Under the Weather [Nathan]

[Leeroy Atherton]

Country: Somerset, southwestern England. The setting is at the Traveller's Place Inn in Burnham-on-Sea.
Current Time: 19:15
Weather Conditions: Cold, rainy, overcast.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


"Ah...ah...aaaaaaah-CHOO!"

Leeroy sniffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with one set of fingers. Her eyes were shut, the world too bright for the migraine that was beginning to form behind her eyes. Standing behind his trusted door supervisor, Monty Python looked on worriedly, walking forward and placing a hand on the woman's shoulder.

"I bizt callin' it quitz now, Leeroy, iv I be 'ee. It dreckley be gettin' late, love."

She opened her eyes just a sliver, revealing them to be bloodshot. In a phlegmy growl, she answered, "No...ugh...I be vine. It be the cold, iz all. 'E be wet today, an' the moisture juzt a-got to me a tad."

"Leeroy, ye be zick. Ye be hackin' an' zneezin' all day when nobody be lookin'. I chinny reckon something'z not wrong with 'ee," replied Monty. His brows furrowed, and he began to lead the woman towards a nearby coat rack. "Grab yer thingz and be goin'. You'm got enough work on the varm without havin' zicknezz to add. You can be comin' in anywhen - "

"I be vine, Monty!" Leeroy snapped, flinging her boss's hand off her shoulder. She would have reacted more quickly to his touch, but she couldn't seem to think straight. In fact, she felt like her head would fall off her shoulders any minute. The English were used to the near-constant rain, as well as the chills it brought both temperature- and illness-wise, but the day had been brutal for Leeroy. There had been several loads of vegetables leaving the supply farm she worked on; there was no rest for the Land Girls, even in the pouring rain. For nine hours straight, she had been loading heavy crates of goods, her dungarees and galoshes soaked through and her overcoat much the same. A similar scenario had occurred the day before, only bags of compost were being unloaded. And the day before that, she had swerved and fell off her motorbike into a large puddle, courtesy of a rainstorm that had just been a tad lighter.

But her immune system was good, and she was fine. Yes, she was tired, and feeling a bit stupid, but there was nothing of concern. All she had to do was clean up, get into the bar, and watch over things for a few hours. Then, she would be fine, in her element and her mind off her runny nose. That was all that was needed....

"Zteady there!" cried Monty, hurrying forward to prevent Leeroy from planting her face into the floorboards. She had been staring off into space one moment, and the next, tipping over like a teapot. Her head bobbed slightly as she steadied herself, blinking in surprise, wondering what had just happened.

"Ehhhhhhhh...what?"

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

Mitchell stood outside the pub in his civvies, a polo, jersay and jeans, over a pair of polished black boots. He pulled a packet of cifarettes out from the trousers and a lighter and proceeded to light the death stick, inhaling the smoke before exhaling, feeling the calming effect of it.

As he looked around, he spotted a motorbike, and he walked over, getting down on one knee to inspect it. It certainly seemed like a nice one, well conditioned. A bit muddy, and he just wished the owner was around to show him how it worked. He sighed as he stood up, wiping gravel from his knees and stubbed out the cigarette and walked in to the pub.

It wasn't often he was in this part of the country, but he just needed to have a few days away from everything. He'd been told this inn was a good place to stay, nice rooms, good hospitality, all that jazz, and a reservation had been made over the phone. He still hadn't unpacked his case from the jeep he was "borrowing" from base.

Only a few moments through the door, a barmaid almost collapsed in front of him. He reached out, grabbing her arms to hold her in the air. This already seemed like a rather interesting establishment. "Are you okay, Ma'am?" he asked, showing the respect to civilians his rank demanded. Life was so much harder as an Officer.

[Leeroy Atherton]

Sitting down in a chair had helped. Leeroy was dead set against leaving early, but after nearly tipping over, she had taken Monty's offer to have a short break. Thirty minutes and one, piping hot cup of tea later, she was back on her feet, although she still had a bit of a headache. Her head also still felt like it had a sack of stones tied to it.

The bar was, yet again, barely full. People were talking and laughing, mostly quiet, so whenever Leeroy sneezed, people looked. However, she wouldn't let that get to her; she had a job to do, and an important one at that. That particular night was especially important, since reservations had been made by a British officer - a rarity for the Traveller. Apparently, the little inn in Burnham-on-Sea was having good things told about it by some rather important people. Then again, Burnham-on-Sea itself was a tourist town - how much long would it have been before someone began paying attention to the "unseen" establishments?

Leeroy couldn't help but rub the bridge of her nose again. She was used to stress, but apparent, her stuffy nose wasn't. The next few days were going to be hard on the Land Girls; there was much shipping out to be done. Most of what was being sent out were just some extra supplies funneled through, such as some timber forwarded from the female woodcutting volunteers. However, everything was made more difficult by the rain that wouldn't let up for at least another few days. That fact wouldn't stop her, though - nothing stopped Leeroy Atherton when she put her mind to it!

So caught up in her thoughts was she, Leeroy's mind left reality again. It was only when a half-drunken patron accidentally swung into her that she came back. She fell backwards, her balance slightly off because of her damp-inflicted ailment. Letting out a choked, "Wh-whoa!" the woman did not realize she was falling in front of a door until a pair of arms caught her.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

The voice of her "saviour" had a slight accent, that of an East Midlander's. However, it seemed to be "watered down" by a more Queen's English-esque manner of speech. Closing her eyes slowly for a minute, Leeroy took a breath to regain her senses, then turned her head to look behind herself. She sighed tiredly at who was holding her up.

It was a British officer. Most likely, the officer who had made reservations. With a quiet, "Yezzir," she slowly stood up, brushing off her sleeves in an attempt to look professional. Snuffing a little, Leeroy turned on her heel, rubbing at her eyes to remove some of the moisture from them. Even if she did feel a bit plugged up, there was no excuse to look such a state in front of a customer, now was there?

"Welcome to the Traveller'z Place Inn, zir. I bizt Leeroy. I be azzumin' correctly...'ee be our guezt of 'onour...yez?" Leeroy asked. Hopefully, she didn't sound like she had spent the night drinking bottle after bottle of beer. One might assume such a thing, with her working in an inn with a bar and all.

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

Mitchell loosened his grip slightly, as he led the lady back a few steps, and dragged a wooden chair out with his boot, creating a loud screeching noise, causing a few patrons to turn towards them, curious. Everywhere you went, it seemed, rubber-neckers beat you.

He helped her down in to a seat, he was used to people fainting. On lone commemerative parades, after a while half the platoon started falling over, although it was well-known most of it was on purpose. The Red Cross had some beautiful women, and a seat in the shade with those ladies fussing over you was better than standing out in the blistering sun for a few hours. "Hey, sit down, get a drink. It's the best thing you can do now."

She asked about him being a "guest of honour." A guest, yes, but he wouldn't go that far. "Well, I'm a guest, yes. Aaron Mitchell, Second Lieutenant British Army. A reservation ws made for me a few days ago, who do I see about getting the key to my room around here?" He reached in to the back pocket of his trousers, and pulled out his ID card, flicking it open at the information page showing his face above the Seventh Armoured Division crest.

He also grabbed his wallet, opening up the ages leather and reaching in for a note. "What was the price for the room, again?"

[Leeroy Atherton]

She didn't struggle much as she was put into a seat. In fact, Leeroy actually felt like she needed to sit down again. A drink would be nice as well...something warm and non-alcoholic, to open up her sinuses. But now was not the time for that - the customer needed to be served. Leeroy rubbed at her eyes again, then took the man's identification after he introduced himself.

"Harry be our keep. He be havin' yer key...Zecond Lieutenant Mitchell," replied the woman, sounding more tired than before. On second thought, why was she sitting down? It would make her more tired, and then, she couldn't do her job right! What was with her head today?! She wasn't sick, it was all in the mind...her headache literally in the mind as well....

"'Arry!" Leeroy called, suddenly standing up. "'Arry...Lieutenant's 'ere! Be vetchin' 'is key now!"

"Yez'm!" cried a voice from the kitchen. An older man quickly retreated from there, whistling as he went, bending down behind the nearby bar. He fished around for something, taking a few minutes to do so, and retrieved a small, felt-covered box. The man then waved the Lieutenant over, grinning broadly.

"Welcome, Lieutenant," said the older man. "I be Harry, the place'z barkeep. Rooms bizt two vivty in poundz, iz all. I see you be also meetin' Leeroy, one o' our door ztaff; 'ope zhe be not knockin' 'ee o'er o'er there, ah hee hee."

From the corner of her eye, Leeroy glared at the old barkeep. He didn't need to be making a fool out of her in front of such an important customer. It was bad for business and...oh, her head again....

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

"Harry be our keep. He be havin' yer key...Zecond Lieutenant Mitchell,"

The Lieutenant nodded, and tried to start speaking, "Excellent, where's this Ha-" He was cut off midway when the barmaid called out for Harry only a few centimtres from his ear. It was a bit of a role reversal from yelling at the junior NCOs and Privates in the Division. A jolly man came from a back room and signalled him over with a broad smile.

The wallet came in to both hands now, as he pushed the ends slightly to open it up so he could access the thin wad of notes. After a quick introduction, he pulled out a pair of pound notes and grabbed the rest in the mountain of change he seemed to have collected. It felt nice to unload a different kind of shrapnel on somebody. He gave a small smile at the note about Leeroy, taking her name and memorising it. "Oh, she hasn't knocked me over yet, mate. Almost, but not quite." The two men exchanged a chuckle before a key was fished out with a number on it.

He turned and walked over towards the barmaid, a look of concern on his face. She obviously wasn't one to sit around, so at least he could help give her a simple task. He dangled his key in front of him as he replaced his wallet. "Right then, Leeroy. Would you mind showing me to my room?"

[Leeroy Atherton]

A quick rubbing of her nose's bridge caused her headache to wane again. Leeroy's sinuses cracked slightly as she did so; it was a good sign, meaning that they were finally beginning to loosen up. Unfortunately, her hearing dulled for a second, and then her ears popped, which she grumbled at. Rubbing her ears for a moment, she did not notice the dangling key at first, only doing so when her nose bumped into it.

"Huh?" said Leeroy, blinking in surprise. Swiftly snapping her head up, she saw the Lieutenant standing in front of her, arm stretched out and a key dangling from one hand. It took a moment for it to register in her brain, but a few seconds after he asked his question, Leeroy quickly stood up. "Certainly, zir - I zhall bizt zhowin' 'ee yer room now," said the Romanichal, feeling slightly embarrassed about her slowness. Motioning for him to follow, she moved towards a doorless double entrance, one up near the northwestern corner. One could see the stairs beyond leading up to somewhere, and a sort of coat room, where several jackets and boots were neatly hung and lined up, respectively.

Walking up the stairs, the Romanichal said, "Your room be lookin' out o'er t'e zea, zir...iv 'ee be not mindin'. Iv 'ee be havin' any dizturbancez, pleaze be tellin' I zo. The bar bizt open until ten-thirty, and we be zervin' dinner 'til nine-thirty. Juzt be askin' Harry want 'ee want, and 'e'll be puttin' a word in with the kitchen ladies."

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

The barmaid seemed quite slow, as if she was drunk. It took a few moments for her to react to the question when she stood up and began leading the way. The pub was quite nicely designed, lots of dark wood along the walls, and the pair moved through a large double-doorway surrounded in the same dark wood. It was quite a nice look, it reminded him of home to an extent.

He followed her up the stairs, listening politely as she gave him a quick briefing of the facilities. Once he managed to get his gear up in the room, he had a plan to take advantage of that bar, a chance to forget the stresses of the last few months. Her accent was quite hard to penetrate, especially with the nasally tone the cold gave her, and he had to concentrate hard to make sure he didn't misunderstand her. "That sounds brilliant, thank you," he said with a smile, going for something neutral. As they reached the top of the stairs, he cast his eye out the window, over a small road, a row of houses and in to the sea. The military ceased to escape, it seemed, as he spotted a pair of destroyers bobbing off the shore, and a pair of military police walking around a small compund, probably an ammo dump. "Nice view," he commented.

[Leeroy Atherton]

"Thank...thank...."

Leeroy had been standing beside the Lieutenant when he spoke, and was also standing beside him when she sneezed. Mind one, she had tissues in her pocket and could easily catch the sneeze in one, but it came too quickly for her to react. In less than a second, almost everything clogging Leeroy's sinuses came flying out, landing on the shoulder of the officer with a loud, "ACHOOOEY!"

It took the door supervisor a moment to realize what had happened. Her brown eyes widened in horror, and she quickly clasped her hand over her mouth and nose, to spare the Lieutenant Mitchell of seeing what was dripping out of her nostrils. It was a good thing as well, as a couple more sneezes came, and which had Leeroy frantically trying to wipe her hands and face off afterward. Her heart was hammering hard against her chest - she had just covered a British officer's shoulder in snot! He was a paying customer! He had influence! He could say things about the service! Monty was going to kill her!

"I - sniff - be zo zorry, L-Lieutenant! That was - sniff - zo unexpected...." Her face burned, her cheeks a bright red, which only served to make her sicker. "I...I be not knowin' to be zayin'...I didn't...er...um....um...uh...zir...uh, Lieutenant...er...."

"LEEROY!" boomed a voice from downstairs. "CAN YE BE ZPARIN' A MOMENT!"

"C-comin'!" yelled Leeroy back, bolting away from Mitchell as soon as she could. However, upon reaching the stairs, her gait became a stagger, and on the first stair, she fell forward, tripping over on one foot. With a yelp, she went headfirst down the staircase, her reaction time too slow to allow her to catch the railing. She hit the floor with a groan, head now absolutely killing her, and decided that she was quite comfortable there on the floor.

The day couldn't get any worse.

[♠ Aaron Mitchell]

A veritable rocket of mucus and snot landed on the Lieutenants jersey, although, bizzarely, the first thought wasn't of disgust but along the lines of I just had this bloody thing washed. He quickly realised how petrified the young lady would be, and withdrew a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, and offered it to her quickly to blow her nose. She tried apologising, but he just smiled, "don't worry ma'am, it's fine."[/b]

With a call from downstairs, he stepped backwards to allow her to pass, and a few moments later she was falling down the staircase. He was only a few moments behind her, taking a mor elegant walk holding on to the bannister. He dropped to one knee beside, and placed the back of his hand in front of her mouth, and felt for her breathing. Air was coming out, that was a start. Monty came charging through from the bar, concerned obviously. Mitchell nodded at his presence, before turning back to Leerey. "Leeroy, can you hear me?" There was a chance she was unconcious after the fall and that she may be needed to be taken to a hospital. He had to make sure that she was stable, first, otherwise moving her could just be detrimental.

[Leeroy Atherton]

"...Owwwwwww...."

Monty dropped to one knee as well, not saying a word, but mentally cussing and berating Leeroy for allowing herself to end up as she was now. The woman could barely walk five steps without staggering, and here she was, going up and down the stairs? If this didn't warrant an absence from her post, just until Leeroy got better, then Monty would probably have to ban the Romanichal from the inn altogether!

A small trickle of red caught the owner's attention. Gingerly brushing back part of Leeroy's fringe, his eyes widened slightly when he spotted a fairly long gash along the woman's hairline. It was a full fifteen centimetres long, and she had probably split her head open with the first hit, seeing as there was a nasty bruise forming. This was enough to warrant a small, "Dammit," from Monty, who pointed out the wound to Lieutenant Mitchell.

"Oi, I don't be thinkin' zhe's all right. Bizt givin' me a moment, I'll be callin' someone to come get 'er."

Monty quickly stood up, pivoting abruptly on his heel and walking hurriedly towards the bar, where there was a usable phone. One of the kitchen workers' heads stuck through the doorway, the female worker having heard the commotion, and that woman's eyes widened when she saw Leeroy on the floor near the stairs.

"Oh me God!" cried the woman. "What be happenin' to Lee - "

"Don't bizt ztandin' there, woman!" barked Monty. Since the cook was closer to the phone, it only made sense she would call instead; however, Monty would still be the one to talk, as he knew exactly what happened to Leeroy. "Git 'ee to the phone and be callin' a doctor! Can't ye be zeein' we be havin' a bit o' an accident?!"

The woman was at the bar and calling for help within seconds. Thankfully, Leeroy was somewhat out of it, so she couldn't argue with the others that she was fine. And even if she could, she probably would be shut up with a lecture from Monty before she could get vocal enough.

[Edward"Butcher"McMillan]

Moderation Post:

The following CP has been issued:

Atherton - 10

Mitchell - 7

-JT