shrugged, “you’re right about that.” He flicked the ash off the end, palm of his hand momentarily rubbing at his eye. “I’m still going to take a guess — I say… two years maybe?” Tristan couldn’t possibly imagine this carrying on into ‘46. “But around ten minutes to smoke that cigarette.”

Nodding at his words, the mechanic exhaled before replying still without fully agreeing when the end would come. “I could maybe agree with that. Or be a wee bit hopeful for it at least.” If she were more selfish then she’d perhaps never want the war to end when it gave her far more of a purpose than life back home in Glasgow. But for all she could speak without care, she’d never been unfeeling and the loss of life was unthinkable to her. “Ten minutes, huh? I don’t tend to hang about so I’ll give mine five.” There was the hint of a smirk on her lips before she takes a long drag as if to prove a point.

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

R E D:

Red can hear the disdain in the woman’s voice, but truthfully she’s gotten use to it. They were opposites, two ends of a short spectrum. Clinical was the word that Red would use to describe herself, others would call her a robot, or better yet, a bitch. Emotions rarely surfaced within the doctor, to her there was no true reasoning behind them. All of the great turmoils of the world, the downfall of lives and partnerships were caused by emotion. A lack there of is something she was born with, and it was the reason she excelled. Emotions had no place in the heart of a trauma surgeon; it was simply cut, diagnose, fix, repeat.

Easily the needle pricked Scotch’s flesh, the amber vaccine injected into her bloodstream, the miracle of medicine doing its job. Once the solution was gone she deposited the needle into the medical waste bin and picked up Scotch’s file once more, making ticks as the woman answered her questions. While still looking down she gave a hum of acknowledgement to Scotch, her words holding some truth, but something still just wasn’t right.

“Efficiency takes precedent over want. We are almost done here, but I still need to take a listen to your heart”, she spoke evenly while depositing her clipboard once more before moving to her medical bag to pluck a stethoscope from its depth.

Perhaps the one thing in common that the two women shared was their tendency to put their work above all else. Though she perhaps would never admit to it, the doctor was far more successful at remaining distant than she was. While she used words and a standoffish or impatient attitude to keep people away, inevitably a handful of them had managed to weather her stormy attitude and work their way into her good graces. Coupled with the fact that she wasn’t above socialising and maybe even passing a bottle of whiskey around a fire, Len had begun to find herself with far more people to care about than she’d intended. 

Bonds were hard to form for her past anything but a vague sense of loyalty when they were all fighting for the same cause and while she’d been making progress with some, the Scot couldn’t help but think that even if she wanted to there would be no headway made with the woman in front of her. If she was focused then Red took it one step further and the brunette couldn’t recall if she’d ever seen her engaged in anything outside of the medical tent. But as someone who rarely left the mechanics’ tent she barely had room to talk.

There’s no flinch when the needle pricks her skin, only a slight sway of her arm once it’s removed and discarded. “I appreciate the efficiency when I’m sure we both have better things to be doing.” Logic told her that check ups were necessary but that didn’t stop her thinking it was a waste of her time that could be better served doing her job. Shrugging, she wasn’t about to protect when she’d been compliant so far. “Have at it.”

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

D O C:

Doc had been stuck in the medic tent for a good amount of the day, double and triple checking inventory until all she could see were numbers. It almost drove her mad. But it was a neccessary evil; they didn’t need to be in the heat of things and find out they were short on anything.

But she was finally able to step away and take a break, wandering as far away from the supply tent as she could get. Usually when she had smaller tasks on her plate– there was always something to be done– and she had some downtime, she would check on the other Commandos. She knew some of them could be stubborn when it came to talking with the others, but she at least tried to talk with them for the sake of making sure they were still their usual selves. At least until the horrors of war got to them. She was all too familiar with that.

She had made her approach on the mechanics tent, just passing by to see what they had been up to. Had she not been so fascinated with medicine and helping people, fixing machines and finding out what made them tick probably would have been Doc’s second choice of work. She always admired what anybody could do with a box of tools and some nuts and bolts.

As she was making her way by, though, she heard someone speak up, giving quite the warning: leave me the hell alone unless it’s important. Markus stopped in her tracks, hands raised in mock surrender. She didn’t take offense to the outburst, she was used to a lot worse. “Just passing through. Didn’t mean to bother you. But if you want some scotch I can try and sneak some your way.”

It’s a familiar voice that meets her ears and while she’d never apologise for what she said when anyone would have gotten the same greeting, the mechanic already knows her next reply will be far less harsh than the words that had left her lips previously. There were perhaps only a handful of people that she bothered to curb her tongue for and the field medic that the voice belonged to was one of them.

When they first met, Len had found herself laughing in spite of herself when she’d finally met someone with a callsign that was even less inventive than her own. As someone who had a habit of calling anyone she didn’t know properly some nickname involving their profession, she’d been shocked to discover that her playful name calling had been proven accurate.

“I gotta say, Doc, it makes a change to see you on my turf for once.” Her voice carries out from under the tank, a dryness to it to show that she’s simply teasing. They both knew that Len often had far more cause to find herself in the medic’s tent than Doc ever did to come and seek out any help from the mechanics.

Sliding herself out from underneath the vehicle, the Scot shrugs slightly at the offer. “I always have some with me but it would be rude to turn it down.” There’s something of a smile on her lips as she talks to the other woman, the thought of acquiring more of the liquor that she drinks so much of immediately making her warm towards the conversation. “Just make sure it’s a proper Scotch and not that Bourbon shite that the Yanks are all so fond of for some unknown reason.”

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

R E D:

“Please do not complain or make minuscule comments about the size of the needle. It’s a new vaccination and yes you need it” Red called out in a loud yet blatantly monotone voice. The brown clipboard was held steady by digging its way into the petite Doctor’s side, hazel eyes glancing over the recruit in front of her momentarily before looking back down at the chart, making sure the information matched. She was only dealing with her fellow shadowed commandos today thankfully, the fly-boys from other brigades had a tendency to vomit out their ignorance on her shoes with a cocky smile and belittling tone.

“Roll up your sleeve, it will only take a second. And while you are here, has your medical history change at all in the time off? Have you experienced any fainting spells or been exposed to any illnesses?”

“I wouldn’t bloody dare.” The words are muttered darkly when she’d come into contact with the doctor just enough times to know that if she herself ran hot than the other woman was as cold as they came. Len had never had a problem with doctors only a lack of experience with them until she’d thrown herself into the fighting but while she knew she was no saint and her way of addressing people was far from cordial, even she thought that the other woman could use some work on her bedside manner. It’s nothing she voices when she knows better than to ruin working relationships with her rash words. Despite always being blunt some opinions were best kept to herself.

Grudgingly she rolls up her sleeve before holding her arm out more willingly before answering the questions while trying and failing to keep the impatience out of her voice. “No and no. You wanna make this quick? I’m pretty damn sure you don’t want me in here any longer than I have to be.”

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

P U P P Y:

The air here was… different, fresh even. For once the stench of death was not hanging so densely over their heads. One inhale and not be transported back in time to where fire burned relentlessly and the ripping sound of souls being snatched from bodies could not be heard. No, Belarus was fresh and just waiting to be tainted.

Of course, however, Mihai could not stop himself from walking towards the mechanics tent, the plethora of parts (no matter how badly they smelled covered in grease) were singing out softly to him, beckoning him forwards with ideas and innovations of the future. He has spent his time off wisely, but the inventions never stopped flowing through his brain like the water of a newly cultivated stream. Never the less, he wasn’t expecting such a rude welcoming to be belted out after only daring to place one foot inside of the haven.

“Do you speak like that to everyone despite knowing who they are yet, or is the jet lag just a bitch?”

There’s a slight huff of amusement at the boldness of the words but there’s no shame for the things she said or the way she said them. She’d never seen the point in not being upfront and letting people know exactly where they stood when it only saved time and increased clarity in exchanges. It led to fewer surprises and left those who often came into contact with her having some ideas of how to handle her short temper. 

“Everyone gets the same fucking treatment. Let it never be said that I’m unfair.” Her moods didn’t discriminate perhaps with the exception of Costin her words were never tempered. Hazel eyes are still on the task at hand, some sort of stubborn refusal to stop her work just because someone else had decided to walk in. But still she carries on speaking, Glaswegian accent coming out from under the tank thick and fast. “No jet lag so maybe I’m just the bitch.” It’s something she’d admit openly, hardly caring what others thought of her so long as she was able to do her job.

Eventually she slides out just enough to take a look at the man and address him. “You need something or-?”

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

A C E:

You can take the leave off, they’d said. It was simple paperwork and she would turn in the unsaid title of the commandos for a few weeks of home, with breaking shores and silent waves at dawn. Eva had taken a beat of a pause, said she’d think about it– -even though she had known the answer then and there. ( The answer was no, and she couldn’t just yet. Like there was still yet something to prove, like she couldn’t return home without answers to the questions her mother didn’t ask anymore– -answers that she couldn’t find. ) And in turn, she’d declined it and said she’d run routine air support even if they weren’t seeing combat for the next few weeks. Man the base, she’d suggested, some muttered off-hand of a response that sailed past the rest of them and left her free to return to her tent at camp for another turn of the night.

( It wasn’t running– -it couldn’t be running because Eva would have to be out of her goddamn mind to be running towards war after all the ways in which it had colored her life crimson. )

And here she remained, even as the base filtered back in with comrades on leave returning in due time and the orderly chaos brimming as they settled into the new location. One too many routine air supports hadn’t brought her hellcat down, but their last mission had. She dabbled in some repairs here and there, little tune-ups to keep her plane running under the swipe of her own hand. This, though, had been way more damage than the light work Eva had picked up along her way. So to the mechanics she had left it, let them open the plane’s guts and clear them out until returning now to see what the status was. Only, apparently, to be greeted by the cut of harsh words on a tone that seemed to be running out of patience without sparing even a breath to consider otherwise.

“Easy tiger.” Eva replied, unperturbed as her footsteps echoed closer and clearer into the mechanics’ garage. The resounding voice was unfamiliar, but war gouged chips on every which one’s shoulders. Eva wasn’t here to pick unnecessary battle of words. No, she was here for her plane.

“They brought in a F6F around here a couple of days ago. Hellcat. Who do I gotta speak to around here for the status on that?”

If there was one thing that could be said about Len Macfadden it was that she didn’t suffer fools gladly. Her work would always come first, even if she had never shied away from the very liquor that she got her name from on occasion, she had little time for those whose only interest was to distract her from the machines that she’d long placed over personal relationships. Her impatience for time wasters had no doubt left some infamy surrounded her when she was always a little too quick to hurl whatever wrench or spanner was in her hands at those men who seemed to routinely break their vehicle or have complaints with how it was running for no other reason but to use one of their poor chat up lines on her. But it’s a woman’s voice that greets her, one with a genuine query so her wrench remains firmly in her grasp as she continues with her work.

“Tiger, that’s a new one.” The words are huffed out but there’s maybe a hint of dryness to them when there’s no real offence taken at the name. If anything she’s slightly amused by it when it’s slightly more original than her rather obvious callsign that would always cause her eyes to roll even if it was beginning to grow on her. Though it was an admission she’d never make when it gave too much credit to the unoriginal.

There’s no rush from her to stop what she’s doing to answer the question too determined to finish up before getting to other matters. But she does at least off a slightly courtesy to the woman and inform her that she wasn’t completely ignoring her. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” 

Finally, she’s satisfied and slides out from underneath the tank before cleaning her hands off on a rag though it really barely dents the grease and grim that have made themselves a permanent fixture on her hands for years now. There’s a little tilt of her head as she finally considers the woman’s request. “An F6F, huh?” Planes weren’t really her forte and she tended to leave them up to those who specialised in them. “Any other time it’d be me but I’m only just back and who the fuck knows what they’ve been up to while I’ve been away.” There’s almost a reluctance to admit it when it just gives her yet another reason to have a distaste for being on leave and getting thrown out of the loop. While she does trust each of the mechanics under her, a lot of the time it took a little more cajoling or swearing to get them to work at the same pace that she did and expected from everyone else. “Pretty sure I know where it’s at though if they left it where I told them to. You can come check it over with me if you want and if it’s not done I’ll kick some arses and get it to you tomorrow.” The brunette starts walking as she speaks, a new focus found and as always she wouldn’t deal with anything else until the situation was solved.

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

C R O W:

His fingers thrummed idly against his thigh, eyes narrowing in thought. “If you were to take a guess, when do you think this,” he motioned at the landscape with his cigarette before looking in the other’s direction, “will all end?”

“Only thing I’d be willing to guess about is how long it’ll take me to smoke this cigarette.” There’s a shrug given that’s not quite disinterested but she’d never been on for speculation when life always had a way of proving assumptions wrong. “Too many things that could change to be able to call anything else.”

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

Her feet had barely touched the Belarus soil for more than thirty second before long strides had quickly taken her back to the mechanics to critique the work that they had done in her absence. The suggestion of leave had been met with dragging feet and a clenched jaw with the brunette so unwilling to return home. Back in Glasgow it didn’t matter that dozens had turned to her when her father had been unwell or how dozens more had flocked to her when her brother had been called to war. Back home she was just a girl with a talent for cars but here she got to make a real difference and that was why she always had more time for the machines that she worked on rather than the people that made up the rest of the unit she was a part of.

The whisky that she always had on her person and her penchant for dishing it out every now and again meant that she was never short of company when she wanted it but right now the various tanks and trucks that she’d poured all her energy and effort into were calling out to her. So Len had taken the quickest route she could to the mechanics’ tent, immediately sliding herself under the nearest tank to start working again right way. Hearing footsteps approach not even mintues in, the brunette sighs before speaking without hesitation or a softening of tone. “Unless you’re bringing me more work or appeasing me with some scotch or even both, I don’t want to know.” There’s a little pause given as she tightens a bolt before she speaks again with her accent thick and harsh over her words. “If it’s not mechanics related go take yourself on a nice fucking long walk because otherwise I don’t want to know.”

[scotchmacfadden-blog]

W R A I T H:

His hands held precision. The blade flipped upon his palm, deft digits curling lightly around its textured grip. Three of his knives were already lodged within the center ring, outlining the crimson mark which would receive his fourth. Index and thumb grasped the silver blade whilst his eyes honed in on the inanimate victim. His arm swept upward, dagger poised beside his ear before the swift backward wrench and forward release. The weapon struck home, its sharp point embedding itself within the core as commanded. Esca often chose luncheon to occupy camp outskirts, where the majority of camp settled among the mess hall– or in this case, evaded the masses of ‘moving day’. Yet, an uninvited presence arrived to interrupt his ritual. His gaze failed to greet them, his attention instead plucking a fifth knife from the table.

There were more things than she’d have ever liked to admit that rattled her. The small things that threw her off her guard and left her fumbling for the words that usually rolled so easily from her blunt tongue. She’d never quite been above rolling her eyes or clenching her jaw depending on the situation, never afraid to voice her true feelings when honesty should be valued above all else. But for all the things that might have left her slight hesitant, the Russian in front of her wasn’t one of them despite the knives in his hand. There was something mesmerising about the way he moved and for a moment the Scot finds herself transfixed on the smooth movements that she knows she doesn’t have the skill or precision for when her skills have always lain more with machines than targets. “Don’t you ever get bored of hitting the same fucking bullseye all the time?” There’s a certain dry humour seeping into her words when there’s enough familiarity between the two of them for her to class him as something of a friend. “It hardly seems like enough of a challenge for you.”

[ruinationrp-blog]

LIEUTENANT ELEANOR “SCOTCH” MACFADDEN · 28 · HEAD MECHANIC · SHADOWED COMMANDO · TAKEN

" Don’t ever back me into a corner expecting me to break. I do not go gentle. "

ORIGIN:

Glasgow, Scotland

TRAITS:

+ Adroit, Dedicated, Passionate

- Blunt, Dismissive, Headstrong

BIOGRAPHY:

THERE IS A WAR OUTSIDE, COME SEE THE BULLETS FLY.

Born only months in to WWI, Eleanor Macfadden has been used to chaos since birth. Despite barely knowing her father until she was four years old, she ended up becoming quite the tom boy anyway. Always scraped knees, muddy hands and torn dresses- much to her mother’s dismay. With her older brother Duncan only encouraging her, she ran wild for most of her childhood with the whole of Glasgow as her playground when there had always been a certain fearlessness to her. The only thing that caught her interest being her father’s mechanics business. She was fascinated by the intricacies of it all, never ceasing to be amazed at how one little part could have such a huge impact on a large machine. Despite her mother’s best efforts to entice her inside with baking and cooking in attempts to catch her focus, her only passion remained the very thing they were all trying to keep her away from.

By the time she started school, Len had taken to sneaking out far after she was supposed to be asleep and taking a look at all the vehicle that her father had work on that day. She started by memorising each of them and then trying to figure out what had changed in between. Eventually she took to sketching them, with a focus she’d never bothered to apply to her school work. Although she thought that she’d managed to sneak out silently each night, her disappearances were noted by Duncan who, when seeing the look in her eyes when she broached the subject, started going through her drawing with her and putting mechanical terms to the things she had spent so long studying. From then on she found it easier to bend to her mother’s will during the day when she knew her evening and night would be spent doing the only thing that captivated her attention.

As she grew older, her father’s old war wounds began to take their toll unable to continue his work to the same standard as usual. After a few tight months and their funds began to dwindle with her brother unable to hold up the business by himself and it seemed like the only obvious answer was to let Len take up her father’s mantle like she had always desired. So from the age of fifteen she began working in the family business, listening to her father with rapt attention that had always been denied him before. Together with Duncan they built their little shop up, gaining a name for themselves with people consistently bring them tougher and tougher jobs which she always rose to the challenge of fixing even if it meant some sleepless nights to do so. It might have been hard work and left her with hands that were always oil stained and a face covered in grease more often than a smile but she was happy and had her purpose.

DO YOU HEAR THE BATTLE CRY?

When war broke out almost ten years later, her skills now almost unparalleled, and Duncan was called away to war leaving her to find ways to support the business on her own apart from odd bits of help from her father. For the most part she succeeded, working better under pressure than she ever did when she had barely anything to work on. She worked until her worry faded, until she at least felt like she was doing something useful when there were men laying down their lived and she was confined to stay at home. Months past with her barely hearing from her brother until one day he arrived back at their door injured but alive with some talk of a letter that should have reached them but never did.

A few months after her brother’s return, Len grew too tired of sitting on the sidelines to watch the war pass her by. So as her brother healed she watched carefully and marked his progress until he was almost ready for battle again before she stole away one night with his papers and made her way into the thick of it all herself. For the first week she was terrified that her disguise would be seen right through with ease but whether it was because she was just about convincing enough with her brashness or whether her skill made them look the other way, her presence went unchecked and she was allowed to go to the war she’d been been itching to play some part in.

Working her way up through the ranks under her new alias, Len made something of a name for herself as one of the fastest and most reliable mechanics that her unit had at their disposal. Her fearlessness lent itself well to her having little issue in venture out into the field in the middle of a battle to get things moving again which she did time and time again with success.

But her run of luck wasn’t to last and she found herself pulled into a tent one day only to be told that her ruse had been sussed and she was to head home immediately. Any protests she had fell on deaf ears and it seemed as though no matter her talent she was destined for Glasgow once more. That was until she was pulled into a tent once more and Costin Vasile gave her one more chance which she took without hesitation despite knowing nothing but whispers of the division that he commanded. Still, there was no doubt in her mind when she took the position and barely any surprise in her mind that she’d caught his attention. Since taking the position of head mechanic, Len hasn’t looked back and works tirelessly to ensure that the Commandos have everything that they could possibly need.

FACECLAIM: Phoebe Tonkin

[phoebefashionarchives]

Sane or crazy?

[dailyptonkin]