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[GiglameshDespair]

I'm fine without one.... "Sunshine".

Not eager. Just want to go home. Sooner this is over. Do a good job, might get leave.

[Comrade P.]

From a chatter that seemed so distant, one word slices the mind like a razor: home. Alexei inhales deeper with thick smoke of his cigarette, until it burns his lips, then coughs several times and extracts tobacco leftovers from the cigarette butt for further usage.

[bawr]

John snorted as his initial irritation turned to amusement. He almost choked when she mentioned getting a leave after doing a good job. What was she, new? Doing a good job is the only thing in the world that's worse than doing a horrible job. One thing John knew one thing about the army command - they couldn't tell their ass from a hole in the ground, but they could tell a soldier from a corpse. Soldiers are recycled until turned into a corpse. Corpses get to go home. Sometimes.

"As you command, rose lips, as you command. Wouldn't want to spot for someone who doesn't need a spotter, either way. And really-"

Still. Such naivete was kind of refreshing. It would be quite a sight when she realised this all on her own. Assuming she lived.

"But really, good luck with that, tall curls. Good luck with that."

He actually meant it for once.


He turned to Alexei.

"Whoa, whoa, careful there, dragon breath. You can spot for sniper cupid all you want, no need to get all tense and shit."

[Comrade P.]

He turned to Alexei.

"Whoa, whoa, careful there, dragon breath. You can spot for sniper cupid all you want, no need to get all tense and shit."

Alexei looked back with his sight seeing through the person he was looking at

- Shut up. You take through war as you want, I get through it as I want.
Then he moves his sight to Alice and mutters:
- She resembles Sonya so much...

[bawr]

"Exactly my point, soldier, exactly my point. So here's our Grouchy Smurf, then? Well there's Sharpshooter Smurfette, there's Doctor Smurf, hell we even have Vanity Smurf and Jokey Smurf. Or was that Baby Smurf and Handy Smurf?"

John looks around, perhaps to gauge the reaction, perhaps just to make sure nobody's going to punch him.

"Shit, I'm getting too old for this, used to be I could smurf all the Smurfs without a second thought. Wisdom, I guess. Wisdom."

[Again_Dejavu]

"..."

[bawr]

((Yeah, I wasn't kidding with the low charisma score.))

[BlitzDungeoneer]

"This isn't a joke, you know."

[GiglameshDespair]

Alice sent a cold glare towards him, but said nothing.
Bastard. she thought.

[BlitzDungeoneer]

"Oooh, how scary. Man, that glare... I almost had a heart attack."

[Again_Dejavu]

The engineer looks at his bickering teammates.
"We're all going to die"
He still sounds bored.

[bawr]

"It isn't? Could've fooled me."

John sighs. A joke, for heaven's sake, he really was too old. The first time he got caught by surprise artillery strike, he downright shit his pants. Such a quaint little memory, back then he still cared. Back then he screamed all hell to get his comrades to cover and grab their fucking helmets. Back then he still had comrades. A dozen strikes later, his last trench mate got hit in the throat and bled out with the most peculiarly helpless expression. The dying man's cough sounded like a sick and twisted parody of laughter. But John laughed all the same. A fucking joke is what it was.

Still, it's best not to get attached. It's better if you don't see a person behind another stupid nickname, just in case they screw up and get shot up. It's better if they don't like him, then nobody will fuck up just because an enemy sniper dickhead shot John right in the fucking face. But he wouldn't tell them that. Maybe someone would just find their balls and punch him, maybe if he falls just right he can break an arm. Probably not worth it, though. Probably they'd have him go just the same.

"It bloody well is. Look at you, for fuck's sake, for the moment we're safe, warm, and nobody's actively trying to kill us. And you're all getting pissed at the one guy who pointedly didn't ask the command to find a secondary way of getting us shot dead in our fucking faces. Well excuse me, doctor sir, for not looking appropriately serious for you."

The last part he snarled, almost spitting as each syllable left his mouth. Then he took a big breath.

"That said, when we're neck-deep in sheet, and there's a metric fuckton of bullets zipping inches from our faces from every direction, you're more likely to hear me shouting something vaguely along the lines of <scalpel down>, rather than say, <sir Adams, MD, sir, would you kindly duck under the fucking hailstorm of death, sir>. So if it's not much to ask, pretty please, entertain my particular malfunction and learn to roll with it. We'll all live longer for it."

[Helgoland]

Sir. Are there secondary targets, if we're expected to stay behind the enemy until the lines catch up to us?

"Again, we'll stay in touch via radio. When contacting the HQ, ask for Colonel Lee - they'll get me right away. You'll now be shown to your quarters; the plane goes at 0200. I wish you the best of luck."

[BlitzDungeoneer]

"So because we're safe and sound, this is suddenly bloody hilarious, then? Fan-fucking-tastic. Maybe I should make us some party hats, and we can cover ourselves in blue paint, and then we can call ourselves smurfs, eh? How's that sound?" Zach starts grinning.

[bawr]

"Only if the party hats are battle-ready. See? Now you're finally getting into the spirit of things."

John smiles without much joy. Little amusements, they keep him alive.

"Get more of a darkened grayish blue, though, could double as a night camo later on. I'm getting more of a Mad Hatter tea party vibe now, though. What with Alice and all."