The Last Drink for a While...

[jerry]

Bar

"A mug of beer, what ever is the cheapest." The plump British bartender turned his back to Jerry, rifling through glasses. Jerry was hoping to enjoy one, final drink before he was sent to the front for the first time. Jerry stretched out his arms, yawning loudly, the sound echoing throughout the mostly empty bar room.

"Eya is yaw bevvy, hope it is ter yaw liken." The bartender slammed a frothy mug of beer down on the table, making a loud clash. "Thank you, thank you..." Jerry replied, grabbing it's glass handle and taking a swig. God, this is strong, Jerry thought, swishing the potent drink around in his mouth. "So, I tek it yaw frum America?" the bartender said, wiping a empty mug with a old rag.

Yes, yes. New York. You ever heard of there? the sergeant replied, taking another swig of beer. "Cor soy I did, I keep pretty isolated within this broo'us." Not understanding half of what the Brit said, Jerry just nodded and continued drinking.

"Hey! Travis! We yav a bit of a problem back eya!" One of the waitresses shouted, waving the bartender back. He excused himself and left Jerry alone with his drink.

Jerry's mind began to drift back to America, back to Ivy, and Jerry's parents. He imagined Ivy standing behind her desk, the engagement ring sparkling on her finger. Homesick, the New Yorker pulled the photo of Ivy from his pocket and stared at it. Although it was black and white, he could imagine her green eyes, black hair, and pale, freckled skin. Taking another sip of beer, Jerry began to think of what it would be like being away from home for years.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

France. They were sending her off to France. The invasion had been a success, and now, volunteers were needed to help keep the soldiers' morale up, as well as take care of them when not on the front lines. Volunteer Niamh Mairi Dunlevy sighed tiredly, rubbing her face with one hand, holding a bottle of Coca-Cola in the other. Before her, her assignment orders were laid flat out on the table, wrinkled from being held by clenched hands.

Taking a long sip of her fizzy drink, gulping it down like an alcoholic would do with his or her brew, the bottom of the bottle hit the table hard when Niamh was done. In all her life, the Pavee had never been so nervous. She knew very well of the threats she would face - bombs, disease, getting lost in foreign territory, getting captured by Germans...heck, even her own side's soldiers were a threat. The girl's cousin, Magdalene "Magpie" O'Hannagain, had told Niamh her share of horror stories during a visit long ago. Magpie had even experienced one herself, having been punched in the face by a Pavee-hating soldier in a kitchen and falling back onto a hot stove. The marks from the lit burner on her arm had healed, but the memory still remained.

Niamh couldn't help but jump a little, turning her head abruptly to see what had caused a sudden, loud clack. She was slightly relieved to see that it was just a bartender, slamming down a mug with a wee bit too much enthusiasm. The Pavee cracked a slight smile, enjoying the sound of his Brummie accent for a moment, but then pulling her eyes away when he left. A feeling of homesickness washed over her; she should've stopped at her parents' house in Ireland before...all of this. They deserved to know her intentions in person, and not just by some letter she had sent along earlier. Besides, she wanted to see her old home one last time, just in case -

The woman roughly shook her head. What was she thinking? Where had all this doom and gloom suddenly come from? Yes, she would be in a war zone, but she'd be off the front lines. Niamh didn't have to fear much if she just stayed back, cooking food for the soldiers like she was going to. She really had to loosen up.


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


OOC: Hope you don't mind me joining, just wanted to help get you started.

[jerry]

Taking another swig of beer, Jerry folded the picture of Ivy in fours and stuffed it back in his pocket. Jerry had no idea of how he would deal with the loneliness. Maybe once he was in combat, things would take his mind off of it. Hopefully. Taking a long sip of the strong brew, Jerry swiveled on the chair and looked around the bar.

It was mostly empty, but there were a few people there. A young couple sat at a table to his left, and a older man was eating a sandwich in the middle. But in the right corner, a young woman sat in a uniform. A empty bottle of Coke lay next to her, and she shook her head despairingly. A large array of maps was spread out on the table before her, and she stared at them with despair. Jerry decided he would socialize before headed out to war.

Grabbing his mug of beer, he walked across the room and up to the uniformed woman. "Need some help, ma'am?

[Niamh Dunlevy]

The "maps" were, in fact, simply the bar's menu, as well as Niamh's orders from the ATS and a letter she was writing to a friend. Her mismatched eyes stared hard at them until a voice broke through, causing her to jump a little in her chair. She quickly turned, and looked up at a soldier with weariness in his blue eyes. He looked more homesick then what Niamh felt.

"Ehhhhh...n-no, noth really..." the Pavee said. "It's justh t'at I'm geththin' deployed wit' the ot'er girls o' m'group. We're headin' tho France now t'at you lads 'ave goththen t'rough. Feelin' t'e buththerflies, if y'know whath I mean."

Quickly gathering up her things and placing them in a handbag - one that served as Niamh's first-aid kit - the woman brushed the table off with one arm. She then motioned for the man to sit, muttering as she did so, "Go on, have a seath. I'm noth thryin' to flirth, no, buth you look thired. I kinda feel the same way." Her eyes then looked around for the pen she always kept with her, and she eventually found it rolling over to the middle of the table. With a quick snatch, Niamh halted its progress, and placed it in her first-aid bag where it belonged.

"Acthually," the Pavee suddenly said, "I t'ink you can help me somewhath. Whath's ith like in France, anyway? Does ith rain all t'e time, like England an' preththy much any place else up 'ere? Or is ith differenth? Drier? Muddier? An' whath are t'e bases like? Are t'e boys...are t'ey as mean as some o' the gals say t'ey are? I'm justh thryin' to geth used tho t'is, I'm justh outh of thrainin', why don'thcha know...."

Niamh grinned sheepishly, and rubbed the back of her head with one hand. Once again, she was rambling on - it had become a bad habit ever since she had joined up with the ATS, born from her asking so many questions on how not to do something when she was nervous.

"Ehhhhhh...yeaaaaaaaah..."

[jerry]

Jerry saw that what he thought were maps were just some letters and a menu, and the woman said in a thick accent "Ehhhhh...n-no, noth really..." Jerry nodded as the woman continued, telling that she was getting deployed.

She invited the soldier to have a seat, so he pulled one out and slumped into it. She quickly made a mad dash to clean up her things, stuffing them into a handbag. Jerry pushed his tired arms against the table in a vain attempt to make them feel less droopy.

"Acthually, I t'ink you can help me somewhath. Whath's ith like in France, anyway?" The woman said, bombarding him with a series of rapid questions. Realizing she was rambling, she grinned and rubbed the back of her head, like people often do when a bit embarrassed.

"No reason to be shy, hit me with any questions. First time in a war zone, am I right? Well, I don't think it's as rainy as England, but it gets it's rains. Worse winters, too. And about the boys, depends which ones your talking about. Some of 'em are bastards, but most of them are just scared boys, just trying to stay alive." Jerry stared at the floor, thinking about the fear he had seen in the soldiers eyes at the Normandy landings and the following battles.

Changing the subject, Jerry quickly asked "Not from this part of England, I take it? One of the isles? Scotland? Ireland? Wales?"

[Niamh Dunlevy]

"First time in a war zone, right?"

Niamh could not help but nod quickly. Other then the occasional bombing sweep that sent her and Drummer heading for the hills, there had been no "war zone" of any kind that Niamh had been in. She was a greenhorn, green around the ears, the new girl, the newcomer, the new bit of cannon fodder - no wait, scratch that last one. Thinking of oneself as "cannon fodder" was a very bad idea. Besides, Niamh was supposed to be far from the front lines....

"Well, I don't think it's as rainy as England, but it gets it's rains. Worse winters, too. And about the boys, depends which ones your talking about. Some of 'em are bastards, but most of them are just scared boys, just trying to stay alive."

That last bit immediately reminded the Pavee of Stephen. When she had found him with Rowan, he was crying and afraid, his leg jerking this way and that. He thought there were bombs falling, and he couldn't recognize anybody. It had been months since she had seen him, and in retrospect, everything was so different now then before.

Although she was just an ATS volunteer, she was considered a soldier by those above her. Niamh Mairi Dunlevy received two-thirds the pay of any in the British Army, and had been trained to work with weapons. Although she was not allowed to fire a gun in battle, but they never said anything bad about self-defense. A lot of girls had wondered why the occasional firing lesson had been given, but by the end of their training, they knew why.

It was in case the soldiers - not just the Germans, either - went after them.

The soldier then quickly changed the subject, asking where Niamh was from. When he included "Ireland" in a list of placenames he asked if she was from, Niamh could not help but grin, and nodded assuredly.

"Yep," she said. "I'm from t'e Emerald Isles, all righth. I lefth when I was 'bouth sixtheen, and I've been livin' in Greath Brithain ever since."

[jerry]

"Ah, Ireland. What's it like over there?" Jerry asked, wondering about the Emerald Isle. Was it as green as everyone said it was? He began thinking, thinking about England. Once this damned war was over, maybe he would vacation here.

"So, what are you and the other girls planning on doing over there? Not fighting on the front lines, I hope?" Jerry had the troubling vision of a squad of young women and girls with rifles and bayonets charging a German MG position. Shaking the troubling thought out of his mind, he thought of what say.

Jerry had never been one for conversation, more of the strong and silent type of guy. Conversations often troubled him, and he struggled to find words to say. Deciding to wait for the woman to respond, he picked up the bar's menu and began to fiddle with it in his fingers. It was nothing special, just some fish and chips, drinks, ect. Hmm, fish and chips didn't sound half bad. His stomach had the sharp pain of hunger, and if he had enough pounds, he might order some.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

What was Ireland like? Well, that was like asking a fish what the water was like. Niamh leaned back into her chair, a happy smile on her face as she thought of her homeland. Of the memories that surrounded it, of the times when she had first learnt to ride, of how green the hills looked as she stared out from her bedroom window.

"Ireland, ye say?" the Pavee began. "Ith's as green as t'ey describe ith. Sure, ith rains a loth, buth wit' all t'at swayin' grass to keep lookin' preththy, I can see why God brings t'e rain down a loth. We don'th have loths o' animals o'er t'ere - justh simple t'ings, like yer fox an' badger - buth we 'ave all kinds o' birds. T'e sea smells nice, thoo, an' t'e counthry is always pure-smellin', save fer when ya pass a manure pile, hehe. Ya t'inkin' o' goin' o'er t'ere somethime? Maybe on leave?"

The second question concerned what Niamh would be doing over in France - from the sounds of it, he was probably thinking they would be charging the enemy straight on. Well...truth be told, there were some ladies that were doing a little...undercover work, but Niamh couldn't tell much. Loose lips sunk ships, and she could be called a traitor if she said the wrong thing; so, she just went with what her branch did.

"Noth likely, soldier," Niamh said with a chuckle, suddenly saluting. She had forgotten the fact she was supposed to salute anyone higher in rank, and the man before her was a Sergeant. "My girls and I cook food, clean t'e laundry, an' all t'at good sthuff. Nah, we leave t'e fighthin' fer t'e boys, 'cause t'ey need someone t'ere to 'elp 'em gith fixed up afther a baththle. I'll be far off t'e fronth lines, no worries t'ere."

As Niamh spoke, the man picked up a menu, his eyes searching for something to eat. Almost immediately off the bat, Niamh said, "Thry t'e sausages, t'ey're good. T'ey also come fer a good deal, thoo. M'names Niamh, by t'e way - Voluntheer Niamh Dunlevy."

[Daniel Brennan]

Mod-Post

CP:
Niamh: 6CP


~Dan