Pandle and Papers 1x1

[PapaRoachFan]

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[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

Gregory didn't dare wipe the sleep from his eyes again, not now he had seen his face; if he rubbed to vigorously he could break the freshly mending skin and then he really would be in trouble. This far up they had no medicines, no way of getting any either. If something up here turned septic there was nothing they could but suffer through it. He was surprised to see Chey on the stairs, but also pleased: she had well tuned ears and had obviously recognised sounds of movement above. Good. The last thing they needed was to grow lazy. "This isn't your fault," he echoes words that were once put into his own ears, "you didn't set up the ambush and you didn't throw the grenade. There was nothing we could have done," he is not entirely convinced that this is the case but he tried not to let the thought show as he speaks. "We've had a chance to rest, soon the snow will begin to fall and then it'll be harder for the mafia to find us, with any luck we'll come out alright in spring." If they had the chance to live that long. He notes how she holds her arm and her gun, she doesn't let the wound impair her, whoever trained her did a good job. He crosses over to the window, gazing out of it curiously as he speaks. "Thank you for asking but no, I haven't slept okay in years. I don't think I ever will truth be told." Not until I die, but he doesn't add that part as he stares out at the wilderness. It would be best if they boarded the windows up, but with what? He tosses his eyes across the room but there is very little for them to use. Furniture would be their best bet. "If you want to wash or anything I can keep watch down here," the soldier offers uncertainly as he finally brings his gaze to hers.

{{ Sorry, I was hiking and only got back yesterday. Lovely post!

[PapaRoachFan]

|•| Lance Corporal Parker |•|
[Cheyanne Blaze Parker]

Cheyanne waited for Greg to speak, keeping her eyes off his newest wounds. It was pretty bad but it wasn't the worst she has seen, yet. Her arm began to really bug her as she stood at ease while she waited for him to speak. When he finally did speak, she grew surprised at his words. "But I was the one who stood and got shot. If I hadn't gotten shot, I could've helped to have given you cover. I could've listened to orders to stay down but I didn't and now we are here," she said quietly, her head hanging a bit since she knew that some of the blame landed on her. She soon put the weapon on safety and set it back into her waistband before slowly massaging her wound as it began to sting. "I hope so," she murmured in a barely audible voice. She heard footsteps and looked up to see Greg walk over to the window. "Oh, I hope that whatever is bothering you will be put to rest so you can sleep better," she said softly, slowly moving to sit on the couch and cradle her arm against her chest but tried to hide the pain that it was causing her. "I am okay for the moment. Would you like me to tend to your wounds? It's the least I could do," she said quietly, bringing her eyes to meet his as he looked over at her. She hoped that Greg would allow her to help him since he had saved her life. She owed him her life which she planned on trying repay her debt to him.

|| Its okay. Thanks. I'm trying to get better at my writing. I hope we can roleplay a bit 'cause I need something to keep me occupied at the moment due to some stuff happening at home... ||

[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

Gregory watched Cheyanne move around as she spoke and felt pity well inside him. Whatever reason she had for joining the army he doubted she'd pictured herself here, stuck on the mountain in a summer villa with a Lieutenant-Colonel. Greg had to admit that he had never expected it -he'd half expected to die before he even made the rank. "If you hadn't stood up we'd both have got blown up too, you would have covered me while I ran right into that trap and no doubt you'd have followed me in," the soldier blinked slowly, reflecting on the explosion that had stolen the lives of his men, his friends. Now wasn't a time to think about them. "But you didn't, and now we are here," he echoes her own words as he says them and crosses to her, the frustration and irritation of her wounded arm well masked on her face. Sliding down beside her he leans back against the furniture, thanking whatever form of God there was for this small sanctuary. "That would be nice, thank you Cheyanne," the man turns his raw face to her so that she can treat it, better that it is treated than left he supposed. "Fire burns the mind, even after all these years I can feel the heat of the first flames. It seems as if i'm destined to meet my end in the roaring tongues of fire, that's how I came to join the military, I should suppose it's how I'll leave too." The young man wondered if he should share his childhood nightmare with the woman, but he teeters on the edge of silence instead, unable to bring the memory to life.

{{ Aww i'm sorry that things aren't going so well. I'll try and post as often as I can for you, you'll improve naturally i'm sure :3

[PapaRoachFan]

|•| Lance Corporal Parker |•|
[Cheyanne Blaze Parker]

Chuannepulled her foot to rest beneath her on the couch as she slowly turned towards Greg. "I guess so," she murmured as she watched him move to sit on the other end of the couch. "I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for saving my life," she said quietly as she looked, as best she could, at her patched up wound. It really bugged her but hid the pain as best she could by just taking some slow deep breaths and keeping her teeth tightly closed. "Let me get some supplies," she murmured softly, slowly getting up to find the necessities that she would need to clean his raw skin. She found a small bucket, some soft cloths that she would use to gently dab the raw skin, some antibiotic cream, and some gauze if needed. She placed the things into the bucket and took it into the living room, dumping the things out on the couch before moving to the kitchen to see if there was any running water.
While at the kitchen sink, her eyes darted out the window to make sure they weren't being watched. She had a bad feeling in her gut as she finished with the water. On the way back she tried to move fairly quick, or as quick as a person with a bucket of water and a bum arm can move. The faster movement caused her upper body to turn a bit with each step which aggravated her wound and a pained yelp escaped her lips. She then felt as if Greg would think she was weak since she let out a sound of the pain that she was trying to endure silently and unseen. She set the bucket down infront of the couch, moving to try and ease the burning feeling in her shoulder. It was as if the earlier flames had, somehow, gotten into her body and now wanted to burn her from the inside out. "It's like I can feel the flames," she said as she turned a bit from him as she expressed the pain on her facial features soundlessly. When she thought she had it under control, she turned back to him and sat slowly on the couch. "If I have anything to do with it, I'll try to keep you from the flames," she said quietly, her voice a bit stuff due to the pain but she tried to appear calm so that her pained energy didn't pass to Greg.
She took the soft cloth and out it into the water before gingerly dabbing the raw skin of Greg's face to try and get it cleaned of soot. She was ever so gentle so she wouldn't cause Greg any pain even though she was doing it one handed which caused it to be a little more difficult. She concentrated on cleaning the wound without causing pain so she looked intently at it as she moved to clean the rest of his face of soot. Her touch was gentle as she had the look of concentration, her pain being shoved to the back of her mind as she helped a fellow soldier. It took a little while to clean his whole face of soot but it was done. It looked a bit worse than when it was covered with soot. The face she was used to was on one side of his face and then the raw and burned side that she didn't know. A soft look passed over her face as her eyes looked over his face before she grabbed the antibiotic cream. She put a little on her index finger then gingerly smoothed it over the raw skin that she had just cleaned, making sure not to place too much or too little cream on the raw skin. After she applied the antibiotic cream to the raw part, she looked to see if there were any other places that needed attending before she now grabbed the gauze. The gauze was soft and would keep any infections from getting to the raw, healing skin. She placed it beside the wound and then removed the knife from her pocket to cut it to fit the wound. After that was said and done, she gingerly placed it over the wound and gingerly pressed the sides so it would stay on the healthy skin around the raw wound.
She heard him as he spoke but was concentrated on making sure she did a good job at mending his wound before speaking. "I would've taken any other reason to join the army than being brutally abused at home and coming to the military to get away from that. I also wanted to serve my country but I wanted time to let my body heal," she said quietly as she gently moved her hand over his hair, trying to get some soot out of it and finding the fuzzy feeling of his hair to cause a slight smile to form on her lips despite the situation she and Greg were faced with. "I hope I did a good job. I'm not an expert but I think that'll help keep infection from getting to it and help the raw to start to heal," she murmured, moving her hand to her lap as the pain from her own wounds began to burn through her whole arm.

|| It's par for the course right about now... Thank you. It really held and I truly appreciate it. I find that when I roleplay with you I can post more since I can honestly picture what is going on in the post and can sort of get what I see for my character into words. If there are anything a you can point out in my posts that could help to improve it, please do if you don't mind. ||

[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

Save her life? The woman's words shock the Lieutenant-colonel; surely it was not to him who she owed her thanks? He had helped to patch her up after she took a bullet, something anyone would do if they could but offer their service, and true enough he had carried her from the desolation but he could see no thanking for that. To bring her here where they were sitting ducks? That was not so much saving as it was elongating their suffering. Gregory could see nothing but selfishness in his own actions. Saving Cheyanne so he didn't have to die alone, stitching her wound so she would be of help rather than hindrance. Those were not his motives yet as he sat beside her newly vacated spot on the sofa, that was all Gregory could conjure up. "You owe me no thanks, Cheyanne," his head turns to follow her movements from the living quarters to the kitchen, his mind thoughtful of her. Gregory met all kinds of people on his tours, mad-men and hungry men, desperate parents, desperate children, those without boundaries and those who clung to hope, he couldn't recall meeting someone like Cheyanne before. Her quiet determination to prove herself, and her courage. Gregory could taste it in her like the fat on a piece of meat, lining her personality and driving her in everything she did. If there were more people like Chey in the world then war would never have broken out.

The bucket takes her place on the couch as she scuttles off in search of more equipment, to amuse himself the twenty-six year old peers forward, a smile tugging at his lips as he examines the content. Anyone would have thought she'd done this half a dozen times before. "It's still troubling you? We can try to readjust it, find a more comfortable position for it instead-" his words are shattered by the gentle strokes of the cloth against the exposed layer of his flesh. The cool water trickles between blood vessels and against the burn, the sensation like honey against his dry throat as it alleviates the irrational itching and damnable heat. His tongue grows still and the words drown before they reach his lips, his eyes focus on Cheyanne's face. They take in the soft contours of her brow and the curvature of her nose, the way her mouth moves as she talks. He summons a reply as he strokes a strand of hair from her face and tucks it behind her ear, "fire brings destruction but it brings new life too," and now the fire has burnt itself out we are the product, we are the new life. Her digits begin to move over the sore blisters of his broken face then, her bare skin brushing against his like an artists hand against canvass, she applies the lotion and it is as if an angel kisses the pain away. He breathes out, shakily exhaling as he begins to share his story. "In Scotland my father ran a small farm, it wasn't much, just a few fields and a couple of pigs, but Mabel -my sister- and I, we adored it. Our father encouraged us to play outside all day and we did, we'd be gone days at a time just lost to our games but something was wrong. I could tell when father forgot how to smile that it was serious, and then our mother made us ice-cream and told us to go up to the hill and stay there, no matter what," his face crumples with the memory of that walk. It had been the peak of August, hotter than either of them could remember, and they'd ploughed up that hill with their ice-creams. Mabel took the swing, Greg had sunk down amongst the roots, but they'd both watched the farm house. "We couldn't see the road but soldiers arrived, French troops, my father hadn't known them but they came to kill him, all of us," they'd shot him three times each while mother had hidden herself in the cellar. "They burnt the house to rubble while my father lay dying and my mother trapped." And we watched it happen. "I don't think you can protect me from that particular fire."

It is her turn to share now, and Gregory listens with a darkening disc, his brows furrow and his eyes narrow. Abuse? That made sense, in a way, it explained her self-determination, her unyielding courage and persistence. She had grown up to be a fine and strong example of all that was good in the human-race, if only her parents could see that now. Her hand fondles with the fibres of his hair and the smile returns to his lips, lightening his whole face despite the pull it causes on the burns. There is a sound escaping from her, perhaps they are words, he cannot tell, he is lost in the labyrinth of his gems and slowly he brings his thumb running down her cheek, feeling the creation before him with his own hand. "Thank you. For everything."

{{ Your posts are fantastic! I'm so glad that you feel that way, i'm glad we started it back up again c:
Well that double sucks, at least here you have a little refuge. Your post made me melt inside it was so cute.

[PapaRoachFan]

Cheyanne had glanced up at the Ltc and when he spoke she raised an eyebrow. "How do i not owe you? You carried me from danger, patched up my gunshot wound which might have been the end of me if it had been left untouched, and now I am here in this little house with you," she said quietly before she had gotten up to get the supplies. Her mind kept thinking about Greg and how he wasn't like most of the men she had been stationed with. He wasn't as sexist as most she had the... pleasure to serve with. Though pleasure was used very loosely. Those men had treated her like dirt that should Ben trampled on since she was a woman serving in the British Army. She took a deep breath to steady herself before returning to tend to Greg's wound.
She had glanced back at Greg while she was at the sink and saw his smile as he looked over the materials she had grabbed. She guessed that she had either gathered the right things or he thought she had not a clue of what he was doing. She hoped it was the first of the two.
She soon sat infront of Greg and listened as he spoke but soon stopped as she began to cleanse his wound with the cool water. She shrugged her one shoulder at his words. "I should be okay," she murmured, her eyes glancing at his briefly as she went back to work. When he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she slowed her work and glanced at him before returning to work without realizing a light blush colored her cheeks. He spoke again and she tilted her head a bit, confused at his words but tried to let his words soak in before asking questions. She guessed it referred to their current situation but wasn't really sure.
The breath he exhales when she applied the antibiotic cream made her feel as if she was correctly tending to his burns. It made her feel like she could truly help her fellow soldier. He spoke again and she listened, hearing his story and stopping her work, sitting back and looking at him. When his face crumpled at the memory she reached forward and gingerly took his hand. When he spoke about his parents, she gently squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, looking up at him with her good seeing eye. The other having lost its sight one night when he father had gotten drunk and used her face to take out his anger. It had hurt like hell but she suffered through it in almost silence since her father had found more fuel to his anger when she cried out in pain. "I can try to," she murmured silently as she ran her hand over his short hair.
"My mother had left when I was little and my father became a drunk not long after. He liked to take his anger out on me," she said quietly as she lifted the edge of her shirt up to show Greg her still slightly bruised ribs. She closed her eyes and felt the last returning to hit her like a ton of bricks. The hits, the yelling, and the pain all returned and caused a tear to roll down her cheek. She looked down and spoke slowly, "His anger caused me to go blind in my right eye," she murmured silently, feeling a few tears roll down her cheek but she moved to wipe them away quickly so she wouldn't look like this broken girl who didn't deserve to be enlisted in the military. "I'm sorry," she murmured, closing her eyes before feeling his thumb run down her cheek. Her eyes trailed up to him as he thanked her. She sniffled a bit and wiped away the last of the tears that rolled down her cheeks before speaking. "Everything?" she asked curiously, not knowing that she did anything more than care for his burns. She felt something stir deep inside her when her eyes meet his, a feeling she ha never felt before. It was odd but a good odd.

|| Thanks c: I'm really glad we started this up again too.
Yeah. I try to lose myself in roleplays. Greg is adorable. I wonder what will begin to bloom... hehe ||

[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

His thumb was still caressing her cheek, his attention distracted by the gravity of her figure while she imparted her own tale of woe and tragedy. It seemed the world was filled with the results of abuse and misfortune, it was hardly surprising they had all turned to war in the end. They were fighting a losing battle: they were fighting the human condition. Gregory's lips thin as she recounts days of abuse, and he stiffens as she displays her bruises, bruises that remain even after all this time. It is a small wonder that she didn't die before, he thinks darkly as her clothing falls back into place. "He will never hurt you again," the man vows solemnly as he withdraws his thumb from her flesh, choosing instead to drink in her whole image. The soft dowry of her hair, the slender yet steady frame of her shoulders and the slope of her chest, the arm pinned against her body and that which still shuffles her palm across his scalp. "I so swear that nobody will hurt you again," his eyes watch the tear as it travels down her cheek and, gingerly, he leans forward, his lips combing across the salty rivulet as he kisses away the memory.

Their tranquillity is smashed by gunfire.

It comes in three rapid bursts and smashes the glass windows, the exploding grass hurls across the kitchen to shatter on impact with the floor and walls. Instinctively Gregory drops from the sofa, pressing his stomach against the floor as he pulls his own weapon - a Beretta M 1951 model, Italian made, eight rounds. He had to make them count. The gunfire came again, this time from a different direction. The windows imploded into the living room, covering them both in a thin film of crystal. Gregory motioned for her not to fire, to lie low and not move, he did the same. Gun fire came again, this time aimed upstairs, Gregory could hear the shattering pour onto the floor and felt his heart racing in its cage of ribs. Please God, don't let them die now.

As quickly as the gunfire came, it went. Gregory didn't dare move, he was too weary of a trick. It was dark before he dared to move, his limbs had grown painfully stiff and icy and pins and needles had made itself at home in his let leg. He would have cursed it but he wished not to make a sound. "Keep low, they might have night-vision goggles," he decides not to mention that if they had infra-red then it made no difference if they kept low or started a karaoke, instead he struggled to free himself of his jacket and laid it on the floor. "If you can't move stay here and sit on that, this glass will rip us to shreds," then, moving slowly he tucked his gun into the back of his trousers and crawled away. He would have a better advantage from upstairs, even in the darkness, so he aimed for the stairs. He had been right about the glass shredding them. Even though the stairs were in the centre of the room the windows had litters the whole building and, by the point he reached the first step, his hands were rags of flesh and small shards embedded themselves against his fingers. It was worse than the burn on his face but it was better than a bullet through the back. If he could make it upstairs he could wash the glass out, washing out a bullet was far harder.

{{ You replied so quickly omg xD heh heh, i think we both know what that is.

[PapaRoachFan]

[center]|•| Lance Corporal Parker |•|
[Cheyanne Blaze Parker][/center ]

Cheyanne was surprised as Greg continued to caress her cheek though not opposing it. Her eyes glanced up towards his face to see his reactions to her lifestory. She saw how he stiffened and his thin lips that made her look down. When he spoke, she listened and felt his thumb remove itself from her skin. "Thank you," she said quietly, her hand gently taking his. He felt so safe with Greg despite their deadly situation , her eyes closing. What truly surprised her was that she felt his lips against her cheek, the fear being kissed away. Her eyes open and show a shyness that was from his actions. Her heart began to pick up its pace a bit from his action, her chest rising and falling with a slightly quickened breath before all of it was shattered.

The gunshots startled her, causing her dive to the floor and land on her hurt arm. She but her lip to keep from crying out. "Be careful," she whispered silently, making sure he could read her lips. The fear she showed was almost tangible, the amount immense. She pulled her small handgun, a 9 mm that had a magazine of ten rounds. When the windows busted in, she instinctively put her face into her arm to keep from getting cut up. The last thing he needed was to go blind in her other eye.

As soon as the firing and windows busting had began, it was gone. An eerie silence settling in its place. Her body ached and her shoulder burned, making it difficult to move from the position she was in, on her stomach. She looked at him as he spoke, nodding slowly. Her eyes watched as he struggled to get out of his jacket, shaking her head. "No, no. You should have that," she said, having her own jacket from earlier. "Be careful," she said, stiffly moving her hand to gingerly stroke the healthy side of his face. She figured that she would probably have to play medic again. She slowly turned to look at the couch, seeing a blanket on it and pulled it to the floor before slowly laying on her back to ease the pain in her shoulder. In all the commotion, when she had landed it had managed to loosen a stitch which now began to bleed a bit. Her eyes barely picked up on it but she dropped her weapon to apply pressure to the wound.

Little did she know that their attackers had a small group that they sent in to make sure that the job was finished. The door was soon kicked in and there were five big, burly guys who had they're weapons pointed at every edge of the house. She tried to stay hidden beside the couch but one spotted her, walked over and grabbed her bad arm as she fumbled to grab her weapon. It slipped from her fingertips and the guy laughed, enjoying to see the girl struggle and the pain etched into her features. She didn't call out for Greg, hoping he heard the ordeal. "Let me go!" she said, trying to keep the pain from seeping its way into her voice.

|| lol. I think so too. I have tennis try-outs this morning so I might not be on til about 12 or so EST. ||

[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

The second floor of the villa house was cast in darkness, light was unnecessary as he stood at the top of the stairs, peering into the absolution. The bed was littered with glass, the floor too, every surface crunched underfoot as he waded toward the bathroom. Gregory never made it that far. Cheyanne's broken, agonised voice carried up the stairs and he knew they had her. They would have had Gregory too if he'd stayed down there any longer. Why did they strike now? After all these hours of silence, while they had lain there like lambs in a slaughterhouse, the mafia had been contented to wait. If only they could have waited longer. Gregory had nothing but his six-round hand gun to aid him, that and an endless supply of glass shards. Waiting any longer was to put Cheyanne in mortal peril. The mafia weren't known for their ability to spare a life and after the brutal display of their earlier strength, Gregory didn't doubt for a moment that she was a dead-man walking.

Frozen on the back edge of the stairs the man drew his weapon, ignoring the fiery pain that tumbled through his hands at the contact with substance. Glass was easy to remove, a bullet was not. He had to keep the phrase in mind as his hands bled and wept. He couldn't forget or Chey would die and he would too. If he called out they would kill her. If he kept silent, they would kill her. He was lost at what to do and he couldn't afford to cry, but there was tear already growing in the corner of his eye and before he could blink it back it was running down his cheek, the track marking itself through the dirt to hang off his chin.

She couldn't die now. Not after this. He left good men to die so he could save her, he'd carried her through fire and he would carry her through ice, but not her corpse. He wanted to see the smile again, that fickle creature of peace on her lips, he wanted her hand in his hair and her breath to hitch in her throat as he kissed away her pains. And it was all in jeopardy. Because of him. Because he was stupid and foolish enough to choose the only house for miles around, it was like lightening and fire and opening all the doors. How could he have been such an idiot? There was movement, female, not Chey. She was on the first step, her weapon raised and Gregory could see the night-vision goggles she wore.

He didn't even hesitate.

The bullet entered her skull and emptied itself on the stair a moment before her face crumpled onto it.