British Need Cooking Lessons (Open)

[Sgt. Cavanaugh]

Redd was never truly fond of water. The lake in his parents' farm's backyard was fun to swim in, sure, but once or twice they had gone to the ocean. He wasn't fond of not being able to feel the ground below his feet. But, the American Military had another plan for him. Why not put him on a naval ship in the middle of the ocean, just days away from the Omaha invasion? Luckily for Redd, he wasn’t one to get seasick.

The bunks were worse than Ranger school. Who in the right mind would put a bunch of men that close together when war was at the ready? Well, it didn’t really matter. He was prepared for this, prepared for the close quarters, and prepared to swim to shore incase the ship were to be sunk. He wasn’t prepared for the British, though. The troops kept going on about whether or not they were still shooting the Native Americans or shooting up the police in the big cities. Most of the GIs politely declined, but some of the Rangers would go on about how they did. GIs would call them out on their lies, everyone having a great hark and laugh.

But, that was not the real problem. The real problem was the food. It was awful-- No, not awful. That would be insulting the word itself. Redd took his rations and began cooking it and an infantry’s portable stove, the American issued food a lot better than what they were cooking in the kitchen. The NCOs on board would chew him out for it, but he’d rather stomach his food than not at all.

Redd began to eat away at his beef stew. It was filling, tasty, and made Redd just all together feel better about being on this ship only to be sent away to a most likely death. At least the beef stew was good.

[Victoria Adaline Clarke]

"Ugh...." grumbled the Pilot irritably.

Victoria couldn't quite get use to the movement of the ship. The way the waves would push and rock the ship made the girl's stomach churn. At this point Victoria would give anything to be on land right now. A fly girl is not meant to be on a ship! she would irritably say to herself.

Holding her dizzy head, the girl began to make her way to the ship's mess hall. Hopefully a light meal would settle her queasy stomach. Or so she hoped.

Stepping into the mess hall, the girl was instantly greeted with the sounds of chatty men and a few other fly girls. Victoria scrunched her nose slightly. Feeling a little more sick to the stomach when she felt yet another wave push against the ship.

This was just not her day.

However---the smell of food filled Victoria's lungs---so many familiar smells of home made her somewhat miss her life back in Yorkshire. Not that she would want to...she was better off in the army than at home with her drunkard of a father. Grabbing a tray she filed in line behind a soldier---a slight frown crossed the British woman's pale lips as the server slapped what seemed like shepherd's pie? Or was it oatmeal?
Well, whatever it was....it certainly didn't take such an acquired taste to eat the food. As weird as the food looked, it didn't taste that bad. At least enough to eat and not throw it up, well that was her opinion.

Victoria sighed taking her tray then. She looked around trying to find her regular group that she sat with in the mess hall. Her brown eyes flitting nervously over the sea of chatty men that smelled something short of body odor and sweat. Taking a step forward, she didn't want to seem like a total idiot looking like a lost puppy and found a seat next to an American soldier.

The table was quite isolated---but at least less crowded than the other tabled...and perhaps less rowdy. Picking up her fork she stabbed at her food for a bit before taking a few bites out of it.

[Sgt. Cavanaugh]

"I don't know how you can stomach that," The American troop said, eating his beef stew rations. He didn't look over to her, just into his silver, clean can that slowly became less filled. Redd had a sinking feeling in his gut that he would ultimately regret eating this, but for the time being... He couldn't find a shit to give.

Redd set the empty can down on the table, licking his fork clean then wiping it with a napkin, "This look clean enough?" Yet, before the woman could answer he simply slipped out his mess kit and slipped the fork back in. He looked back up towards the woman and just gave a smile to her through his scruffy face. After that tidbit of awkward silence, Redd cleared his throat, "So, what's that pill mean on your arm anyway? You a popper?"

Some troops walked behind them, giving out cat calls and whistles to the lady in question. Redd turned and flashed his stripes, the men silencing themselves and continued their walk away. Redd turned to face the woman once more, "Sorry about the guys. We've been crammed in with a bunch of men for almost a month now, it's nice to see something... Well, anything." Redd gave a chuckle and looked at the shepherd's pie... Er, no, the oatmeal... Whatever it was.

"I don't know how you can stomach that food. It's too watered down. In the 'States, everything is chunky and filling," His stomach growled just thinking about it. Redd looked around to notice that more troops were leaving than staying, so he slid he legs out from beneath the table and got to his feet, "Try not to spew out dinner. The rocking of the ship has made a few of my men blow chunks."

Redd walked over to the trashbin, throwing away his silver can-- Only for an NCO to see it.

The sergeant immediately stood at attention as for the next half hour he was chewed out for it, and as punishment had to do some push-ups and jog around the messhall. But, at least he had that nice stew.

[Victoria Adaline Clarke]

Victoria stopped prodding at the grey looking goop on her tray. Her brown eyes falling on the American soldier who was eating his share of rations. Honestly, the food he was eating looked ten times better than the grey muck on her tray. The pilot shifted awkwardly in her seat looking over again as the American licked his fork clean before sticking it back into his mess kit. The girl couldn't help but cringe---her pale lips twitched a bit wanting to comment about how unsanitary that was. Before she could even utter a word the American had quickly drawn her attention to the yellow and blue patch on her arm.

Victoria sat there as an awkward silence seemed to settle between them. She shifted in her seat again shaking her head when the man asked if she was a popper, "No, sir...this patch means I'm a flight officer..." she replied bluntly, honestly she couldn't help but think about the fact he just licked his fork and proceeded to put it away without properly cleaning it.

But was quickly silenced by the sounds of obnoxious cat calls and whistles from behind. Victoria's cheeks flushed a bit in an irritated manner, her hands curling into fists. How badly did she want to just chuck her tray at them. Of course that wouldn't be the most lady like thing to do, not that Victoria would care...then again she wouldn't last ten seconds if she were to stir up some trouble with them.

The brunette looked up again---hearing the rowdy cat calls and whistles suddenly die down when the American looked at the group. Victoria shot the man a rather quizzical look till her eyes laid on the pair of stripes on his arm. She froze for a moment wanting to apologize for being rather blunt with the man, "So it seems. " she replied after he stated that it was nice to see something.

She gave the man a shrug and stood, "Well, umm...thank you Sir, you have my gratitude." she said with a smile, "And to answer your question....let's just say at least the food is edible." she said, "I suppose I haven't gotten use to the ship." she said watching the man walk over to the trash bin to dump whatever was left of his rations. However, to his dismay an NCO caught him and was punished to do some laps around the mess hall as well as some added push-ups.

Victoria sat back down and proceeded to eat her food, fearing she would get scolded as well. At least the food was edible...though the taste was certainly bland...as usual. Perhaps she needed to add some salt to it next time.

Victoria waited a few moments watching the Sergeant proceed to do some push-ups, "Had quite an earful there..." she said crossing one of her legs on top of the other.

[Sgt. Cavanaugh]

Redd hadn't broken a sweat as he rushed around the messhall. This is British punishment? This was nothing compared to what one of his NCOs would have made him do. He would have had to go into the bathrooms and scrub the toilets clean with a toothbrush, then make him use that toilet, then clean it again with a toothbrush. Redd stood at attention when the NCO called him back over, "You are to never eat your rations again! Do you hear me, soldier!?"
"Sir, yes, sir!!"
"And, if I ever catch you eating your rations, I will take my hand, shove it down your throat, and pull it back up and recan in!! Do I make myself clear!?"
"Sir, yes, sir!!"
"You are dismissed!"
Redd took a step back and turned himself around, facing Victoria. He walked back over and sat down next to her, the other man simply walking away. Redd let out a sigh and hung his head back, "Jeez, cut a guy some slack." He turned to Victoria, "Oh, I don't think I actually got your name. Name's Redd." He held his hand out to shake hers.

After everything was said and done, Redd sat in his prickly uniform. Victoria's touch seemed to just sit on top of his hand, Redd's brilliant eyes taking a glimpse of it. It was strange, a woman's touch after so long felt so strange. Like water in a desert, but so much more blissful. Redd took a sniff, "Hey, mind if I call you Vicky?" Redd slipped his tongue out of his mouth to lather down his dry lips. He took another inhale, the aroma of her food filling his nostrils with the smell of what should never be created by man, "Throw that shit out, Vicky. It smells like it shouldn't even be eaten."

Redd decided to stand up once more, his feet almost like mush in his jumper boots. The ship was warm and heated, but the military still issued the men warm socks. His feet probably would reek the entire boat if he took off his tightly tied boots now. He gave Victoria a brief smile, "Say, can you gamble? You look like you got a mean pokerface." Redd slipped a pack of cigs from his shirt, opening the box of cardboard and slipping the non filtered cigarette into his mouth. He slipped the pack back into his shirt and sealed the button, patting his body for a lighter.

Without word he simply began to walk towards the exit. His boots rolled off the steel floor with ease, his hand placing itself on the door. Redd looked back at the woman, craning his neck with a look of judgement on his face, "I'm gettin' a light."

[Victoria Adaline Clarke]

Victoria arched one of her brunette brows at the Sergeant shaking her head at him when he proceeded to sigh and turn to her, "Well...it was your fault for throwing away your rations." mused the girl. She folded her arms across her chest as the American Sergeant drew closer to introduce himself. She quirked her brow again upon hearing his name---assuming it was a nickname she just rolled with it.

"Victoria." she replied taking the Redd's hand into a firm shake.

She gave the man a rather polite smile, observing the fact that his hands were rather rough compared to her's. Actually they rather reminded her of her father's. After all she was a simple farm girl Yorkshire who dreamed of reaching the heavens. Her brown eyes falling on the man again, curiously---as he began to sniff his had like some sort of dog...this just made her want to cringe a bit more...well, not as much as the fork incident.

Her lips twitched a bit---feeling as though this man might be some sort of stalker. Oh god she hoped not. She quickly averted her attention upon hearing Redd ask if he could call her Vicky.

"I'll be honest, I haven't been called that since my Brother was still alive." she smiled, "It's rather refreshing to hear. So yes, of course you can call me that Sir." she stated formally.

Victoria sniffed her hand then and sneered, "R-right...my apologies Sir." she said tossing the rest of her food into the trash since the NCO was gone. She ran her hand against the khaki jumpsuit she wore. She had to admit it was pretty warm in it and being on the ship filled with raging testosterone men, hungry for battle didn't make it better. Then again being on a half ton steel vessel, with small living space... everyone seemed to be crammed in like sardines. Well...at least she wasn't in a sub.

She looked at Redd again as he began to pull out a pack of cigarettes, "No...I don't. Perhaps I should take you up on that offer? Seeing as that I have a what you call a mean poker face." she stated as more of a joke.

Victoria's gaze followed the Redd as he began to leave. Her eyes looked around the mess hall awkwardly, honestly she thought she might have offended him in some way. Did she? She awkwardly took a step towards the exit, really this girl had nothing else better to do. Even though she had fly girl friends...she wasn't too keen on flirting and or sleeping with everyone on the ship.

"Mind if I join you for a smoke then?" she asked as she padded her way towards Redd, "I still owe you my gratitude for helping me earlier. It only seems fair..." she said pulling out a box of matches from her breast pocket.

[Sgt. Cavanaugh]

Redd looked back with the loose cigarette in his mouth, the woman's hand still on his broad shoulder. He unfastened his shirt and pulled out the carton of cigarettes, shaking it up and having one stick out further than the rest so she could take it. Redd placed his hand on the large metallic door that led out to the landing strips of the vessel. His fingers gripped and he pushed on the door, a gust of cold air blowing into the vessel and passed the two.

Redd placed the box back in his shirt pocket when Victoria took her cigarette, his hands reaching up to his right breast to fiddle with his button. Once done, he stepped outside and squinted his eyes at the bright gray clouds in the sky. The breeze felt nice, and Redd reached for his waist. His garrison cap was tucked into his waist, hanging over the side of his tightly fastened pants. Redd grabbed the hat, using his hands to open it a bit, and propped it crookedly on his head-- As it is supposed to look. Redd didn't speak for a moment, he just stood in silence as the cold breeze was split by his large stature. He took a deep breath, his lungs exhaling that sweat-filled musk and inhaling the freshness of the ocean.

Redd then turned to Victoria, "Got a light?" He patted himself down for his lighter, seeming to forget it, "Because I apparently don't."

His eyes met the British woman's. She was so small compared to Redd. She was so delicate. Redd caught himself shaking his head, "A pilot, huh?" He waited for Victoria to light his cigarette, cupping his hands so the wind would break on that and not blow out her match. He inhaled, taking the cigarette in his hand and exhaling. The smoke immediately blew with the wind as it left his mouth, "You over at the castle or do you fight Krauts?"

Redd placed the cigarette back into his mouth and inhaled the nicotine filled stick. There was a pause before he exhaled again, the smoke blowing away just as before.

[Victoria Adaline Clarke]

Victoria arched her brow when Redd offered her one of his cigarettes....honestly, she had some of her own, but heck what was she going to turn down a polite gesture? She smiled wittily taking the cig sticking out the furthest from the rest and followed the man out the door. The instant she stepped out she was met by the cold breeze of the English Channel---if her hair wasn't tied back it would have been blowing in her face.

The grey sky sent an ominous warning...or that's what she felt. D-day was dawning on them...in a few more hours which seemed like days, they'll be close enough to Normandy. It seemed as if they were raising up pigs for slaughter....pigs...is that what they thought of them? No more than idiots willing to throw their lives away just for the heat of battle, for a war that they didn't even understand.

Victoria shook her head at the thought, looking up at Redd when he asked if she had a light, "Of course..." she said slipping the cigarette she had into her mouth before taking out a match from the matchbox.

She struck the match against the textured side of its box, the small stick suddenly burned brightly---its flame flickering like a dance as the wind blew around it. She quickly lit Redd's cig before lighting hers, then extinguished the small match. She exhaled a soft cloud of nicotine---the wind carrying it in a small wispy cloud. She looked back at Redd as he seemed to observe her for a moment, "Yes, I'm a pilot." she replied inhaling through the unfiltered cigarette.

She couldn't help but chuckle a bit at his comment, "Unfortunately, this pretty little face of mine won't be seeing any combat...however, you can count on me to provide you boys with needed supplies." she said with a wavering smile, "And what of you? " she asked, "I saw your stripes earlier---You must be a Sergeant? Correct me if I am wrong sir." she smiled.

[Sgt. Cavanaugh]

"Nah, I just scare people with my face," He gave a snarky remark with a matching grin, only to chuckle a bit, "Yeah. The bastards promoted me before we were shipped off to Tea Land. Pointless paperwork, I tell ya. I joined the army because I wanted to protect my country, now it turns out the bigwigs thought it was a good idea to promote me and protect the guys who wanna do the same thing for this country." Redd ranted on, the cigarette slipping out of his hand, almost purposefully. He watched it fall to the black runway of the naval unit, rolling along before some passing men unknowingly stepped on it. Redd's hand slowly sank to his side and he turned back to face the water, "I haven't seen combat yet. I guess that's what D-Day's for. To make sure the fellas like me know what kinda hell we signed up for."

Redd stood in silence for a bit, "I bet it's a delight to be a pilot. You just fly about, doing your own thing. Everything must seem so tiny-- So insignificant while you're up there. Wish you could just fly right over Berlin and take a shit on Hitler like you're some kinda seagull. That'd throw him out of whatever the hell's he doing over there, he'd die of embarrassment alone."

"That, and the apparent hatred of you guys," Redd joked a bit, "Truth be told, I thought I was getting shipped straight to Japan. After what they did to Pearl Harbor, took all of us by surprise when we were told we weren't gonna be taking the fight there. Guess we gotta help our neighbors out, huh?" Redd cleared his throat. He'd realized he was talking quite a lot, and about stuff that had been on his mind for awhile. That was no way to treat a lady, however.

He turned to her, "So, you got a boy back in Tea Land? Some 'ol' chap' with a monocle and cane?"

[WO2. P. Foster]

Laughter echoed in the air.

Down the other side of the air lane, a group of some ten military men stood with a poorly fashioned leather rugby ball. A full contact sport popular with the British and a handful of their colonies. The only distinguishing features between the two teams of five was that one side lacked hats, while the others wore them. Both sides stood in khaki shorts that were rather, well, short. They wore matching knee-length socks with brown leather boots, almost looking like formal shoes one would wear at a dance. Their long-sleeve khaki shirts were rolled up near their shoulders, giving it the appearance of a short sleeve tunic. Those wearing hats wore a light brown slouch hat with a chin strap. One side of the slouch hat had been pinned upwards. With tucked in shirts, short-shorts, tall socks and formal-looking boots, they were quite the comical sight.



They broke into a sudden sprint across the carrier, a man standing at 5ft 7" wearing a slouch hat held the ball. Spread out in a wide wing formation around him were what could be assumed, his teammates. He seemed to run as though the devil had possessed him, pumping his legs with such speed it looked like each thunder of his boots against the steel decks would be painful. Faster and faster he ran, his team mates falling behind while two others caught up to him, one of them being much taller, and much thicker of build.



The man ran past, cursing under his breath. His accent sounded like a run-down, rougher, less-'posh' and much more lazy English accent "C'mon! c'mon! c'mon!" he had shouted when sprinting past Redd and Victoria. Not a second later, the two other rugby players shot after him. Slowly the larger man was gaining on him. But then, unnoticed a third player came in from a left flank, throwing out his arms and slamming the ball-holder right into the ribs. The man dropped like an anchor. 'Chhdnn' the metal chimed with the sound of him hitting the decks. He coughed loudly and rolled a bit on the steel, having lost his breath. "Bloody 'ell mate, tryin' tah kill me arh yah?". The tackler laughed aloud, placing his hands on his hips, leaning over to catch his own lungs "Yer'll live" he leaned further down and clapped the man across the cheek "Go catch yah breath an' join us when yer done"
"Will do, mate, cheers" he answered, having swiped away the blonde-haired, blue-eyed mans hand away. Watching a retreating back, he stood himself up.

He stretched his legs and swiped his slouch hat off his head, revealing close cut brown hair. He reached his arms up to the sky, spreading his legs wide. He jumped into a half-walk, half-skip towards Victoria and Redd, regardless if they had even watched or not. Returning his hat onto the crown of his head, flicking the strap just under his chin, he spoke aloud " 'Ow 'bout that one aye? Bloody killer he is" he ran his hand across his neck. A badge sat on his right shoulder, it was an image of the royal crown. An insignia of the Australian Imperial Force, denoting him as a Warrant Officer Second Class. Before either could react, he nodded to Redd, his eyes darted downward to an offered hand he had been holding out "Good meetin' yah's, th'names Peter Foster" he then looked to Victoria, raising his left hand, his thumb up, and winked.

[Victoria Adaline Clarke]

The sounds of a rugby match echoed in the background as Victoria took another deep inhale of the cigarette. She smiled a little as Redd began to ramble about how he became a sergeant---stating that he too hasn't seen combat yet, but also the fact that it will change once they land on Omaha beach. The brunette nodded then, "True...I suppose you will." she replied with a curt nod.

Silence soon began to settle between the two, uncomfortably, Victoria tried to think of some sort of conversation starter to break the silence---however, Redd seemed to beat her to it. She gazed at the man with her chocolate hues, a smile growing on her fair features again, "Heh, well...I suppose that's the perks about being a pilot...everything up there...in the sky...it's so surreal...it's almost like a dream or a bird of some sort." she chuckled at herself then.

The girl cocked her head a bit as Redd began to say that he thought he would be shipped off to Japan and not Europe due to the Pearl Harbor incident, "Well, if I may...it would be a shame if you were sir. I wouldn't have gotten a chance to meet one of America's best soldiers." she teased before moving on to answer his question if she had someone back in the UK , "Hmm...if you mean my father, than yes...he's back in Yorkshire." she stated before her attention was drawn away to yet another soldier.

Peter was it? From his accent she figured he was Australian---that and the insignia on his uniform was the coat of arms of the Australian Imperial Force. Victoria looked at Redd then back at the other---her lips pressed into a rather thin line as he winked at her. Seriously? Was it hit on Victoria day?? she thought irritably, smiling politely in return.

[Sgt. Cavanaugh]

Redd hadn't paid much attention to the rugby match, in his personal opinion it was rather foolish that the soldiers were beating themselves up. Redd would flash his eyes towards the excited players who would run to and fro. He was thinking about jumping in, as it was a bit like American football. Though, that game was fairly new and Redd hadn't paid much mind to that either. He watched as a man got tackled, Redd simply turning his head away and turned his attention back to the ocean, "I don't know what the hell that guy's saying."

He then raised a brow when she mentioned her father. Victoria was one sick woma-- Oh, she thought he was asking about family. He laughed, tossing his cigarette to the floor and stepping on it with the toe of his boot. He then turned the tip of his toe and smothering the lit cigarette until it was out, the thin paper and tobacco spread across the floor. "I was asking about a boyfriend. Maybe husband. Then again, you're a pilot. I wouldn't think you'd be able to fly about with a ball and chain!" He joked with the woman, slapping and firmly grasping her shoulder and shaking her a bit. His grip was firm, as expected from an American GI. His fingers were like blunt needles: Didn't pierce her skin but felt as though they had. Redd removed his hand and hung it loosely at his side. "When you get back to Tea Land, I suggest buying a ring for yourself. Most men, my men at least, have the decency not to flirt with a married woman," He suggested to Victoria, a small smile apparent because his mustache curled up with his mouth.

The Australian man's voice broke the connection of Redd and Victoria's eyes. This man was eccentric and simply gave himself the impression that everyone could understand what he said with his thick accent. Redd raised a brow but kept his smile, his brown hues of his eyes looking down as the other man shot his beat up hand towards the sergeant. 'Peter Foster' is the only thing that Redd caught, the American reaching out and taking the other's sweaty hand. Their handshake was firm, like a show of power to the other. However, Redd removed his hand after a brief one shake and wiped it off on his hip as he slyly placed his hands upon his hips. "So, Pete, you guys playing some football?" He asked uncultured, his brows raised as his eyes wandered over to the group of foreigners that were now running and tackling each other once more.

[WO2. P. Foster]

((Currently in Philippines, in the jungles on theisland Leyte, so please excuse any poor quality writing in this post. And the short length of it. Posting to keep it rolling. I'm writing this with just a phone))

His own handshake had meant to be fast and long, but Redd pulled away quite soon, leaving him frowning. He placed his own hands on his hips, nodding as the American spoke "Yeah-nah, rugby-rugby" he seemed to have a need of repeating himself. He shifted his stance to watch the game, raising a hand to his forehead "ye sound like ah Merican boy, met one o ye blokes back ome, george-ah he said he were from, town called 'lanta"

He twisted his body around, now looking to the waves briefly before turning in the duo "watcha say yer names wur?" He clicked his tongue and followed on his stampede of thick accented speech "and wots gotya stationed out 'ere? Thought tha Japs got yah riled up eh? Japs bombed Darwin-home, after they got yer pearl hsrbour. Since den most us Aussies been brought back ome to fight em. Why ain't yer doen tha same"

[Victoria Adaline Clarke]

"Married?" Now that made the British woman chuckle, "No no...I don't have anyone like that at home, I'm too independent for someone as such." she replied as Redd place his heavy hand onto her small shoulder. She muffled a slight cough, almost breathing in the tobacco the wrong way---a smile wavered on the woman's lips as Redd began to explain she should by herself a ring and use it as some sort of protection against luscious men who were looking for a poke.

"Ahh...don't worry about me sir, I can handle myself." she said with a curt nod in his direction.
Of course their conversation was cut short when an Australian soldier came in between them---not literally...but he did interrupt them. Victoria looked at Redd as he began to converse with the other, slightly laughing at the fact he called rugby football.

The brunette girl, shifted a bit, turning her attention to the men continuing to play rugby...honestly, she thought it was rather stupid of them to do so.....D-Day was only hours away and the idiots were getting themselves hurt. She exhaled a grey cloud of tobacco---the wind, carrying the grey whisp to god knows where.

However, Peter's question seemed to draw her back---honestly...she kind of found him rather rude. A frown wavered on the woman's lips---blinking a few times, she looked at Redd before answering Peter's question, "I don't think we introduced ourselves yet...simple courtesy to ask the other after introducing themselves." she replied---her Yorkshire accent peeking through a bit as she extended her hand towards Peter, "Flight officer Victoria Docherty." she stated simply.