Not Quite An Officer...Somewhat of a Gentleman

[Catherine Olive Ross]

OOC: Closed to Murdo.

Country: Southeastern England
Current Time: Sometime in the late evening - actual time unknown

Area/Setting: The fields outside of London, far enough that the city isn't even a speck on the horizon, but that you can still smell the scent of the city when the wind blows right. It's really just a bunch of nondescript hills, lined with fences and hedgerows, with sheep and cattle here and there. A road snakes through these hills, leading to a simple, small country town.
Weather Conditions: Clear, breezeless and with temperatures around 15 degrees Celsius - in other words, a pleasant evening.

===================================================


"Sir, please, it's gettin' dark - "

"I don't care, you stupid Negro!" snarled the irate gentleman, grabbing sixteen-year old Catherine Ross's wrist and pulling her forward. "What did your mother teach you, hm?! When someone calls you, you answer, dammit!!"

The teenager winced, both from the sharp pain of the man's fingers and the spittle that flew from his mouth. He was a farmer, having begun his tirade after catching up with Catherine - she had cut across his field in order to return home more quickly. The daylight was fading, and she would have been lying if she said that the dark didn't scare her; unable to see what was going on around her, and with no hearing to prevent being snuck up upon, the nighttime was the stuff of her nightmares. If the man before her held her up any longer, then the warm, springtime afternoon would turn into evening, and she would be stuck walking home without a light. Unfortunately, he had been out in the fields, finishing bringing his sheep in for the night, and had yelled at her to stop; not hearing him, Catherine had continued to the road. The farmer had followed her in a rage, taking her by surprise and whirling her around to face him a few minutes later.

"Well?!" snarled the farmer, his grip tightening. "What are you going to say, hmm?!"

"I-I'm sorry, sir..." replied Catherine quietly, just managing to catch the man's latest words via lip-reading. His mouth was stiff with anger, so it was difficult to catch some of the more subtle movements, but Catherine felt she got the gist of it. "I'm not fond of th' dark, sir. I'm trying to get home afore sunset."

"Ooooh, such a likely story," the farmer sneered with a roll of his eyes. "You know, I think it right to call the coppers on you, girl! I don't need you stomping all over my pasture like you own the bloody place!"

"Sir, please," began Catherine, trying to keep calm and (hopefully) sound the same, only to suddenly be shaken back and forth by the angered Englishman before her.

"No more of your, 'sir pleases', woman! I'm sick of you children all over my fields!" snapped the farmer. He then turned around, angrily hauling Catherine along as the girl struggled to free herself; this only angered the man further, and he yanked the girl forward. Using the momentum, he rammed his elbow into her gut to keep her quiet, and Catherine coughed harshly as the wind was knocked out of her.

[Murdo Boss]

(OOC: Sorry it's so long, didn't even realize it's length till I was done. x.x)

The sun was setting as Murdo heaved himself up one of the many rolling hills of the road. Though the sky had taken bright red in appearance, it was getting hard to see in the distance, but the old bastard knew where he was going. He’d never been there before, the small town just outside of London, but one of his mates from the 47th Commando had resided there, leaving a young misses and even younger child to bear his name as his body was tattered on the shores of France.

How long had it been now? A week? More? Mungo couldn’t tell. The days were all churning into one continuous memory as the liquor fuelled his hate filled soul. Rest was for the weak, or at least that’s what he told himself, and having been given two weeks of leave he intended to spend every waking moment of it in memory of his comrades. Last night was a weak point, he’d collapsed somewhere between a nondescript bar and some Inn or another, where he’d been picked up by some friendly Brits and carried to his rented room. Finally his week long binge had been broken, and with a much needed bout of sleep, Mungo awoke today feeling much more refreshed, and ready to endure whatever came his way.

Liquor had long since left his system, deciding that today was the day he’d talk to the lassie in the country. Taking in the surrounding fields, Mungo longed for his family farm farther north, but knew he’d probably never see it again, if not for some German bullet thrashing his body, then because his parents would probably have long since left. Times were tough due to the war, and as Mungo crested the hill he’d been trudging up he stopped for a second to take a breather and gather his wits.

The town lay about a half mile away, close enough that the Scot could see the warm lights of the residents, basking through their pane glass windows as they busied themselves with their lives. One of those houses is Audrey’s, poor girl must be devastated by her lose. Especially since Mungo himself had felt broken as well. And it took a hell of a lot to break his tough Scottish demeanour.

"No more of your, 'sir pleases', woman! I'm sick of you children all over my fields!" Came a voice in the distance, and Murdo swivelled his head to find its source. The sight he came across just to the right and about two hundred yards out was purely stroke of luck, as he caught glimpse of the man who’d been shouting hammer his elbow deep into the abdomen of a young black women.

Being of Scottish descent, Mungo wasn’t particularly nice to any African Americans he came across. Hell a good portion of his scars on his body were from broken bottles, taken to him during riotous bar brawls usually involving a black or two, but nor was he particularly racist. On the contrary he could care less about the colour of ones skin, so long as they were kind to him he was kind to them, unless he’d had a drink or two before.

But liquor always did bring out the worst in people.

“Aye, stand still laddie!” Called out the Scot, his voice echoing across the vast expanse of field, stopping the farmer dead in his tracks and causing his neck to crane in Mungo’s direction. In fact, both figures turned and looked, but the lady took the chance to make an escape, and struggled hard against the larger mans restraints, only to be hit once more in retaliation.

“What do you want you bloody jock?! Bugger off! Mind yer own!” Shouted the farmer before turning and resuming his trudging towards the farmhouse.

“Tha fook did ya jist say ta me? Thas it ya fookin bastard!” In a flash Murdo was over the first fence between himself and the farmer, closing the distance with a murderous sprint as he trampled grass and field on his way over. The farmer saw this, however simply increased the pace with which he dragged the lass towards his home, reaching the door just as Mungo hit his property. “Runnin like a scared little doggy aye?!” Shouted the angered Scot.

Upon reaching the house, he slowed for a second, taking in the petite building and sizing up the entrances before catching a glimpse of a face in the window, and charging full speed for the house. Hitting the front door with his shoulder absolutely wrecked the locking mechanism, sending it flying open under his weight, leaving him to barrel right into the man’s old wooden dining table. Being as shabby as the exterior, Mungo paid little or no mind to the decorations as he brought his fists to his face and prepared for a fight, searching high and low for the farmer.

Being one large room, there was really no where the man could hide, but as Mungo turned to the lass shivering in the corner, he was jumped by the farmer who’d somehow managed to hide himself behind the destroyed door. “Got ya, you doss cunt!” Shouted the Brit as he wrapped his arm around Mungo’s throat in a choking manoeuvre. “I aught to call the cops! Look what ya did ta my door!”

Elbowing his assailant in the abdomen, Mungo gave the farmer a taste of his own medicine, causing him to release his hold and sputter backwards, holding his stomach in his hands as the aches ran through his body. Now with nothing to impede his movement, Murdo grabbed a handful of the farmers unkempt, and awfully horrid hair with one hand, and wound back with his free one, before releasing the pent up energy and slugging his foe right in the cheek, knocking him out cold instantly.

Heaving from the running, Murdo leaned back on the table he’d only seconds before barrelled into, and whipped his brow of sweat. This was definitely not what he’d planned to do when he’d started out on the journey over, but nonetheless Mungo felt like he’d accomplished something, no matter how minor it was. Back in the corner the lass was still shivering, and having almost totally forgotten about her, Murdo turned and motioned for her to leave now that the farmer was unconscious.

“Go on now lassie, and mind yer business aye? Dunnae want anuva of dees wankas comin down on ya!”

[Catherine Olive Ross]

Catherine only stared at the stranger, eyes practically popping out of her head, and made all the more owlish by the large lens of her glasses. Everything the man bellowed had gone over her head; the strike to her face - done by the farmer when she had attempted to wriggle away while he was distracted - had made her head swim. Her deafness prevented her from fully understanding the situation, the girl only remembering being dragged to the farmhouse, and then the newcomer beating the farmer senseless. Everything had happened so fast, so violently and within only a few minutes, that Catherine hadn't had the time to grasp it.

Suddenly, the girl blinked, and then shook her head like a dog would. Looking up at the soldier - she could tell by the uniform he wore - Catherine jumped to her feet, stumbling as she did so. She couldn't help but feel nervous, seeing how angry-looking the man was; he had shouted something at her, too, she then realized. Nervously she swallowed, gathering up the strength in her voice so that she would not squeak, saying quietly (and perhaps a little too quietly), "Um...c-come again, sir? I, er...."

Not knowing really what to say, Catherine motioned with one finger towards an ear.

"Deaf. Lip reading. Come again, please?"

Catherine sincerely hoped the gesture didn't come across as rude or threatening. She probably would have bolted by then, had it not been for the man standing right in front of the door. To the teenager, he seemed to have a brutal temper, and why he had beaten the farmer in was unknown to her - she did not know his true motives. Was he some sort of thief, come to raid the farmhouse? Had the farmer owed him some money, and was late in paying back a debt? Or was he one of those "insane" soldiers she had heard about, who saw so much fighting, they eventually went and snapped like a twig?

It was quickly getting darker and darker out. Every inch of Catherine's being wanted to go home, to escape the night and into a brightly-lit, perfectly safe house, where a warm bed and equally warm food awaited her. It would be even worse if she was stuck with this man in the dark....

[Murdo Boss]

At the words deaf, and lip reading, Mungo literally felt his heart sank as he squinted at the black lass before him. Her wide rimmed glasses looked disproportionate to her face, and gave her eyes a weird chilly feeling, that ran up and down Murdo’s spine not stopping or letting up till he broke his gaze from the girl.

Bollocks. He thought, noting that the situation was all the worse not just from the girl’s disabilities, but from the fact that he’d never had to deal with a deaf person before. Waving his hand in a ‘come here’ motion, Murdo’s anger dissipated as he rose up from the table he’d been perched on and cracked his neck carefully before staring straight into the girls eyes.

“Come. I’ll. Walk. Yuh. Holm,” His eyes watched as hers carefully made out his words, him trying desperately to make them as none accented as he could and doing an actually decent job for once. It still sounded like it’d been blasted out of a sheep’s sphincter, but as he motioned for her to leave, he felt confident she’d gotten the message.

When her feet hit the dirt, his followed closely, paying enough respect to the disgruntled man inside the farmhouse to shut his door, leaving it swinging slightly on its hinges, unable to lock it in place. Taking the lead, Mungo eyed the village ahead and pointed it out across the four hundred or so yards of field that lay between them, the sun having just about set casting long shadows over everything in sight. They probably wouldn’t make it back before dark, but Murdo didn’t mind at all.

Afterall, it’s the darkness where the British Commando truly shines! No matter how ironic that may sound…

[Catherine Olive Ross]

She always walked home from school that way. It was a bit of a long walk, but George - one of the small town's two shepherds, and caretaker-in-training of the Weathersbys' cheviot flock - always walked her home. Him and Gareth, one of the last Jacobs his family owned after a dog attack a few years back, in which a wild pack had decimated most of the breed in his flock; they hadn't been responding well to the sheepdogs that evening. The Weathersbys had had the idea of letting their nursing sheepdog, Carry-On, adopt Gareth into her newborn litter, the ram but a scared, orphaned lamb at the time; as to be expected, the sheep had been raised acting and thinking he was a dog.

But Gareth and George had not been there that evening - he probably had had some sort of problem in the fields that held him up. The staggering number of ewes the Weathersbys had meant that the lambing season could be hectic, and to prevent the disaster that had befallen the Weathersbys' Jacobs, the family worked double-time to watch the flock. Catherine knew it was still early enough in the spring that dark came quickly, but there were shortcuts. Most of them meant running across unused land, but then the sun had dipped a little faster than she had been expecting....

Catherine was still wondering how such a simple walk home could have led to such a load of codswallop. Auntie Larissa would probably start worrying, and George would most likely be out looking for her as soon as he was done with the flock. She couldn't stay in the farmer's house forever - it was only a matter of time before he woke up, and God only knew what he'd do if he found Catherine trespassing further. There was no other choice than to walk home with this stranger, as unpredictable and frightening as he seemed.

Luckily, it seemed the man did not wish to harm Catherine, and instead, looked a little crestfallen when she mentioned she was deaf. The girl frowned, watching as he slowly pronounced his words, trying very hard to make them clear, and Catherine smiled a little. So, he was a fellow Scotsman - his accent was betrayed by the subtle pulls and rounding of his lips, which slightly differed for everybody, depending on their manner of speech. The long vowels in a Scot's speech, for example, meant the position of the lips were held in place longer than in an accent with shorter vowels.

"Aye, not to worry sir," said Catherine, her own voice betraying a minor Scottish inflection, detectable among the Estuary English heard so commonly in the area. She stood up, brushing her plaid skirt off daintily. "I'm a Scot meself; I'm familiar with the accent."

Clearing her throat, Catherine glanced at the farmer, biting her lip. A part of her wanted to mention to her Auntie Larissa about how the poor man had been punched out cold...but then again, there was a part of Catherine that decided the details were best left conserved. She slowly walked towards the Scotsman - glancing at the darkness outside nervously - and stopped a short distance from him.

"Um...where are we goin', anyways?"

[Murdo Boss]

“Thas a load oof mae shoulders ayle tell ye,” Grunted Mungo with a smile after hearing of the girls northern roots. He was a softy for soft spoken lasses and handicaps as well, having seen first hand how bad war could mangle a human being’s body. But he also felt weak when it came to Scots. No matter how many he met in his travels, he always grew accustomed to them, having lived in usually the same area of Britannia; he figured they lived through similar things to what he had gone through.

This girl was different though, not only was she dark, she was also deaf, which must’ve caused a lot of stress to her. Most people weren’t too kind to the African populace around these parts, or any parts for that matter. People didn’t like different, and although he was sure that whites were a minority in the overall picture of the world, he also understood that they also made up the higher class in terms of money and social standing.

"Um...where are we goin', anyways?" It was a strange question to Murdo, who hadn’t the faintest idea where they were in fact going. Stopping his slow pace, he turned to the girl and looked at her for a second and then back at the village, pondering the possibility of just leaving having (as he would presume) saving her from the belligerent bastard behind them. A scratch of his head, the Scot turned back to the lass and smiled a sheepish smile.

“Whereva ya need tae go miss,” Audrey could wait, as could the loud bustle of the London streets. Nothing like a relaxing walk through the country with a former maiden in distress, to satisfy the inner gent of Mungo. It was part of his psyche he hadn’t felt in ages, probably since before he’d volunteered, and it made a feeling of ease and warmth wash over him as he remembered the days before the war. Characterized by hard days and lazy evenings, scrambling around with his mates to the pubs or on the streets, and hitting on any lass that came by. Those were the days of gentry, even though it may not have seemed like it to Murdo, but since then he’d rarely found need for courtesy. Even with his superiors the Scot was brash and unflinching, something respected and quite often seen as a weakness in the hard shelled Scot.

It’s not like they deserved to see his softer side, nor did any of his mates for that matter. Not only was it a private thing, but Mungo also saw it as a weakness, but so long as the right people didn’t see it, he saw no reason to hide it indefinitely. Maybe it was his father and uncles lessons that had made him the way he was towards women, but Murdo didn’t ponder on it too long, afterall there was still a war waging on.

[Catherine Olive Ross]

The girl was taken aback at how quickly the soldier dropped his grizzled demeanour. Fears lessened for a moment, Catherine walked a little closer to the Scotsman, glancing left and right at the coming night; even with another presence, she still felt nervous. Every ripple in the grass was some sort of monster, every little glint of light a pair of hungry eyes - Catherine wished she could hear the dark. Hear what was there, what was sneaking around and looking for food, or what watched quietly from atop the surrounding hills. There was also the underlying fear of losing her glasses in the dark, which would mean she would both deaf and partially blind.

When the man turned towards Catherine, saying - if she could tell correctly - he could go wherever she needed to, she smiled. Motioning with one hand, she said, hopefully loud enough, "Come here then, sir," and waited for him to get close. When he did so, and Catherine could read his lips better, she pointed towards the village up ahead.

"There, sir. Me Auntie's house is in the middle of town. It's just ten minutes, not that far."

Once again, Catherine glanced over her shoulder, eyes warily surveying the darkness behind her. Content that nothing seemed to be there, she started forward, a hand reaching up to the side of her face. Her fingers fiddled with her glasses, straightening them after the farmer had nearly knocked them off. They paused, however, to gently caress down the side of her face, where a slight pain told Catherine a bruise would form. It was below the ear, reaching onto her cheek, which would probably cause a bit of swelling; nothing she couldn't hide with her hair. Her Auntie Larissa and George, however, would probably have a fit, and then the soldier would probably have all eyes on him. Catherine would have to tell him to stay outside before she went in - even thinking about explaining what had happened to her Auntie felt awkward.

"...I don't believe I got your name, sir," said Catherine, looking at the soldier again as to read his answer. "You're a...Sergeant, yes sir?"

If she did have to bring him inside, then hopefully his chevrons would put her Auntie at ease. Although the farmer was justified in his concerns, he had reacted rather harshly, and the kindly soldier had simply put a stop to his unacceptable behaviour. It was just another day in the life for the servant of Britain, wasn't it?

[Murdo Boss]

Nodding his approval at the direction of the young girls Aunt, Mungo watched for a second as she glanced behind herself in a frightened manner and rubbed at the slight bruise that was beginning to form on her cheek. It wasn’t at all bad, definitely noticeable to anyone who knew her, but he felt confident that she’d be able to explain it. The thought of possibly being held responsible weighed lightly on his shoulders, and the fact that the farmer would wake up with a much more severe bruise would help him sleep easy tonight.

“Thas right lass, Sergeant Boss, lads call me Mungo tho,” The Scot outstretched his rough calloused hand towards her with a smile, shaking hers for a quick second before motioning with his hand for her to get movin.

“Dunae want ta keep yer aunt waiten aye?” With the way clear, and the dark starting to settle in, Mungo took the lead, swivelling his head as had become accustom due to the battles he’d fought in and marvelled at the beauty of the surrounding hills. “Beauty innit? Mibbe not as noice as good al Scotland, but it’ll do,” He heaved, glancing down at his feet as they stomped through the field.

Back up North, with his family, he’d learned the way of the hunt, and how to ride horses and all manner of other country activities and mannerisms. His father had died however, last year, and Murdo felt the death every waking moment of his day. It was strange that he was feeling it now though; maybe it was the rolling hills around him, or just a natural pang of grievance. Whatever the problem though, he masked it well as his thoughts drifted north. He wondered about his mother, the last surviving immediate family his had, and of his aunt and uncle, the two who had raised him in his late adolescence.

Where were they now?

[Catherine Olive Ross]

"A pleasure to meet you, Mister Boss."

Catherine happily took the man's hands and shook them, following the soldier as closely as a dog would afterwards. And, with the expected glances to and fro, ever watchful of the vast fields that were now wide shadows. She was mostly silent, instead focusing on keeping in step with Sergeant Boss; the man walked like a plough-horse over hurdles. Was this a result of his soldier training? Or did his noticeably athletic build come purely from genetics, which had blessed him with the legs of a natural-born runner? Either way, he had a long, purposeful step, and Catherine trailed uncomfortably behind him a few times.

The walk seemed slower than Catherine anticipated. It might have been her fears, it might have been being slower than the Sergeant; either way, it made her feel more and more uneasy. She moved closer to Sergeant Boss, starting to feel claustrophobic because of the lack of light -

"GAAH!"

- And promptly tripped over a stone that stuck up a couple of centimetres. Her glasses slid off her face - admittedly too big for her girlish features - but they were the only thing that fell, as she managed to catch herself. To the Sergeant's ears, the glasses would click away from where they were standing, within arms reach but well-hidden to Catherine. Her breath hitched for a moment, slightly panicked by one of her most important senses being compromised; it was then followed by a mental curse of, Oh, s*&9!

Getting down on her hands and knees, she scrambled around in the dirt, trying her hardest not to look too scared. To those she did not know well, her fears were embarrassing; it made her, in Catherine's opinion, look all the more childish. She was sixteen, for Pete's sake, and she still couldn't sleep at night without a lamp on! Worse yet, the last time she had been stuck in a field after sundown, she had suffered a panic attack for two hours until George and Gareth had found her!

"Um, s-sorry, just g-gimme a minute..." muttered Catherine, unsuccessfully pawing and grabbing at the dirt for her glasses. At the rate she was going at, it was going to take forever to find those glasses! (Once again, in her opinion, at least.)

[Murdo Boss]

He’d been a few paces ahead of Catherine, just starting to puff his way through a fresh cigarette when he heard the lass shout out behind him. It was a mixture of terror and surprise, and sent Mungo reeling as he spun sharply on his heels to find the girl scrambling on the ground, her eyes searching the ground as her hands roamed it freely. Did her eyes look smaller now? Then Murdo realized her glasses had fallen.

Slipping his lighter back into his pocket, leaving the unlit cigarette in his mouth, the Scot dropped to one knee and carefully scanned the dimly lit grass around the wee girl, stopping on a minute reflection nearby. Shuffling over just a tad so he could raise the object with his hand, Mungo found it to be the girl’s glasses and smiled widely at the find.

“Oyv goat em lass, gimme a minuht and ahl give em back, awright? Just needs a bit o a clean,” Without another word Murdo pulled his cotton shirt forward, peeling the bottom upwards before wiping the slightly dirty lens’ on the soft fabric. The sight would be much better, he rationed, before giving it back to the girl who sat silent watching his hands carefully.

Mighty big lens’. Thought the Scot as he placed them in one open palm, much to the lasses relief. His thought continued as he rose up from his crouch, corners of his mouth upturned to his ears. Must be hard having such little sight and being deaf. Poor girl. But his smile remained as he ruffled her hair just a bit, not an uncommon thing for Murdo to do to what he could only label a child, before he turned and made sure the girl was beside him as he continued.

“Spose I was gawn a wee bit fast aye? I’ll be sure ta slow down fer ya,” Spoke the Scot once he was sure he’d caught her eye. The village was near enough that he could clearly see inside the previous foggy yet brightly lit windows, and casually observed various families going about their lives. Which was her’s? The thought vacated his mind when she stopped at one of the many buildings, and he realized his cigarette was still unlit. So, while she knocked, he lit it up and was careful to stand at least a foot away from her, just a bit out of the light.

No need to scare the family members after all, something Mungo was sort of accustomed to as of late. More than one Londoner gave him strange looks of fright as he paraded drunk through their happy streets.

[Catherine Olive Ross]

Catherine blinked in a bit of surprise, trying to figure out what those fuzzy blotches in front of her were. Upon making out the shape of a hand, the girl reached forward, surprised by a sudden, hard shape. After a few seconds, familiarity clicked in her head - her glasses had been found! With an enthusiastic smile, she took them, carefully setting them back onto her face. The Sergeant would again be fixed under an overtly owlish gaze.

"Thanks, Mister Boss," she said with a hint of sheepishness. When he mentioned that he could move slower, that sheepishness was replaced by a hint of panic; "N-no! It's okay!" Catherine would stutter. "I, er...I just, um...I just tripped. Just tripped, that's all. I meself am okay, uh...let's just keep going, o-okay?"

Practically bolting to her feet, Catherine made sure to hurry the last few yards into town. It was only when she was surrounded by light that she felt safe; light provided plenty of shadows to glimpse. If something was to sneak up on her, she could catch it moving across the lit windows, betrayed by the glow of the surrounding homes. Now more at ease, it didn't take her long to find her aunt's place, as she could think more clearly without the dark.

Catherine walked up to the door, the Sergeant presumably still in tow. She paused, before knocking, then turned around ans said, "Um...thank ye, very much so. I, uh...hope this doesn't happen again. Should we meet, that is. Heh...that sounded really cheesy, didn't it? Too poet-like, and such. Gah. Oh well."

Turning back around, Catherine took a deep breath, then let out a calming exhale. Raising her hand, she knocked a few times, and it was mere minutes before her aunt answered. The face of Larissa Ross immediately showed relief as she stood, a bit surprised, then reached forward and hugged her niece. Catherine flinched a little at the suddenness; she still felt a bit flighty, and her injury had been brushed against by one arm.

"Catherine Ross, thank goodness!" said Larissa after pulling back. "Georgie was lookin' all o'er for ye in the fields! Ye're never out this late - what happened?"

"N-nothing much," said Catherine, blinking. Larissa, however, suspected otherwise, and immediately scanned Catherine's face for clues. That came in the form of uneasy eyes and a large bruise, as well as the presence of the Sergeant standing nearby.

"Good God, child! Ye've been 'it with somethin'!" said Larissa. "Ye come in right now, and we'll talk about what happened. And you!"

Larissa pointed a finger at Sergeant Boss's shadowed figure.

"Ye shouldna 'ave somethin' to do wit' this, should ye?"

[Murdo Boss]

“Nae ma’am!” Said the Sergeant, putting his hands up before him in a defensive position as if to ward off any more finger pointing from the lass. “It wis this cu-” He stopped himself, mid sentence, realizing who it was he was talking to. “Ah mean…it was this faermer down the road likesay? Shouldna be hittin wee lasses,” Mungo cracked his knuckles for effect, hoping the lady understood what he meant before outstretching his hand to shake hers.

“A’hm Sergeant Murdo Boss, numba foorty seventh Commandos, pleased tae meet ya,” When she joined her hand with his, he held it daintily like his mother had shown him long, long ago, before releasing and plastering a wide smile across his face. “Ah’m goon a ‘ave tae take me leave nae, ye naw ‘ow it is, tem oofcers dunnae like it when ye dunnae show up at roll call, likesay?” Backing away, he waved at the young girl inside the house, cigarette still hanging loose from his lips but burning steadily as it hadn’t been puffed on for some time. This was Murdo’s first instinct as he pulled away, and when he’d gotten his lungs full of smoke, he slipped the cigarette between his fingers and exhaled.

“Be careful aboot thawt faermer in the future eh?” And then he was gone, disappearing from the light that was cast from the open door and occasionally spotted passing lit windows as he left the village. It was well past roll call, but Mungo knew the CO personally, bought the lad a few drinks in the past and the two were fairly tight, so he was sure it wouldn’t be much trouble if he turned up a little late.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

The following CP has been issued:

Ross - 6CP

Boss - 6CP

-JT