Eyes On the Sea [Kitty/Open]

[Leeroy Atherton]

Country: Southwestern England, the United Kingdom.
Area/Setting: Town of Burnham-on-Sea, the Southern Esplanade. It overlooks a rounded-off point in the town's southwestern corner, and if you turn your head south, you can see the mouth of the River Brue as it flows into Bridgwater Bay. The tide is high, and if you look across the Bristol Channel, you just might see Wales.

If you need a visual, go to: maps.google.com/maps?ll=51.228115,-3.0020896&z=18&t=h&hl=en

Current Time: 09:17
Weather Conditions: The winds off the ocean leave cheeks windburned, and the air is rich with the smell of sea salt. It's summer, so it's not too bad out, with the mercury around 16 degrees Celsius. The air is humid, and by the Bristol Channel, it feels damp out. There is a bit of sun, but clouds move swiftly over the horizon, and an English storm may be brewing.

~| (o) | ~ ~| (o) | ~

The wind whipped her cheeks raw, her hair's cord flapping and bouncing like a kite. Spray from the waves hitting the concrete flew into Leeroy's face, making her white, cotton blouse damp, as if with perspiration. A deep breath brought the sharp scent of saltwater into her nose - a scent that, despite being familiar, was always a pleasure to enjoy. To some, it could be seen as addicting as the smoke from a cigarette, but the salty smell was by no means harmful. Unless, of course, you had a dislike of such a scent.

For the first time in a while, it was the Romanichal's day off. She and several other "Land Girls" had been told not to report in that day, the Saturday theirs to enjoy to their heart's content. For some, the day might mean time with a special someone, a family, a friend or by themselves, and a relaxing activity such as knitting or going shopping. For Leeroy, however, the day would be mostly spent at a local inn, time killed by dragging drunkards outside and the occasional kitchen chore or two. Despite the fact she was working the fields for the boys at war, her true place was at Traveller's Place Inn, where no one dared to pick a fight with the Leeroy Atherton. It was probably the only place where someone would not voice their distaste of the Roma race without consequence.

A hand rose up to shield her eyes, and the Rom looked heavenward. Although still low in the sky, the sun was rising, and Leeroy needed to be at the Traveller by eleven. Monty Pryce - the owner of the inn - was a man of schedule, and one of his greatest dislikes was when one of his employees was late. He always said that Leeroy was such a joy to have around; she was a dedicated worker with a good routine, and probably as loyal to the Traveller as an employee got. There was no place for rest, food or drink in Burnham-on-Sea she would rather go to, for it seemed to her about as blasphemous as swearing in a church!

Well...Monty's house was an exception whenever she was invited over, as well as Leeroy's own place of living, and even the cook's house on one or two occasions. Other than that, you either gave her the Traveller or gave her death - by exhaustion, thirst or starvation, that is.

With a roll of her shoulders to loosen her muscles, Leeroy leaned slightly back, her hand going over her eyes again. This time, she tried to see out to the southern coast of Wales, boats of all kinds dotting the horizon. The beaches at Burnham-on-Sea could be treacherous, and if one wasn't careful, then one might find themselves stuck in the mudflats and beaches when the tide went out. Fourteen years earlier, there had been lifeboats in the area, but they had been taken away when it proved to much of a hassle to work them. Nowadays, the townsfolk where a lot dedicated to protecting their town, and many wisely avoided the mudflats, not willing to go out and become trapped when the waters rose.

The Romanichal breathed in, her hands pressing against her lower back, the woman bending backward and cracking her back. She had been standing for nearly half-an-hour now, simply admiring the beauty of Burnham-on-Sea's seashore. It seemed that few could afford to stop and wait in those war-ridden days, all minds focused on the fighting of many nations. Her heart was with her British brethren overseas, but sometimes, it was a good thing to get her mind off of the war.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

The train rattled along, making its way southwest to the little town – Burnham-on-Sea in Somerset. The old steam train was mainly filled with civilians, on their way to the town for a day or to shop, a few soldiers were also there, sitting in the carriages, staring out at the rolling British countryside.

Corporal J. Claude was one of these soldiers, however he was not in the group playing games or smoking in the next door carriage, he sat alone, watching the hills and valleys whiz past. There was something about England…Britain…that he liked, it was so more old fashioned and traditional then the part of the US he came from.

The train began its southwest climb up a hill and pulled in at a station, one more stop and then it would be time to get off. Joe watched the passengers on the platform, they all seemed so relaxed.

The compartment door opened and a woman stepped in, followed by her two young children, a girl and boy. The boy looked about 11, and then girl younger still...8 Joe guessed.
”May we come in?” the woman asked, Joe turned to face them and he saw the in take of breath as she looked over his face, he nodded, smiling.

”Yeah.” he pointed to the seat opposite, her face relaxed more as she came in and lifted the girl up to sit, the boy was staring at Joe who smiled back and then looked back out the window as the train moved on.

The compartment was now silent, until the woman finally picked up a conversation – ”What part of the army are you in?”
”E. Company, 3 ID, 3rd Armour BDE.” he said matter of fact like.

He could tell she didn’t understand it but she smiled and nodded.
Finally the train pulled into the Burnham-on-Sea railway station. Joe stood up almost immediately after the train had stopped, tipped his hat to the woman and children and walked out on to the platform, heading for the exit.
It was a pleasant day but Joe could tell there was a hint of a storm brewing somewhere out to the sea. He exited the station and made his way along the road towards the river and the smell of the sea. He saw the bay just ahead of him and sniffed at the air…that beach smell…a few people were on the beach, it wasn’t too early but it wasn’t too late…he spotted someone standing alone. He sat on the pier and looked out at the water.

He would sit here for the whole day…or until he got bored, he needed to think, he needed to remember…he needed to just get away from army life and think about his civilian life if he didn’t die. Taking out a packet of American cigarettes, he lit one and began to smoke, staring out at the sea.

[Leeroy Atherton]

OOC - Actually, I don't think there's a train station in Burnham-on-Sea itself, but I found three in Highbridge. Don't expect much traffic around them, though, and according to my sources, it would only take...seven or ten minutes for him to walk to the Southern Esplanade.

~| (o) | ~ ~| (o) | ~

Someone was walking out to the nearby pier, which was bouncing gently on the ocean waves. The uniform which covered him head to toe was not British, but American; the greenish colour and slight differences in design were a giveaway. It wasn't odd to see Americans around Burnham-on-Sea; they sometimes came over on their leave to enjoy the ocean view. The town was popular with tourists, after all...but it was just that Leeroy hadn't seen any Americans lately. Everyone had been fussing over the huge landing in France that had happened only a month or so back.

The wind picked up, and the ocean became more restless. By now, the American had sat down on the pier, looking over the River Brue and having stuck something in his mouth. If he wasn't careful, then he might find himself being slammed by a wave, possibly with enough force to be knocked right into the Brue. Leeroy considered going over and warning him about the waves, but found herself hesitant; he was a Gorgio, most likely. A non-Rom. He might say she was bluffing and that she was trying to ruin his day.

...I'll let 'ee vigure 'in out vor 'eeself.

A flock of seagulls cried out overhead. A sailboat's starkly white sail stood out against the bluish-blackish landscape of the far Welsh shore. The rhythm of the waves became more hurried, the waters reaching up higher. If it wasn't for the simple barrier that kept the sea beneath the town, Burnham-on-Sea's residents would probably have the ocean practically knocking on their front door. When she had first come to the waterfront, Leeroy had been slightly scared of the high tide, but as time had passed, she had grown used to the rise and fall of the waters. You couldn't pay her to walk on the beach, though; how all those other people had the guts to go down there, the Romanichal didn't know. The aforementioned tales of people trapped in mud at low tide were enough to keep Leeroy on higher ground.

Suddenly, the Roma woman jumped back, a rather large wave slamming into the the small fence that kept people from falling over. The water reached over for thirty centimetres, and if Leeroy hadn't moved, her whole front would've been soaked. While she had been deep in thought, the wind had picked up even more, and the waves had gotten even bigger. Her eyes darted over to the pier, where she hoped the American was still sitting, and that a wave hadn't knocked him over.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

The water began to get choppier and choppier from where Joe was sitting, staring out at the sea. He realized that the water was getting slightly too ruff and stood up, beginning to walk away from the pier when suddenly, a huge wave soared up and soaked the spot where he had just been sitting seconds earlier.

”Thank god.” he muttered as he stared at the damp wood of the pier. Turning away, he hurried along off the pier and onto the road that ran alongside the beach. Up ahead, by the fence that separated the town and road from the sea and beach he could just see the girl that he had seen earlier.

He looked out at the sea, his cheeks becoming suddenly raw and slightly cold from the wind and the smell of the salt air was quiet refreshing, he could just see some fishing boats out on those torturous waters, swaying over the waves like they were on silk…how Joe wished he had learned to sail, it would have been a fun pass time…his family hadn’t been into sailing, or fishing, or anything to do with the sea or water in general.

He glanced down at the tide, it was high and crashed against the sea wall as if it wanted to break through it and flood the whole town. He glanced back at the town that rose behind him, a few people walked past, concentrating on where ever they were off to.

Joe decided, he might as well go and speak to the girl who he had seen watching him, she didn’t seem like she was doing much, he wondered if she was helping the war, helping the effort to rid the world of people like Strumfelder…oh that would be nice, this war to end…

He wasn’t too sure if he should go over, his face would scare her. That was the trouble, now with his scars he was scared of going up to any pretty girl who looked his way. His old friend Jimmy Parsons back home had told him that once the war was over, he should go and find himself a nice Jewish girl and marry her…yeah, fat chance…that didn’t seem like happing anymore, who wanted a man with scars of the SS and German related stuff on his face? Didn’t everyone hate the Germans at the moment?

He trudged along towards her, one hand holding the cigarette, the other on his hat, keeping it from not blowing away into the wind.

”Hello ma’am.” he said, smiling sheepishly at the woman, ”Nice day to be out.”

[Charles Norris]

F/L Charles Norris jerked awake, and for a moment was startled as his eyes tried to focused on the strange room, trying to remember how he ended up there. Quickly, the events of the previous week seeped back into his head. So far, the business of being CO of Delta Company involved doing the paper work to get himself a plane, and not much else. The skies over England and France were quiet, no missions to shoot down the luftwaffe, or to strafe the wehrmacht. No friendly bombers for them to baby-sit either, and it was like the whole war had gone on a holiday, so Charles decided let his men do the same and started giving out weekend passes to the men, and then, when he was sure there was little chance of the entire war being lost because he was away from his post, himself.

That’s how Charles ended up at the small Somerset boardinghouse on the Southwestern coast of England. Sitting up and dropping his legs over the side of the bed, he mentally berated himself for waking up 30 minutes late, before quickly getting up and walking across the hall to the bathroom. It took him only 2 minutes to get everything done there and put his boots on before going out into the warm summer day to start his normal 10 mile jog. He had a strict daily exercise routine to keep, and any changes to it would throw his entire day out of sync.

But when you rush you make mistakes, and even Charles Norris makes them. He had forgotten to change out of his pajamas before going out on the run. It didn’t worry him as his brisk pace brought him out towards the shore, though. They weren’t any ordinary pajamas. They were made special for him by the girl who helped with the laundry for his airfield. She had made both the thin cotton pajama shirt and the pants out of any scrap odd and ends she had lying around, mostly worn out combat fatigues from the American and British units stationed around her village. The combination of the different colors, mostly different shades of green and khaki, gave the pajamas a weird camouflage pattern, made all the stranger with the Flight Lieutenant insignia she had decided to sew into the collars. Although it did look a bit silly, Charles saw no problem with wearing it in a village he would only be staying in for 2 days. No one knew who he was, and the civilians would probably think it was some kind of new training uniform, anyway.

After an almost steady hour of jogging, the Flight Lieutenant arrived at the end of the road that ran parallel to the shore. He took a moment to catch his breath, and watch the boats move around the beach. Resting against the safety rail, he watched as a large wave splashed onto the nearby pier, almost drenching an American grunt. Charles’s attention shifted away from the soldier now walking towards a woman, and back to the wingless airplanes gliding through the sea.

[Leeroy Atherton]

Leeroy jumped slightly as someone approached her on her blind side. Whirling around, her eyes quickly fell upon the American, who had somehow gotten away from the pier while she wasn't looking. Her skirt's hem fluttered dangerously close to the other man's foot, and her hand shot out, tugging it back. It was considered unclean for a man to touch a Roma woman's skirt, unless he was her husband.

"Hello ma'am," he had said, his voice carrying a sound that, for some reason, reminded Leeroy of a mix between a Cockney and a French accent. "Nice day to be out."

"Yes," said the Romanichal, somewhat coldly and stiffly. Whenever she was around people, she seemed snappish and irritable, but it was more of a defense mechanism then anything. If Leeroy seemed unwilling to be pushed around, then people would be less likely to call her a "Gypsy" or a "thief". "It be a nice day, iv not a lil' windy. 'Ee'rt lucky to not 'ave been a-zoaked by the wavez out on that pier."

One of the things she was hoping for not happening was the American mistaking her accent for a German one. Ever since a couple of years back in the war, some people had been mistaking Leeroy to be German. And not only her, either - her boss, Monty, and some of the other Burnham-on-Sea residents had been called "Jerries" in public, too. It also didn't help that some thought of the West Country people as unintelligent farmers with a rabbit's love for carrots.

"What ye be wanting?" the Romanichal asked, her tone slightly defensive. She had never been comfortable around most Gorgio, having been treated as an outcast since childhood. The scars on his face also seemed suspicious, her having just noticed them, but she did not say this. "I be having nothing 'ee want. If 'ee bizt juzt admirin' the ocean, I apologize; zome o' the zoldiers I be meeting art a comical lot, they art."

Leeroy paused, turning her head. The sounds of heavy breathing were coming from somewhere behind her, and upon looking over her shoulder, she saw it was a man. A man, that is, in what looked like to be a comical mix of nightwear and a uniform. The clothing he wore looked to be light - perhaps he was wearing a new type of uniform? The Allies were coming out with all sorts of things those days....

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

The woman didn’t seem to want to talk, as her tone came out rather cold and stiff. It was understandable if she was not on the best of terms with any soldier be they American, or British as many…not many, maybe a handful had their ways with women that Joe didn’t seem to like. Because of the women-less set-up of the army, men found it fun to “play” with the ladies once they had got on leave, it was a traditional thing that was done in any war, be it this one or the last Great one, men couldn’t stay away from women longer than three days…Joe did like women, don’t get him wrong, but he wasn’t the type to go round having sex with every woman that walked by.

This woman in particular had started to speak more; saying that it was slightly windy…why was it that whenever someone starts a conversation it has to be about the weather? What is it with the weather being the first topic of conversation? Is it because it is an easy subject to discuss and one that can not result in an argument? The list was endless on possibilities why the weather was such a good topic…

The woman was smart; she got straight down to the point and demanded why Joe was there. Her accent was odd…it wasn’t German, for Joe, being of German heritage and bloodline could tell when he heard a German accent in someone’s voice…must be some sort of British dialect, they seemed to have lots over here…well, the Americans had all sorts of dialects so Joe couldn’t talk…

”I don’t want anything ma’am…just a chat, I’m feeling rather lonely see…” he trailed off and sucked on his cigarette, watching the smoke get carried away by the wind and swept off on to the sea air and out to sea.

Loud breathing was heard from just behind the two people and Joe turned to see a Flight Lieutenant standing near-by, had he just appeared out of thin air? He recognised the uniform and the face…Charles Norris, a respected man in the air force…Joe had met him serial times on paratrooper training excises when he had first come over to Britain…a nice enough guy.

”Good morning Flight Lieutenant.” Joe saluted stiffly to the man, smiling slightly.

[Charles Norris]

It wasn’t long until Charles Norris lost interest in watching the ships go by, and hit the trail again, although only at a leisurely pace. He had to decide if he was going to continue the jog or just turn back and take the short way back to the apartment. When he had started out on the run, he hadn’t counted on how humid the day was, and that plus his own sweat and the salty sea spray made his beard damp and uncomfortable, and the cotton pajamas cling to his body.

The flyboy was wrong when he thought he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew in this moist part of England. As he stopped to loosen up his pants, the soldier he noticed earlier turned around, and after a brief recognition, saluted the Flight Lieutenant and gave a hello. Charles returned both,

“Hello, Corporal…” Quickly, F/L Norris raked his brain to remember if the soldier actually knew him, or just what the stripes on his shirt meant. Charles did not know many foot soldiers, the flyboys normally kept to themselves, although he had spent some time flying in the paratrooper training. But which paratrooper was this? It only took Charles a moment to realize the answer to the mental question, and quickly finished the greeting after the short pause, “…Claude. I didn’t expect to see any other Americans here, you on leave too? Who‘s your lady friend?”

Charles turned to the woman, and nodded. Normally, when he would meet woman around his age, he would break out the ole Norris Charm, which mainly involved walking around without a shirt on. Using this ancient family secret, Charles was able to turn most of the women in the county into a large mob of females who chased after him whenever he was near. Today though, he would try as hard as he could to suppress the Norris Charm, he didn‘t want to start a love triangle here.

Anyway, it was his vacation.

[Leeroy Atherton]

"...Hmph," said Leeroy after a brief pause, her eyes following the thin stream of smoke that danced away from the American's cigarette. "By 'lonely', I be hopin' 'ee art not reverrin' to a girlvriend. I 'ooden be not ever interezted."

Her voice had audibly hardened as she spoke. Already, she was growing uncomfortable being so close to the Gorgio men. She was looking at the pair suspiciously, arms crossed and held tightly to her chest. Everything in Leeroy was urging her to go, to politely excuse herself and head to the Traveller; that way, she wouldn't have to worry about the pair of Gorgio. Especially if one of them decided to flirt with her.

"Hello, Corporal...Claude. I didn’t expect to see any other Americans here, you on leave too? Who's your lady friend?"

"He be not my vriend," said Leeroy suddenly, almost snapping at the speaking Gorgio. "He be zomeone I be juzt a-meeting. He a-azkin' iv I 'ooden be a-allowing him to ztand bezide me. However - "

She turned her head and nodded at the skinnier Gorgio, attempting to seem polite. He probably thought Leeroy was going to chew his head off any minute.

" - It be nice to a-meet 'ee, Corporal Claude. An' 'ee, zir, 'ee bizt?"

Small talk would most likely prove satisfactory to the two men. Leeroy wasn't really in the mood for talking; she had just wanted to enjoy the view of the Bristol Channel. The Romanichal had, though, picked up on the fact she appeared unwelcoming to the skinny American. One of her talents was the ability to quickly and thoroughly analyse something, and see if anything was out of place; in this case, it was her lack of manners at first. Her parents would've probably tsked and tutted if they were there now....

"I be apologizin' vor my tone, zirz," the Romanichal added, blushing slightly at sounding slightly rude. "I be a-having plenty o' thingz on my mind at the moment. My work be ztarting zoon, and I bizt keepin' the time on my mind, lezt I vorget."

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

”No, not that sort of lonely ma’am…” he said quickly before she got any ideas…no, he didn’t want a girlfriend, he just wanted to have a chat.

Joe was glad that the man recognised him, surprised even that he was recognised. ”Yes, sir, Claude sir.” he nodded and showed his paratrooper’s wings on his uniform so the man could be just show that he was talking to the right man. Flight Lieutenant Norris had been a nice man to the troopers, maybe a bit harsh on the plane but he had driven them up into the sky so they could practice the dangerous jumps they would do over enemy ground in the next few months. Hell, Joe had done it a few months ago and that had ended him up in a German cell. The American Army had given the trooper a few weeks off to recuperate and let them know if he wanted to resign from the army but Joe had said no and that he would continue with it for as long as he was able to.

”No this isn’t – “ he was cut off by the woman speaking up and saying that she wasn’t his lady friend and he was expecting her to rip his head off and shout at him to bugger off but no…her tone changed and she said it was nice to meet him…he smiled softly at her, trying to tell her that he meant no harm what so ever.

He nodded as she apologised, ”Nah, its fine ma’am.” he glanced at Norris, ”How’s the army for ya?” he hadn’t seen the man since training.

[Charles Norris]

"He be not my vriend," "He be zomeone I be juzt a-meeting. He a-azkin' iv I 'ooden be a-allowing him to ztand bezide me. However, it be nice to a-meet 'ee, Corporal Claude. An' 'ee, zir, 'ee bizt?"

So Charles was wrong. He had forgotten the golden rule of, ‘when you assume, you make an ass out of u and me.’ He needed to right the wrong, especially as she apologized herself..

“It’s alright, ma’am. It‘s my fault.” Charles agreed with Claude, and then answered his question, “The Air Corp’s slow, Joe. Fighting a two front war has taken it’s toll on the Luftwaffe. I haven’t seen any fighting since… I can’t remember. Even with us flying support for an infantry division, there’s just no need for us. It’s boring, but at least it’s not the Battle of Britain.” Charles ran his hand through his beard as he remembered back when the RAF, and his Eagle Squadron, were out numbered 5 to 1. But there was no point in dwelling in the past, when the future was bright and near, although empty and dull.

He turned back to the lady, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I shouldn’t assume thing like that. Let me start over. I’m Flight Lieutenant Charles Norris. I‘m here on leave to get a change of scenery from the airfield. You too, miss? Or do you live here? And what about you Claude?” Charles was never good at small talk. He liked getting to the point, and he always thought he sounded fake where he tried to create conversations out of thin air. And he felt that he always ended up just going on and on about the same things, trying to fill the empty space with words.
And then, when it was filled, he would abruptly stop to move on to something else.

[Leeroy Atherton]

Ah...thiz Gorgio be a bit more of a gentleman then mozt Gorgio bist, Leeroy thought, nodding at the burly man's words. Flight Lieutenant Charles Norris was his name, and by the sounds of it, he belonged to the airforce, which sounded inactive as of late. Come to think of it, the only activity she had heard of in the air force were the odd bombings here and there - a stark contrast to the Battle of Britain a few years earlier.

"Yez, I a-live here," said Leeroy when Charles asked if she was on leave or if she lived in Burnham-on-Sea. "But I travel out to the varmlandz to work. I am a Land Girl, sir; I work the fieldz."

Once again, her tone came out cold and uninviting, but the Romanichal was actually impressed. The man had not tried to assume she lived in Burnham-on-Sea; instead, he had asked, as a gentleman should. Even better, he hadn't asked if she was German. Still, she wouldn't let her guard down around the pair of Gorgio just yet.

Leeroy held back a smirk as she noticed a slight shift in Charles's expression. He looked like a man who wasn't a talker; Leeroy guessed that he wasn't used to talking to people. Then again, he was a Lieutenant in the army, and probably was so busy, he didn't talk to many. Or maybe he was a bit of an introvert, like Leeroy; however, she'd never heard of an introvert in the army before.

"Ye know, yer vriend over 'ere nearly got himzelf zoaked," added Leeroy, attempting to make conversation. If the two men had nothing to say to her, then she would leave. "I waz worried he had been a-zweeped ovv the dockz when - "

The Romanichal was promptly cut off by a wall of water coming up beside her - the Rom yelped in surprise. A large, foaming wave swept upwards and over the guard rail, and if the two men didn't do anything, they and Leeroy would be soaked.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Charles spoke about the air force being slow, which was understandable as the infantry were now advancing well across Europe, the air force hadn’t been called up in months, the Battle of Britain had taken its toll on both sides, the Allies had won, but at a cost.

”Me?” Joe glanced over at Charles, ”Just got back from Germany, had a rather nasty run in with a doctor.” he jabbed his left hand at his scars that shone slightly in the early morning sun, ”Wasn’t pleasant, before that however, I was stationed in the South of France, nice little town we captured, still got it I believe, on leave at the moment sir. The army thought I should have a rest after my ordeal.” he laughed softly, it wasn’t a laughing matter but Joe was gradually getting used to the scars.

So, the woman was a land girl. The woman of Britain and indeed America had really stepped up to the challenge of helping the war, apparently some where getting too big for their boots, ordering the older men of the towns and cities to respect the women now they were doing a man’s job.

The voice of the woman perked up again, embarrassing Joe. ”Yeah…well…” he was cut off, like the woman as a wave came up over the guard wall, grabbing Charles and the woman, he pulled them away and seconds later, the place where they had been was now covered in water.

”That was bloody close.” he laughed.

[Charles Norris]

"Ye know, yer vriend over 'ere nearly got himzelf zoaked,"

“Really?” Charles laughed and turned around, causing him to miss the wave crest behind him as the two start to explain themselves. They are cut short, however, and as the wall of water surges through the railing, Joe quickly acts and pulls Chuck and the woman out of the way.

“Well, I see what you mean,” Charles coughed as he reoriented himself, “I guess it’s a good thing the leisure time hadn’t dulled your reflexes, eh Joe. Charles commented as he looked over the sea, expecting another wave. It looked safe, but he still kept his distance. Like most pilots, Charles had a fear of water. Flying over the ocean, with the blue skies above and the featureless blue abyss below, a pilot could get lost, or worst, so confused he doesn’t realize how much altitude he lost and before he notices it, the high seas swallows the craft whole. There was no chance of landing on the water, and even if he had time to parachute out, the pilot would be stuck, bobbing in the water, wondering if sharks, hypothermia, or drowning would kill him first.

Watching the sea, Charles was suddenly overtaken with a severe feeling of homesickness and terra fever. He needed to fly something quick, or else he might start losing his marbles. But there was nothing he could do about that now, it was his vacation from the flyboy life. He needed something to take his mind off of airplanes and flying.

“ So,” Charles asked the woman, “What sort of things do around here to take their mind off the war, miss…? Charles struggled to remember her name, but quickly realized she had never said it.

[Leeroy Atherton]

OOC - Actually, Kitty, the term "bloody" isn't all that common in the States. If you head into Canada, it's used there, but it's not considered that bad of a word as it would be in Britain, I believe. However, according to the Wiki article, some people use it in the States.

~| (o) | ~ ~| (o) | ~

Leeroy panted, eyes a little wider than usual as her heart beat furiously. She really had to pay more attention to the water on rough days; that, or keep a good fifteen feet away from the guard rail. If Joe hadn't yanked her out of the way of the wave, all three of them would have been in need of dry clothes. With a sharp exhale, Leeroy brushed some hair behind her ears, and gently removed Joe's hand from her shoulder.

"Thank you, zir," the Romanichal said. "I zhould pay more attention to the water on days like thiz. I do not know where my head be today."

As Leeroy put her hand to her eyes, checking the position of the sun, she saw that it remained mostly the same. It didn't surprise her; she and the Americans had only been talking for a few minutes, and time didn't always fly by when one spoke. She was getting a little anxious again, hoping that she wouldn't be late for work. Leeroy hated being late; it threw her schedule off, and less was done in the day. Besides, she was feeling a little embarrassed that she had made Joe feel uncomfortable.

"I be apologizing...Mizter Claude, waz it?" said the woman. "I did not mean to be embarrassing you in any way, Mizter Claude. I a-meant only to state vact. Zeveral good vriends of I have vound themselves zoaked by a rogue wave; they can be tricky things."

Charles then asked Leeroy if there was anything to do in Burnham-on-Sea. The Romanichal smiled at him, and said, "Well, Mizter Norris, many on vacation be coming to Burnham-on-Zea to zee 'is beaches and zights. When the tide goez down, many like to be walking along the beach, and zome enjoy zailing on the waves. Vishing iz another thing many locals and visitors do, and we have many shops for 'ee if ye want to be going shopping. There iz more than that, though, and ye may want to juzt be looking around. I work at a local inn, so iv you be wanting to ztay a night, we have rooms, az well az meals and a bar. I be the door zuperivsor - a 'bouncer', in American termz. It be open by now, and I am to be in at eleven."