On An Iron Horse [Open]

[Leeroy Atherton]

Country: Southwestern England, the United Kingdom
Area/Setting: The green fields just outside of the town of Burnham-on-Sea, surrounding Stodden's Lane. It's only a four, five minute ride into town, and little farms can be seen here and there. For a reference, please go to:

maps.google.com/maps?ll=51.243753,-2.9750309&z=17&t=h&hl=en

Current Time: 11:35
Weather Conditions: Your typical English weather - overcast. A slight breeze blows over the landscape, cooling the warm summer air. There is a chance of rain, but this is not set in stone.

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

The bike purred beneath her like a content feline, moving along the roads as easily as a horse would. Leeroy grinned ear to ear at the easy ride, leaning forward slightly as her sleek, dark motorbike rumbled across the lane. Behind her, Burnham-on-Sea shrank back in the distance, and and Leeroy's cord whipped out behind her, waving a silent farewell to the nearby town. Clouds of dust rose into the breeze, and the bags tied down to the sidecar shook and rattled. The moist, slightly unpleasant smell of compost rose from them, meant to nourish the fields back at the farm the Romanichal worked on.

That day had been a very good day. The daily inspection of vegetables had shown little to no signs of the crops being eaten at by little beasts. Leeroy had finally been able to purchase the motorbike she had been saving up for, eliminating the need to use the farm's communal banger. And best of all, her boss - Monty - had hinted at Leeroy buying the unused cottage on his inn's property. No more drafts for her because of poorly-installed windows and doors!

Leeroy chuckled as she leaned slightly to the right, lessening on the speed as she changed her direction. When she had first got on a motorbike, she had crashed seven minutes after turning it on, badly scraping her arms and legs. Even now, she was riding cautiously, having only gotten the basic skills down pat a few weeks before. Monty, however, insisted that the pros outweighed the cons, and that getting a motorbike would be an excellent way for Leeroy to make herself more independent. After all, motorbikes were more lightweight then cars, and could be used in some situations when cars couldn't be. Now that she had one, Leeroy had to admit that Monty was right - the bike was much more reliable then the old truck the farm had. That rusty old thing had broken down whenever the weather was either a tad too hot or cold!

But now, it was just Leeroy and her little gem, her iron horse. One probably would even find it amusing to see a woman enjoying riding a motorbike so much. The war had changed many attitudes, though, and as time passed, Leeroy found her gender accepted into more and more roles. Unwoven were the old ways, centuries-long traditions of women tied down into certain tasks being thrown to the side. If the war wasn't over by then, Leeroy was betting on women being sent into battle within the next two years.

[Andrew J. Ryan]

The few beads of sweat gathering on his forehead were wiped away with one quick swipe of the back of his hand as he sped up his pace on the military bicycle. Normally, the Sergeant Major would use his weekend pass to stay on the base to help any officers with paperwork or other duties as well as situate both the enlisted men and the NCOs. However, this time around his COs had practically demanded the man give himself a break and get off the base for the weekend. Ryan hadn't even contemplated going to London or any of the hot spots of England before he decided to get out in the open to get back into shape and explore the country side.

He pumped his legs harder as he sped past sine farm fields on a narrow road that seemed to be carved into the Earth by the wheels of the truck, intent on heading into town where he was spending his weekend. He wasn't staying in the most luxurious or beautiful hotel, but he was definitely a step above the regular military base. He was ashamed by his weakened physical state and made a mental note that he should attempt to exercise with the men more often. He struggled to swallow more air as his body raised off the bicycle seat to glide around the corner.

The Sergeant Major stopped pedaling and shifted his body weight as well as the handlebars to turn onto the larger road when he saw it coming. A man was barreling down the road on a motorbike on course to collide with the side of the American. Ryan reacted with haste and swerved to the right to dodge the motorbike and crash into a field's low fence. The air was knocked out of him as he left his bike and smashed against the wooden fence before flipping over onto the other side where a few cows were grazing.

Ryan recovered as he felt the wet tongue of a cow on his cheek, pushing the large mouth away from his face with the flick of his hand. He pulled himself up off the wet grass and robbed the sore side of his ribs where he was certain he had gained numerous bruises. Scars and bruises created a tougher hide though and that was fine by the Sergeant Major. The sound of the motorbike engine had died down and he was certain the rider was probably on his way to yell at him for gliding out from behind the road that had been concealed by trees.

[Leeroy Atherton]

A blur advanced on the edge of her blind spot, and in a matter of seconds, a blur suddenly came up beside her. The Romanichal was caught off guard, and she swerved to the left, attempting to get out of the way. She guessed it to be some sort of animal; the field to her left sometimes had livestock grazing there, and the fence was sometimes knocked down by them. Her motorcycle went into a spin, causing her to cry out, and she promptly administered the breaks. Moments later, her bike stopped, but not before throwing her off to the side and into a ditch.

The nearby cows mooed, just as something crashed into the fence on the road's opposite side. Leeroy blinked wildly, slightly stunned by the fall. By the feel of her arms, legs and torso, there were a few bruises and maybe even some scrapes; her head, however, was saved by her helmet. What of the blur, though? What had happened to it? God forbid if Leeroy had accidentally scared someone's cow into tipping over....

Once the wind had returned to her lungs, the Romanichal slowly rose with a small groan. Slowly rising to her feet, taking a couple of breaths to steady her pounding heart, Leeroy surveyed her surroundings. The bike was all right, just tipped over; the road, however, was marked with a few streaks of black, shaped in a rough arc. On the other side of the road, something shiny and circular was spinning around in the air, and a dark figure was pushing itself off the ground. For a moment, Leeroy wondered what it was, but then cursed in Angloromani when she saw it was human-looking. Quickly glancing left and right for vehicles, the woman sprinted across the road to the other person's aid.

"'Ey! 'Ee bizt all right?!" Leeroy called out. "I wooden a-zlowed if I a-zaw 'ee! Apologiez!"

She hoped the other person wasn't badly hurt, and that what looked to be his bike wasn't damaged. Leeroy had to pay more attention on the roads; Monty had warned that lazy eyes could kill. Even worse, the man was probably a Gorgio, and might blame the accident on Leeroy's ethnicity. If that happened, then she would make sure to pay for whatever damages there were, so the Gorgio could eat his own words and not have to worry about anything broken.

[Andrew J. Ryan]

From the accident on the road emerged... a woman. Of all the people to almost be killed by... it was a woman! Times were changing though and that wasn't something to be ashamed of, but it still felt like a low blow to his self-esteem. He recovered from the initial shock, but found it hard to make out the woman's words. She must be a local, but it wasn't an accent an American from Boston would easily understand. From what he could make out, she was apologizing for nearly getting him killed, but that didn't faze and army man like Andrew Ryan.

"No problem, Miss. I should have been a little more careful myself, turning out onto a busy road," the Sergeant Major assured the women of his good condition, before he eased his way up off the grass and brushed his clothes clean. The woman's clothes were shocking to a man who was use to having a certain set of clothes for almost his entire life, hers were...different. He reckoned that she must be what was called a Rom or Roma by the locals, in other words, a Gypsy. Personally, he had nothing to stereotype the woman with, having almost no prior knowledge of her people.

Climbing over the waist-high wooden fence with a small grunt, he landed in the wet recesses of the road's ditch with a plop. The water didn't soak through his boots, but he decided to step out before introducing himself to the motorbike driver. He extended his right hand forward to give a friendly introduction, "American Sergeant Major Ryan," he paused in order to hear the woman's name before continuing. "Sorry if I caused any damage. I shouldn't have come out around the turn like that."

[Leeroy Atherton]

"Then, perhapz, it be both our vaults - I bist having my mind on other thingz, and 'ee did not a-ztop before the turn. Let uz zay it waz a combination of vactors, zhall we?" answered the Romanichal, watching as the man clambered over the fence. "I a-learned the art ov riding zuch a vehicle only recently, az well."

Now that she was close to the man, she could see he was a soldier, and an American one at that. He had what sounded like an American accent, but Leeroy had to see for herself who he was. After all, it was assuming that led to those times where she was called a "Jerry" because of her accent - for example, "bist" was also a German word. Did anyone actually realize how closely English and German were related, though? And did they even bother to note that Leeroy's dialect, the West Country dialect, was similar to the speech of medieval Englishmen? How could the world seem to ignore such a fact, and often label the West Country speakers as "unintelligent"?

The man further proved himself to be American, introducing himself as "American Sergeant Major Ryan". His name confused Leeroy a little, though - even though several Yanks came and went, she never could get a good grasp of their ranking system. As far as she knew, there was a Sergeant and a Staff Sergeant; no "Sergeant Major" or anything of that sort. Perhaps, though, her thoughts were nonsense, and the man's first name was Major...? Odd name for a man, at any rate, but Leeroy was not rude enough to voice this.

Taking his hand, Leeroy shook it well, her grip gentle but firm. "I be Leeroy, zir," the woman said with a nod. She didn't feel comfortable giving the stranger her surname. "Once again, no worriez. 'E be divvicult, the road; miztakes were made by both ye and I. But I must ask again, were 'ee a-injured by the crazh? I would hate vor ye to be hurt in any way. And I hope I didn't ruin your bike...."

[Andrew J. Ryan]

Ryan took her hand, which was firm yet gentle in a way, and shook it like a gentleman. She was a woman alright, but hardly like the ones Ryan remembered back at the states. She seemed to be fulfilling a man's role, which he had learned was happening everywhere with so many brave men out fighting in the war. But there was something strange about her that Ryan couldn't make out. She spoke with a strange accent that seemed like an ancient language, one that Ryan had never studied. He had studied a few languages back at his military academies when he thought he might take on the role of a translator, but had since found his place in the military.

"I'm fine, Miss. Nothing broken, just a few sore ribs. I was more worried about you and your bike, it looks more expensive than my own bicycle," he assured the woman before releasing the grip and looking over towards her motorbike. Adjusting the cap on his head, he strolled over to the other side of the road and lifted the motorbike up off the ground. He examined it slightly before rolling it over to Leeroy and allowing her to have her vehicle back. "I sure hope I didn't break anything on your bike."

He turned away from Leeroy and her motorbike to reclaim his own bike, before a thought hit him. He had a free weekend, was pulling quite a bit out of his pocket to afford a room in town, and could do with some good farm work. Judging by the bags of compost tied down to the sidecar, he figured Leeroy must be some kind of farmer or at least helped on a family farm. Pulling his bike out from the ditch and shaking some of the wet mud off the olive colored metal, he rolled over to Leeroy.

"Say, Leeroy... I was wondering. I've been sort of forced on a weekend pass and have sort of been looking for a good place to stay and maybe work. If you work on a farm, I was wondering if maybe I could help in return with a place to stay for the weekend," Ryan asked nicely as he pulled his leg over his seat and sat down next to the Romanichal. He wasn't too fond off being practically forced off the base to live in a hotel in the middle of town with nearly nothing to do. Maybe some work on a farm could do him some good and it would only be for a few days.

[Leeroy Atherton]

"It iz a quality piece ov equipment," Leeroy said, taking her motorbike back. She had walked alongside the Sergeant, noting that one of his spokes were bent as they passed by his bike. The woman would have to do something about that. "It would not vall apart zo eazily. I paid good poundz vor it; zhould it prove lezz than zatizvactory, I would be going back to there to get my quid back."

As Leeroy inspected the bags of compost, happy to see their contents had not spilled in the small crash, she saw Sergeant Ryan go and retrieve his bike. He paused for a moment, as if thinking, and Leeroy assumed he was examining his bike. The Romanichal gave a small shrug, and tightened one of the ropes that had tied down her sidecar's cargo. She was lucky the compost had not gone flying while she was riding; some of the knots had loosened considerably since she had left town. Monty would have to show her that rather effective knot again - Leeroy had mostly forgotten the process, and her knots were only half as effective as such. Or, she needed to buy herself a good length of rope from the local village shop, instead of borrowing from the Traveller cook. He claimed to have no need to inspect the rope he had on hand, and as a result, it would often snap and loosen at the most inconvenient times.

"Say, Leeroy..." began the Sergeant. The Romanichal, slightly startled that he had come up beside her so quickly, looked up in surprise.

"Huh? Oh, zorry. Yez, zir?"

"I was wondering. I've been sort of forced on a weekend pass and have sort of been looking for a good place to stay and maybe work. If you work on a farm, I was wondering if maybe I could help in return with a place to stay for the weekend."

Well...that was unexpected. However, Leeroy could understand his predicament. Some soldiers were such good workers, their superiors thought they worked too much; thus, they would send their boy (or boys) on a trip for a few days. Told to relax and have fun, some soldiers would find themselves pleasantly surprised by how much they enjoyed their time off. Others, however, would have nothing but a worker's mindset, even away from the battlefield, and try and find something to do. Still, it was rare for someone to come out and ask a complete stranger for work....

"Well," began Leeroy, standing up, "if 'ee don't mind working with the Land Girlz in the vields, then I suppose ye could be a good help. However, thiz iz only my day job - I be workin' az a door zupervisor in the evening. Monty alwayz a-zaid he'd like more help at the Traveller; you'd get a vree room until ye levt if 'ee be willing to help 'round the inn'z bar. Zome vree drinkz and vood, too, and the pay iz good."

[Andrew J. Ryan]

Ryan's interest had gone to a broken spoke in his front wheel. He was disgruntled that it had happened, but shrugged it off and kicked it back into place with the toe of his boots. His gaze quickly shot back up to that of Leeroys, as she explained to him exactly what she did. He was slightly taken aback when she informed him she was a bouncer, in more respectable terms, but didn't show an ounce of it in his face or body. The rigorous army life did that to one, just as it cursed him with an unnatural work habit. He was addicted to work and always grueling work.

However, it was a hard offer to decline. It offered hospitably for work including a free room and meal. She seemed more interested in having the Sergeant Major join her at The Traveller than the fields and she seemed a bit more respectable to be working at a low-end bar. Hopefully, the job would have bigger sense of dignity... Ryan couldn't bare ending up being some muscle who stood in front of a door at night. But than again, that was just because he could never see himself actually retiring from the military unless he was forced into retirement. At 35 years old, he was nearing the middle of his life and still had a long way to go.

"Alright, ma'am. What kind of work would I be doing at this, 'Traveller' place?" he asked politely as he balanced himself atop his bicycle. He glanced backwards to make sure there was no oncoming traffic to cause anymore accidents, but he couldn't see a single car off in the distance. And Andrew Ryan had excellent vision... maybe good enough to be a fighter pilot. No, the Air Force wouldn't be his line of work anyways. The army had been the one that set him straight and put him on the right path for his life and that was where he would stay.

"And what is it like? I'd like to know more about it before I start to do some work there," he stated kindly in more of a way to find out if it was one of those bars he constantly had to be pulling his enlisted men out of and throwing them in the brig. It was always a pity to find the occasional drunken private slandering the good name of the U.S. Army in a drunken stupor. Than again, he could learn a lot from the locals working at a popular place in town. It was always valuable to have information on the locals when you happen to be stationed in their area.

[Leeroy Atherton]

When the American began to ask about the Traveller, Leeroy realized she had forgotten that an American and a British bar were two entirely different things. The American equivalent of the bar was a pub; the bar Leeroy spoke of was where the alcoholic drinks were served in the inn. Even though the Americans had been fighting since '41, and had crossed paths with Leeroy more than she could remember, the Romanichal still hadn't gotten past the cultural barrier yet.

"I apologize, zir," began she, "but I do believe I be convusing ye. What 'ee be callin' a bar in America is what we call a pub - the bar I be zpeaking of iz juzt where we serve the alcoholic drinkz. It iz juzt a local inn, with only a couple of drunkz a week, and it be a rezpectable place in a good part of town. Ye do not have to be a door zupervizor like I - I be given that job already. What we really need iz a handyman - our boy be quitting on uz, he did. Hurt 'iz wrizt and now, he can't be working anymore. Ztill, if you're not that interezted, I'll gladly give 'ee a ride to the varm and ye can speak with the zupervizor. Juzt like I be saying before, though, az long az ye don't mind working with the women in the vields, then 'ee can come and work there."

Checking the bag of compost one more time to make sure it was secure, Leeroy gave her motorbike a once-over, then hopped back on. Helmet in hand, she quickly reset it upon her head, and revved the engine a few times to make sure her bike was all right. A small smile of satisfaction on her face, assuring by nothing sounding broken, Leeroy glanced over at the nearby American.

"Veel vree to vollow me to my deztination," said Leeroy. "It be not var, juzt a vew minutez or zo. One of the ladiez be good with her handz; she can vix that broken zpoke vor ye. Iv that valls through, however, then I can vix it vor 'ee. I grew up on a varm, and I know how to repair many thingz."

Should Ryan give the signal he was ready to go, Leeroy would start moving again, riding along the stretch of road at a steady pace. She would keep at a speed that would allow Ryan and her to ride alongside each other. That way, if there was any more damage to his bike or him, Leeroy could pull over and help. Never one to leave a fellow behind, the Romanichal still felt guilty for not paying attention to the traffic on the road.

[Andrew J. Ryan]

A look of confusion swept over the Romanichal's face as Ryan finished with his questions about the Traveller. A few seconds later, she released her error and quickly corrected herself. A bit too quickly, Ryan found it hard to make out her words. He wasn't use to the accent and felt like he had to decipher each word. But she assured him that it wasn't anything like American bars and more of a respectable place to stay the night. Realizing his mistake too, Ryan simply nodded in understanding and apology. He didn't mean to accuse the place or anything. Both the jobs seemed like a good work, either farming or fixing. He was glad women were stepping up and working, he strongly believed in the survival of the fittest, but wouldn't feel right working alongside "land girls".

"I'll take you up on that offer. At the Traveller," Ryan called out to the women who was getting onto her motorbike. Free food, drinks, a place to stay, and some money... it seemed like the better offer of that too. He wouldn't dare venture into the bar for a drink though, he was strongly against such due to personal experience with the negative effects of alcohol in the past. Assured that the Traveller was a respectable inn and not some lowly dump where all the drunks gathered.

Ryan examine the spoke and hoped that he would be able to ride along Leeroy's side. He kicked it in with the heel of his boot, before getting into the proper position on his bike. He gave the signal to tell Leeroy he was ready for the ride, who turned her head and took off down the road at a steady pace. Ryan started off slowly at first, testing the waters. Aware that no one was at her side, Leeroy slowed for a few moments. Ryan figured he'd be good and should anything go wrong, he'd fall off the bike. That wasn't a big threat, considering his job was to put his life on the line to fight.

Quickly, he found himself pedaling harder and harder to catch up with the Romanichal who picked up the pace as well. Soon, he was riding alongside Leeroy down the dirt road. They rode past houses, fields, horses, cows, and cars. At the low speed of the motorbike, Ryan felt it was easy to keep up without much effort. He was naturally fit, even if he hadn't seen much action as of late. His other duties as a Sergeant Major were just as important though, even if it involved paperwork and the like. Up ahead, he could make out what he believed was their destination. Hopefully, he could get his bike fixed and than find work for the weekend.

[Daniel Brennan]

Mod Post

Nicht so long, this time.

CP:
Leeroy: 8CP

Ryan: 8CP


~Dan