Wounds hurt people but heal, scars never do (Open)

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

This was going to be a painful journey to the pub and back…”What’s wrong with your face? What happened to it?” all those mutterings and stares from passers by, his life wouldn’t be worth living any more…Joe walked along the road, it was a clear, cold night, the stars were high in the sky and the moon was out, casting an eerie glow over the town of Brighton, England. In all truths, Joe didn’t want to be here any more, he wanted to be in the USA, in his own house, in his own room…but he had to stay on…he must stay on to rid the world of the evil people like the medic Strumfelder, those types of men would burn in the fires of hell…

There wasn’t many people walking around, they were either in their houses or down the pub, footsteps could be heard along the street, echoing in the cold air, Joe looked up and saw two boys of around 15 walking towards him, he shifted slightly so he was now walking away from the lights of the streetlamps lining the street, the boys passed him, their eyes turned to his face and he immediately looked away, casting his eyes down to the ground and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his uniform, walking on.

It seemed like an age when he finally reached the pub, lingering at the door as he heard the voices of men inside, all laughing and chatting. He lent against the wall, thinking…should he go in there? Or should he stay out here? The paratrooper’s hand went up to his face and touched the scars, his face was cold as if was but those scars felt even colder.
Taking a deep breath it seemed, he pushed open the door, standing in the doorway and letting the cold air into the pub, staring around, some heads turned to see who had come in, they didn’t automatically go back into their conversations, like Joe had predicted, they stared at him, looking in horror at the lines on his face that would be with him forever. He bent his head and made towards the bar, the faces turned back to their companies and continued the conversations, or so it seemed…

”Beer.” he muttered to the bar tender, keeping his head down low, the bar man nodded, knowing what was best and not asking Joe any questions. ”Cheers.” Joe took the drink, almost threw the money on to the counter and hurried away towards a dark corner, pushing his way through the people, his face bent low…god he felt ashamed but their was anger filling up inside him, he was angry at Strumfelder….that man would die and Joe would be the one to kill him…The corner that he had made his way to was right at the far end, it was dark and dusty, no one every sat here unless they wanted to be alone. Joe sat down, cradling his drink and staring into it, took a sip and then set it down on the table…staring at his hands, thinking.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

The night was beautiful, so she wouldn't bother going into a smoke-filled bar. Besides, she had had enough smoke that day; Niamh had been working down at the local shipyards, cleaning out steamboat furnaces. After a thorough shower at the hotel room she was renting, she had checked up on Lief - one of her cousins' wives had agreed to take him in until the morning. It was one of the many advantages of having a ridiculously large family. Hopefully, he didn't miss her too much...

A man ducked into the bar, head lowered, but Niamh didn't pay him much attention. Instead, she sipped at the Coke she had bought on her way, enjoying the sweet taste of the fizzy drink. Pure indulgence, it was; unlike those who had settled down pernamently, Niamh always didn't have the pleasure of such treats. Most of her money was spent on supplies - food, bandages, hygienic products, that sort of thing - since she never knew when she was going to have a job next.

For ten more minutes, the Pavee sipped her cola, tapping her foot against the cobblestones. Humming, Niamh suddenly wondered if it was such a good idea to be out that late...no one could say just who was skulking around in the darkness. Worrying slightly, she quickly stood up, and downed the rest of her soft drink. That meant she wouldn't have to get anything inside - the incident at that other pub a few weeks back was still on her mind. Who knew Yank soldiers could be so mean...

Thus, she stepped into the tavern, passing by the table of a certain soldier. She had done so in a swerve to avoid a pair of oncoming drunks.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe had been sitting at the table for the last ten minutes, sipping at his drink now-and-again, really feeling awful. His head hurt, his face hurt, his toes hurt, his back hurt, his whole body hurt…emotionally and physically. But the drink helped, oh yes the drink helped a lot. It was like a lovely warm sensation that you only really got from drink when you were feeling really low…and Joe felt really, really low right at this moment.

A figure passed him and he looked up, the figure hadn’t been that of a man but of a woman who had just come in by the looks of things, he watched her and then his eyes averted to two men coming quickly after the woman, he looked back at his drink and took a sip, one of the drunken men turned suddenly, pulling his comrade closer to him, Joe felt his face turn red as he realized they were looking at him, his face had obviously caught the light and the scars had been seen.

”What’s up with you?” one of the drunken idiots asked, the two were British privates. ”Leave me alone.” Joe said with hatred in his voice, looking down at his drink.

”What’s wrong with your face, let me look.” the second came closer and Joe kept his head bowed, coiling up like a spring. ”Leave me alone or I’ll hit you.” Joe warned the man, suddenly with out warning the second drunk had grabbed his face and was forcing it into the light, Joe’s arm hit the side of the man’s face, making him loosen his grip on his face, the two men started to laugh as they saw the look on Joe’s face, it was of anger and sudden upset, a few people near the table had looked around in interest. ”What are you all looking at?” he growled at the on lookers who turned away, the two drunkards had gone off, probably to look for that girl again…Joe rested his head in his hands, and sighed.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

Suddenly, there was a yelp from just outside of the door - or rather, two yelps. The Pavee reappeared as loud groans of pain broke the air, all thanks to a swift kick to the nethers from her. Niamh had quietly witnessed the harrassment of that poor soldier from the two drunkards, and couldn't help but deliver a little justice upon them when they stepped out of the bar. Besides, they had wolf-whistled at her on the way out.

Niamh didn't spend too much time up at the front - she recognized a few of the Americans from her encounter in the other bar a few weekes earlier. It was a miracle she could even recognize them at all; she'd been so drunk, she thought the name "Henry" was a synonym for the slang term "mangled". That had not been a fun night. To prevent it from happening again, the woman managed to get her hands on another cola. She then proceeded to the back, simply to avoid the crowds, and took a table two over from the previously-harrassed man. He looked like he wanted to be alone.

So, she sat, and drank her cola. If he came over, then good for him. Niamh had had a tiring day, and she wasn't really in the mood for tomfoolery or scuffle. The kicking of the drunkards' groins outside had been enough for the semi-exhausted Pavee. Hopefully, nothing else would happen that night.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe sat in the corner, fuming, his hands finally coming from his face, suddenly he heard moans of pain coming from outside and in walked the woman who the two men had been chasing after, she looked slightly tired but happy at the same time…the men had got a kicking from her by the looks of things as they didn’t re-enter the pub.

The woman had sat at a table near to Joe and Joe watched her, she seemed tired, he shifted slightly, he wanted to thank her…he needed a woman’s company, he had been around men for too long…

He stood up and walked over, ”May I sit here?” he asked quietly, his whole body shaking slightly as he pointed at the chair and staggered down to sit on it, cradling his cup of beer still, taking another sip and glancing at her. ”You were the one who chased those bastards out?” it was more a question than as a statement as his eyes went back to his beer.

[Heidi]

Sipping on her cola, Niamh paid little to no attention to the man near her. Instead, she thought about important things: Lief, Drummer, work...the usual. Tomorrow morning, she'd go in for a short shift at the harbour cleaning out furnaces, then, the road again. There was talk of a horse handler needed in London again.

The sound of a chair scraping caught the Pavee's attention. Her odd-eyes flickered up to the man nearby, who was coming towards her. As quickly as they had done such, her eyes fell back down, landing on the stained wood of the table. She didn't want to start anything, especially not tonight.

"May I sit here?"

This time, her entire head lifted itself. With a quick, "Mhm-hmm," and a brisk nod, Niamh focused back on her drink. Taking a great big swig of the stuff, she made a sound of satisfaction, smacking her lips together. Coca-Cola wasn't all that bad...she'd have to buy a bottle of it for Lief as a treat. The man just sat down on a nearby chair.

”You were the one who chased those bastards out?” asked the man, who was keeping his eyes on his drink. Niamh wouldn't ask why - he sounded tired, and not just physically, but emotionally. The Pavee idly wondered if he had had a bad day, but she wouldn't pester him.

"Noth really..." the woman answered in her thick, Irish lilt. "T'ey were on t'eir way outh already. I justh thold 'em t'bug off."

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

OOC - Accckkkkk...again I forget to log out.

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

The woman had allowed him to sit down, which was kind of her. His eyes trailed around the room quickly and then back at his drink, glancing up at her with a small smile, she answered his question. Her accent was a thick, Irish one, what was an Irish woman doing all the way down here on the South East coast? Maybe she was a band of the new woman workers they had drafted in to help with the war effort, women were doing all sorts of jobs in England and in Joe’s home town come to think of it, when Joe had left to come to England, he had seen a lot of women in the cold car place he worked at, their hair all done up in messy pony-tails and buns, they really didn’t look eloquent at all.

”Right.” Joe nodded, not knowing what else to say, he sipped at his drink and looked up again, all those soldiers, all those people who hadn’t gone through what Joe had, why had it been Joe that was on that outpost that night in France, he had seen a man killed by a single shot gun, that man he had seen killed he had just been talking to a second before, that man had been a friend, he was a member of the company that Joe had come over with from the States, and now he was dead…just like that.

”What is an Irish girl like you doing here?” he suddenly asked, raising an eyebrow at her and then looking down at his drink, taking a sip. He gave a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, staring at the wooden table, awaiting her answer.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

The soul before her was a depressed one, that was for sure. He had been broken, unwilling to let anyone make eye contact, hiding his face as if it were some great monstrosity. Perhaps it was, and that was why he had chosen to sit in that dark, dreary corner. Niamh looked at the man thoughtfully as he spoke, sipping her drink gently.

"I'm workin'," the woman said matter-of-factly. "Justh a few hours 'go I was workin' on cleaning outh t'e stheamboaths down ath t'e harbour. I'm due fer anot'er cleaning in t'e morning, t'en I'm on t'e road again for a new job."

She took another heavy swig of her cola, drinking as a drunk might drink their brew. Putting on the table with soft, "Aaaah," the woman scratched behind her ear, surprised to find a piece of coal there. Pulling it out and flicking it away, Niamh realized that it was the reason her ear had been so itchy. Hm. She was going to have to wash her better after tomorrow.

"So, if I may ask," Niamh said with a smile, "whath's your line of work? You don'th have tho answer, I respecth a man's privacy. I don'th have much of social life myself."

T'en again, she mentally added, whath kind of girl like me would?

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe listened to what she said, interested in her words. ”A lot of women back in the States worked like that, in docks and other manly businesses.” he said, giving her a small smile and sipping at his beer. ”I take it you travel a lot around the country then.” he muttered, his eyes still on his drink, not shifting. He knew it was anti-social, he hadn’t been like this when he had first got to England, but ever since he had got back from France, he now became more like a tortoise retreating into its shell.

He watched the woman as she sat, drinking her drink. She almost drunk it like a man would, scratching at her ear…and saying “aaah” after she had gulped it, maybe that was what travelling did to a person, it made them become rough and ready for anything, odd really but perfectly acceptable, everything seemed to be acceptable in Joe’s eyes now.

She now began to ask him a question and he looked over at her, his face still not raised, ”No, it’s fine, I asked you what you did and now you can return the question. I’m an American paratrooper, 101st Airborne, Easy Company, 3ID, my name is Joe.” his hand withdrew from his lap and made it’s way over for a shake, ”I jump out of planes.” he added, just incase she didn’t know what a paratrooper was.

His whole face now lifted and the scars caught the light, suddenly making them look horrid, ”Sorry about my face…” he knew it would be a horrible sight for someone to see, especially a lady. If the scars hadn’t been deliberately done then it would have been alright but because they were obviously done by someone with a skilled hand and who knew what he was doing then it made things worse as those scars were the sign of the Nazis.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

"Thravelling is in m'blood, sir," the Pavee replied with a proud smile. "T'e world is my home. I wouldn'th have ith any ot'er way."

He answered her question politely, saying how it was fine for her to ask since he did. The man introduced himself as Joe, an American soldier who jumped out of planes. She was curious as to why he would do such, but then her common sense kicked in, telling her that it was probably used as an ambush or something. And who knew? Maybe that was all he could tell her; Niamh wouldn't push him to say more.

As she leaned in to accept the handshake, the Pavee's eyes could not help but widen. On his forehead - and apparently, on his cheek as well - were several straight, carefully-cut lines. They were not random, but rather, assembled into some sort of pattern. One looked like a backwards zed with a line through it, and two esses adorned his forehead. He seemed to flinch as the dim light caught them.

”Sorry about my face…” he said quietly. Turning her expression into something more polite, Niamh nodded vigourously, shaking the man's hand.

"Pleasure tho meeth ya, Joe. Don'th worry, I won'th make a fuss. Why don'th ya justh cover 'em up, t'ough, if you're so ashamed of 'em? No offense meanth, of course, Misther Joe."

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe would have hated that, all that travelling, not knowing where one would sleep for the night, find food…not his idea of fun but some people just liked being outside and on their own and travelling…

”I know, jumping out of planes doesn’t sound fun, but it really is! Dangerous but bloody good fun!” Joe remembered the training he had had back in the States, all his mates, having fun, hating their commander…now half of the company were left, the others had all be killed or moved to other companies, life changed for the worst. ”We do it to get behind enemy lines, scary the enemy into surrender…” Joe stopped and saw her eyes widen as she saw his face.

She shook his hand all the same, her expression now more polite. ”Nice to meet you Miss…?” he raised an eyebrow at her; she hadn’t given him her own name. ”No offense taken...the doctors said they would never heal…and anyway, I don’t have anything to cover them up with, it would just make me look even stranger…” he gritted his teeth and his hands gripped the table as he suddenly felt a sudden anger rise up in front of him because of the scars, how much he hated them.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

Niamh snorted in disbelief, shaking her head. "It's Niamh..." the woman began, "and Joe? Joe, Joe, deaaaaaar Joe...do you not know why women's faces seem to glow, especially after a bad day? We have ways of making blemishes, scars and the like practically invisible to the naked eye. A little powder, a little blush..."

Her hand hung in the air, and was turned from side to side for effect.

"...And the scar goes poof! Believe me, I know; I had baaaad blemishes for a while t'ere. Mum thought me everyt'ing I needed t'know 'bouth applying makeup."

To a hardened soldier, one who had little time for such frivolities as a picture-perfect appearance, the idea might seem absurd. However, the Pavee was sure it would work. The scars on his face were probably a source of great humiliation for him, and Niamh didn't like seeing anybody suffer.

"So, whath say ye?" said the woman with a smile. "Ya t'ink y'could wanth tho thry t'at?"

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

Joe frowned as she snorted at him, feeling a bit embarrassed at what he said, well…he didn’t use make up, so why should he know what it did…when he was a young boy his mother had used make up all the time, he had used to watch her from her doorway, applying the make up with such care.

He glanced up and caught her showing off her face, he saw no difference. ”Maybe not.” he muttered, shrugging, all the other soldiers would think he was gay and he didn’t want that, oh god no he didn’t want that at all. ”Thanks for the offer, but no thanks, I think I’d rather live with the scars then wear make up.” he muttered and his eyes went back to his drink, sipping it.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

A twinge of guilt rose up in Niamh's heart. She smiled sheepishly at the paratrooper, feeling her cheeks heat up. The Pavee was tired, and when tired, one's tongue tended to slip more often then not. His scars were a sensitive subject - Niamh could tell such just by how he hid his face - and her tone and attitude had probably offended him. Sighing, Niamh brushed some hair back behind her ears, then moved her cola aside.

"Look laddie," the Pavee began, "I'm sorry 'bouth acthing like such a jerk. I'm a wee bith thired, buth t'at's no excuse fer acthing like a bruthal git. Yer business is yer business, and I goths no righth tho push anyt'ing on ya. I'm sorry."

Niamh felt her lips becoming dry again, oddly enough. It was probably because of the numerous cigarettes being smoked at the bar's front - apparently, someone was passing them around. Taking another long, hearty swig of her Coca-Cola, she would look down at her own drink, thinking deeply. There had been a lot of soldiers lately, seeking her company...

"Waith a minuthe."

Her head suddenly snapped up.

"Do you know o' a lad named 'Henry Paththerson'?"

[Cpl. Joe Claude]

The woman began to apologise for what she said and Joe shrugged, shrugging it off as if he didn’t care anymore. ”It’s fine, honestly it is.” he muttered, looking back at his drink and taking yet another sip of the lovely, gorgeous liquid, god it was good…

They sat in silence and Joe took out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one and began to smoke, feeling freer suddenly, oddly…he looked about the pub, feeling that maybe, just maybe he should leave as this woman had obviously stopped talking. Suddenly she spoke and her head snapped up and Joe looked up in fright, blinking at her.

”Henry Patterson?” he said and nodded, ”Sure, just transferred to 3ID, and Patterson is my Brigade Commander…” he frowned, wondering why the girl wanted to know about his leader. ”Why do you wanna know? You know him?” he asked, taking another sip of his drink and a drag of his cigarette.