Post by Niamh Dunlevy on Mar 29, 2009 2:17:28 GMT
Country: Allied-held France
Current Time: 11:30
Weather Conditions: Overcast, with some sun peeking through. A wild breeze tears over the landscape periodically, and rain is on the air. A storm is brewing, although it may pass over; the barometer, however, seems doubtful. The mercury in the local thermometers reads a constant 16 degrees Celsius.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Without warning, they charged, a roaring and tackle-hungry throng that probably reminded one of a dog pack. They descended upon the nearby soldiers like pheasants, attempting to yank underwear skyward in wedgies and trying to grab heads in headlocks. Their Irish accents boomed in the stormy air, howling and loud with victory and mischief, having caught their prey too easily. Nearby, a young woman lightly slapped her face, slowly shaking her head as the group treated the poor soldiers like they were the enemy.
Her name was Niamh Dunlevy. The attackers were her cousins, also soldiers, the sons of her Uncle Daragh - the victims were also mostly family, the greenhorn Smith and Shirley brothers. There had been no provocation to Daragh's boys' attack, the young men wanting nothing more then to have fun at another's expense. If Daragh himself were around, he would have given his children a worthy punishment; however, this was the army, and the boys were old enough that they didn't have to listen to him. Niamh would probably call them off, anyways, as soon as they started doing some real damage to the poor Shirleys and Smiths.
"BRIAN!" boomed the oldest of Daragh's boys, Cillian, "GIT OVER 'ERE! 'Elp me pin dis guy down; Oi want ter clap if Oi git 'is drawers over 'is noggin!"
Always ready to break his records with wedgies, Brian grinned like a madman, and skipped merrily over to Cillian. The pair then attempted to tackle one of the Shirleys - Cillian got on the man's back if he succeeded, and wrapped his legs around the Shirley boy's torso. Brian would hop onto the legs of that same Shirley, attempting to pin them and keep the Shirley from kicking out. If all went well, the Dunlevys would then grab the man's underwear and pull it high, laughing maniacally as they did so.
Niamh rubbed her temples tiredly. Although she was always glad they didn't start picking on her, it was embarrassing to know that Daragh's boys were her relatives sometimes. Not only did they annoy their lower-ranking members, oh no; there had been one occasion or another where they had gone after officers. The last time they had played a prank on one of the higher-ranking men, Niamh and the volunteers had been forced to clean an entire mess hall. It had also been the last time anyone had let Daragh's boys go into a mess hall with their grenades still with them....
Current Time: 11:30
Weather Conditions: Overcast, with some sun peeking through. A wild breeze tears over the landscape periodically, and rain is on the air. A storm is brewing, although it may pass over; the barometer, however, seems doubtful. The mercury in the local thermometers reads a constant 16 degrees Celsius.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Without warning, they charged, a roaring and tackle-hungry throng that probably reminded one of a dog pack. They descended upon the nearby soldiers like pheasants, attempting to yank underwear skyward in wedgies and trying to grab heads in headlocks. Their Irish accents boomed in the stormy air, howling and loud with victory and mischief, having caught their prey too easily. Nearby, a young woman lightly slapped her face, slowly shaking her head as the group treated the poor soldiers like they were the enemy.
Her name was Niamh Dunlevy. The attackers were her cousins, also soldiers, the sons of her Uncle Daragh - the victims were also mostly family, the greenhorn Smith and Shirley brothers. There had been no provocation to Daragh's boys' attack, the young men wanting nothing more then to have fun at another's expense. If Daragh himself were around, he would have given his children a worthy punishment; however, this was the army, and the boys were old enough that they didn't have to listen to him. Niamh would probably call them off, anyways, as soon as they started doing some real damage to the poor Shirleys and Smiths.
"BRIAN!" boomed the oldest of Daragh's boys, Cillian, "GIT OVER 'ERE! 'Elp me pin dis guy down; Oi want ter clap if Oi git 'is drawers over 'is noggin!"
Always ready to break his records with wedgies, Brian grinned like a madman, and skipped merrily over to Cillian. The pair then attempted to tackle one of the Shirleys - Cillian got on the man's back if he succeeded, and wrapped his legs around the Shirley boy's torso. Brian would hop onto the legs of that same Shirley, attempting to pin them and keep the Shirley from kicking out. If all went well, the Dunlevys would then grab the man's underwear and pull it high, laughing maniacally as they did so.
Niamh rubbed her temples tiredly. Although she was always glad they didn't start picking on her, it was embarrassing to know that Daragh's boys were her relatives sometimes. Not only did they annoy their lower-ranking members, oh no; there had been one occasion or another where they had gone after officers. The last time they had played a prank on one of the higher-ranking men, Niamh and the volunteers had been forced to clean an entire mess hall. It had also been the last time anyone had let Daragh's boys go into a mess hall with their grenades still with them....
