Pandle and Papers 1x1

[PapaRoachFan]

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

Cheyanne tried to get free of the man's grasp but stopped as she felt a gun at the small of her back. The man laughed, a deep sound that came from his gut. I think we have the one who went shot earlier," the guy said, adding painful pressure the the wound and then looked to the other men. "Shall we make you an example for the other person who was with you when you were shot?" he asked, his grin having a very cruel look to it. He dropped the girl to the floor and gestured for the others to begin brutally kicking her.

She tried to stay quiet as each blow made contact with her body but it was too much. Cries if pain came from her lips as they beat her within an inch of her life. They kicked her whole body; her head, torso, legs, everything try could reach. Then one held her up, his hands under her arms as the man, who originally grabbed her, began to throw excruciatingly painful blows. With that being said, she was getting her tail handed to her.

The sound of a gunshot rang out, a dead body dropping to the floor. The men went to investigate with their weapons drawn, Cheyanne forgotten. They rounded the corner and saw Greg.

While this happened, Cheyanne weakly made her way to get away from the men. Her nose was broken and bleeding, her face bruising and swollen, a few bruised ribs, and a cracked rib. She felt like hell and decided to try to get her gun. She weakly army crawled over to her 9mm and grasped it in her shaking hands. Her shoulder protested as did the rest of her body but she fired off a few shots. She aimed for the guy who had grabbed her and the bullet went through his skull, the men turned to her and she fired two shots into their bodies, not sure where she hit them because her vision began to get black dots in it and her eyes were beginning to swell almost shut.

There were two guys left, one going to each person. The one stood above Cheyanne and she lifted her gun, firing above her and shooting him in the chest. The man dropped on top of her and she felt as if she was suffocating.

|| Hope this is okay. It's a bit shorter than normal. ||

[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

Five bullets left.

The second was foolish enough to try and scramble up past the new corpse, Gregory had no trouble in removing him from life. Four bullets left. The third was more cautious, machine gun fire rang up right beside the soldier, he scrambled backward over broken glass, barely stifling the agony from escaping as he did so. With his back pressed against the bathroom wall, he waited. Bang. His finger had been squeezing the trigger and as the fleshy target peaked into range he fired. Too early. The bullet was a flesh wound, nothing more. Fresh gun fire rained over Gregory at chest height. Had he been standing he would now be dead. But he wasn't, he was already on the floor, bleeding from the back of his legs, his hands, his arms. Everywhere burnt. He fired again. Success. The mafia member fell part way down the stairs once more. Two bullets left.

But there were more than two people climbing the stairs. His mind was blank, how was he going to kill three or four when he only had two bullets? He pushed himself upright, using the wall for support, as he trekked forward, launching himself over the banister. His bare feet slammed into the nearest enemy with such force that all three dropped to the ground floor. Letting go of the railing, he snatched up the semi-automatic weapon and turned it on them.

Two bullets left and two targets. Gregory could make out Cheyanne on the floor but there was no time to call out to her or to see how she was doing. There was a gun trained on his chest. A burst of Italian shot from his mouth and Gregory shook his head. "No comprendo! No comprendo! Moi angalis!" He didn't know if he was speaking the right language, or any language, but he knew one thing was the same in both tongues. He squeezed the trigger and watched as the fleshy doll collapsed. Gregory dropped to one knee, checking for a pulse on the victims, all of them, before he rushed toward Chey, pushing the man away from her. He was horrified at what he found beneath. Her face was already a mass of purple, blue and black, he didn't doubt that her stomach, chest and legs were similar colours. Her arm too was awful. Without a word, Gregory scrambled upright and into the kitchen, fetching a bottle of whisky from the shelf. He brought it back, unscrewed the top and held Cheyanne's head up. "Drink." He ordered her as he pressed the top against her lips. The alcohol would deaden the pain and, hopefully, send her to sleep. When the bottle was emptied he set her head down and collected two of the machine guns used by the mafia members. He slung them over his shoulder, emptied as much of the glass from his hands and feet as he could, then shoved on his boots and snatched the spare magazines. As an after thought he took up the night vision goggles from the first female.

They didn't have time to stay here and nurse each other back to health. They had to go, now. Scooping the injured Chey into his arms, Gregory began toward the door, wincing with every step until they were out into the night.

{{ not a problem. hope this is alright?

[PapaRoachFan]

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

Gunfire filed the house as she heard multiple shots fired upstairs. She prayed that Greg was alright since she wouldn't last very long by herself, especially after the beating she received only minutes ago. She heard bodies drop to the floor and soon the dead body was removed from above her. Instinctively she weakly put her arms over her face since she couldn't see who it was, her eyes nearly fully swollen shut.

A few minutes later the person returned and held her head in an upright position. A yelp escaped her lips when this was done as a pounding headache racked her skull. "G-Greg?" she asked through swollen, blue lips. Her voice was quiet and weak as she silenced to drink. The alcohol burned her throat as it went down her throat, spreading numbness through her body. It helped with the piercing pain that was throughout her body and more so where the darker bruises were as well as the few breaks.

She heard footsteps in the house again and hoped it was Greg. So enough she was scooped into someone's arms and a pained cry escape her lips as her ribs protested the movement as did the rest of her body. "I'm sorry," she said in her weak and gaspy voice, trying to get air without hurting her ribs any worse than they already were. Her eyes slowly closed as the alcohol and pain took her under.

|| Its alright. *sighs* My post... .-. ||

[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

There's nothing to gain and nothing to lose, not even their lives. They've not been living for years, monotonous slaughter and obeying, to whose laws and whose instructions is questionable, but that is it. The night is cold against his cheeks, it slaps Gregory brutally as he stumbles and shuffles over the rock-strewn landscape. Cheyanne is awkward in his arms, he is exhausted and hurt, his own flesh clammy with the fading heat of flames. He knows there is sickness in him, flames always leave scars, and this time they've taken him from the inside. There is no time to take ill now; Cheyanne is dying in his grip because he screwed up. Her blood is on his hands. Hadn't the man promised to keep her from harm? Hadn't he vowed that nobody would hurt her again?

Look where that ended.

The only blessing were the night vision goggles. The land was green through the lenses, an artificial green for everything but Cheyanne, who filled his lower vision with her body heat and blood. Damn him, he could have moved faster, he never should have gone upstairs when she was so vulnerable. Damn him. Why did he have to live when he couldn't protect anybody?

Far away another red dot moved across his lenses. Gregory knew that if he hadn't of had the goggles he'd never have known the enemy was there, but now he did. Not that there was anything he could do about that; there was no cover on the mountain side, the gradient dropped steeply away behind them and the land itself was empty of cover. Damn. He supposed the bullet of a sniper would find him easily enough. God, he hoped it came quickly. "I'm so sorry Cheyanne, God forgive me." Gregory sank down into the heathers, lowering her broken body down beside him so he could stroke the stray hairs from her face. He let his hand linger on her cheek, she was cold. Her skin was so pale, her breathing shallow. At least a sniper would end her suffering. Perhaps death would be kinder to Gregory. Yet the bullet never came. Gregory was too tired to keep his eyes open and watch out for enemies, he was woken from slumber by a hand on his shoulder. At some point he had curled into Cheyanne's side, the hand that woke him was gentle but firm, and at first the soldier thought it was her.

It was a man, perhaps the same age as Greg himself, clean shaven and healthy. "Sir, are you alright?" And suddenly Gregory knew who he was. This man he'd thought a stranger was a friend, a childhood friend. "Archie? Lance Corporal Archie Drinkwater? God, I-" don't know what to say. Gregory could only stare up at the man he'd once known so well, his mouth agape. "You remember! I didn't think you would, Sir. What happened, are you alright? You shouldn't be so exposed, there's a lot of opposition forces in the area, did you not get the radio call?" The darkness was thinning, a pale light beyond the peaks hinting at dawn. So there was no sniper after all, just friends. Gregory rose shakily to his feet, "do you have a medic among your men? This is Lance Corporal Parker, she- we-" "We've trucks on the other side of that mound, we're withdrawing from here, come with us."

Greogry had never been so relieved. Archie lifted Cheyanne in his arms and together they began the slow walk towards safety.

{{ no worries, sometimes there isn't a lot to say.

[PapaRoachFan]

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

Cheyanne layed in Greg's arms, going in and out of consciousness as he ran. Her eyes were shut, unable to see due to them being swollen shut. She lightly rested her hand against his chest, her hand over his heart as she felt it beating underneath of her palm. His heartbeat reassured her since she wasn't sure how badly injured her was. If he was hurt because of those men finding her and beating her, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself since she would think that his pain was her fault.

She felt the cold ground against her back and a quiet whimper escaped her lips. "Don't be sorry. I couldn't fight them off, you were finding out a way to get rid of them," she murmured through bruised and slightly bloodied lips, feeling him move some stray hairs from her face. She felt his slightly warmer hand rest on her cheek and slightly leaned towards it. All she had on was her ripped up uniform slacks and her undershirt, having lost her jacket in the house. Her outfit didn't provide much warmth in the cold night, feeling Greg curl up into her side. She tried to hold in the whimper that managed to cross her lips when he curled up next to her, her broken and bruised ribs finding the pressure to be painful.

At some point during the night she managed to get over the shaking that racked her body and had gotten a little sleep, getting about three hours of good sleep. She woke up as she heard an unfamiliar man's voice speaking to Greg. She was able to open her eyes just enough to take in little bits of her surroundings, seeing Greg was now awake and speaking. Her skin was icy to the touch as she felt someone, the stranger, pick her up. "G-Greg?" she asked silently, closing her eyes as she was lifted from the ground. The movement hurt her bruised and still slightly bloodied body. Hopefully the medic would be able to ease her pain and help her get on the mend.

|| Would've been a bit longer but didn't exactly know what to type... I think the trip fried my brain... ||

[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

She circles above us, tracing our path as we scramble over moor and mud, her travel is lazy and sometimes she vanishes from view as if we move too slowly for her liking. But she comes back. She always comes back. "See," I point her out, the haze or her outline so far above us it's a wonder we can see her at all. "An inch higher and she would be lost to us but see how she stays so we can see, daddy sent her, she'd going to watch over us."
The Bonelli eagle circles over head in the growing light, its screeches echo between the gorge, terrible, chilling sounds that cover Archie in goosebumps. Gregory notices as he notices everything now; with stillness, with detachment. They don't utter a word as they hike over ice bound grass and bush, their boots snapping droplets of frozen dew from the flora. The only sound is the music of eagles.

An hour comes and goes, Gregory understands now why it took all night for Archie to reach them, that mound was nowhere near as it had first appeared. They take shifts in carrying Cheyanne, exchanging her broken body with a mutter of apologies for the pain and jolts, then lapsing back into a silence. Noon arrives and flees just as quickly, yet still they march. The eagle stays. It follows them, circling above them, slipping into the clouds now and again, but always returning. Gregory cannot help the smile on his lips as he sees it. "It's okay Cheyanne, she's watching over us."

Archie wasn't lying when he'd said there were trucks waiting. The mountain road was swarming with military vehicles with soldiers streaming between and around them. They were going at a slow pace, barely even a crawl, and Gregory couldn't work out why. "Road block ahead, the Lieutenant‑General has patrols out on a three mile wing every direction, while the men clear the road. It's safe enough, the roads were blocked so long ago that the Mafia consider them impassable. Come on, there's a medic tent a little further down." Gregory, still cradling Chey, followed after his friend, passing through curious eyes and murmurs, but nobody stopped them. The first-aid tent was spacious, three small beds had been erected on one side with make-shift screens between them. Only one bed was occupied; its inhabitant a lifeless looking man of some years. As they entered a medic steered them toward the nearest of the beds, calling for some assistance. Gregory stepped back; he knew better than to interfere, besides which Chey was safe now and he was exhausted. "Don't suppose there's any food going around Arch?" The soldier grinned and nodded, ducking out of the entrance. "If her condition changes, or she asks for me, have word sent," the medics saluted agreement and, just like that, Gregory fled from the scene of death.

{{ Hope this gives you more to play around with then, you're always welcome to time-skip and do as you please, you know that.

[PapaRoachFan]

Cheyanne could hear the eagle's screeches and tensed slightly, causing sharp stabbing pain to spread through her chest. She listens to the slow, quiet footsteps of the two men who are in her company. The men switched carrying her as they trekked, feeling horrible that they carried her. She should be atleast trying to walk, not being the broken girl who didn't try.
Greg soon spoke to her, saying everything would be alright because 'she' was watching over them. Her eyes opened a little to see an eagle flying overhead. It was a beautiful bird and wondered why it stayed with them as the men continued to march. Her eyes move to look at his face and see the smile that is spread over it. A deformed smile formed on her raised and still barely swollen lips.
Soon there were sounds of military trucks, hoping they were friendly. She heard the male speak, who she didn't know, and say there was a medic tent nearby. Her eyes showed a bit of fear of being left with people she didn't know, still afraid of what happened with the mafia. She felt the cot beneath of her and soon tried to keep from calling out to Greg or seeming like she was too attached.
The medic slowly removed her undershirt and slacks so he could assess her injuries. Cheyanne closed her eyes as she layed tree in her bra and underwear, hating that she was so exposed. The medic lightly pressed into her ribs, feeling the broken ribs and hearing as the girl cried out. The medic then moved to her other limbs to see if anything was broken, luckily there wasn't any other broken bones. The medic then put some ice on the still swollen parts of her body, gave her some pain medication, and rested a blanket over her. He wished her well and then moved to tend to the only other patient.
She felt so alone as she sat in the silent tent, wondering if now that she and Greg had reached safety if Greg would part from her. A tear slid down her cheek as she closed her eyes.

[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

Greogry had forgotten the linen on his face, it did not take long for him to be reminded. With every step he took beside Archie a dozen more rippled past, face turned, eyes stared, mutters came and went. Gregory paid them no mind; people would always stare, but Cheyanne had applied the ointment and he favoured saving his face to having half missing. Archie was graceful enough to say nothing on the matter, instead he opted to fill Greg in on the triumphs and disasters of his patrol.

By the time Gregory had filled his stomach with beans and stale bread, he'd learnt that the Italian boarders were surrounded by allied English and Australian troops. There was a plan to launch an attack on the western side, ships were stationed for deport at Olbia, Rome was to be taken by siege before the invasion swept in down the north and from across the sea on the south. It was a fair plan, Gregory had to admit, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. What good would holding Italy bring? It seemed a waste of resources. Archie had no answer for that; too minor a rank to know reasons, only orders. "So, how'd you meet Parker? I don't remember her in your roll and what happened to everyone else?" They had abandoned the food tent and meandered back into the chilly Autumn air. It was loud and humming with life, the trucks had come to a stand still but the boots of a thousand men were audible all around. They would be easy prey, Greg would feel a whole lot safer when they were back in the foot-hills. "It was an ambush, we walked right into it." He had no appetite for recalling the events to Archie yet he did. Two old friends reunited by chance. "We'd cleared out a safe-house with one fatality, they'd been hauling it down the mountain, Swiss make but that's no surprise," everyone knew the Italians and Swiss had armed together in the war, "we refuelled and moved on, walked head on into Parker's battalion. There were snipers tucked up, the bomb blast left just us," he shrugs, waving his hand around before the first tear falls.

God. Everyone was dead. All of them. His friends. His brothers, his sisters. Stranger and comrade alike. There had been no time to mourn before, there had been a soul to save. Now she was safe. Now there was time -god. His lips twisted like serpents as the tears avalanched down his cheeks. There was no comfort in this world, the naked truth was before him; death was absolute and it was coming for everyone he loved. Cheyanne.

The soldier was running from Archie's startled cries, boots sure-footed as they powered along the track, his uniform was soiled and bloodied, so too was his face and hands, but it didn't matter. Death didn't care what you looked like. And it was going to find Cheyanne unless he got to her first. The medic tent was somewhat harder to find than he'd anticipated; he arrived breathless with every muscle in his aching body wailing in protest. But she there. She was alive. He hurried to her bedside and sank onto his knees, clutching her hands in his own. Words escaped the poor man, he was sobbing in silence, his shoulders shaking and body trembling as he clung to Chey, to the only thing in his life worth living.

{{ eww that was awful, i'm sorry, my head is all over the place today.

[PapaRoachFan]

Cheyanne felt so alone as she was basically the only person in the medic tent. She had closed her eyes as the tears fell from her bruised eyes. The medic came over to wrap her torso to help the broken bones heal and repaired her shoulder by applying gauze and taping it really good. He left and checks on his more lifeless patient. The swelling had soon began to go down, leaving her chilled to the bone because of the ice and being in only her bra and underwear under the thin blanket. She slowly moved the ice from her chilled skin, setting the on the floor beside her and shivered. "M-medic?" she asked before he came over. "C-can I get some clothing?" she asked and the medic nodded before going to find her some comfortable clothing that wouldn't bother her bruised body. He returned with a pair of olive green sweats and a tan t-shirt. The medic helped her slowly stand and put on the clothes on. He was a great help as she was now clothed and back in bed, feeling a little warmer. "Thank you," she said, the medic nodding before going to check on how things around camp were.

Soon she closed her eyes to atleast try to get a little shut eye before hearin running step, heavy breathing, and soon felt hands take hers. Her eyes opened quick as she held in a scream. Greg! He had tears rolling down his cheeks as he clung to her. "Shh. Shh." she said to him in a quiet voice, gently removing a a hand from his to wipe away some tears. "Greg, we have found safety. It's going to be okay," she said, wincing a bit as she took too big a breath for her broken ribs. "Thanks again for saving my life the second time," she said, painfully leaning forward to place a light kiss on his burned cheek. She scooted over a little before she patted the cot a little, wanting to have him where she could have him close and try to get some shut eye. "We both need rest, especially you. Join me?" she asked quietly, gingerly stroking his unharmed cheek.

|| Its fine. I hope things get back in place in your head today.||

[Pandle]

Lieutenant-Colonel Williams
[Gregory Hammish Scott Williams ]

The man nods his head ruefully; the proposition of resting felt new in his mind. The burnt segment of his face throbbed and the tears dried against his skin, returning moisture to the dry parchment. He wondered about using words to explain the bizzare circus of emotions he was displaying, but he found his mouth parched and unable to stipulate a sentence. Instead he pressed himself down beneath the sheet and gathered Chey into his shoulder.

Sleep came quickly, wrapping him as if he were a suckling babe in a cradle. He dreamt of nothing; instead his mind was an open plane free of the plaguing flames that so often came to him in the night. His soft snores trembled through the tent, his breathing easy, his body repairing itself. Gregory knew that his face would itch when it began to heal, he knew the temptation to scratch away the soft flesh would be overwhelming and he wasn't certain that he could fight off doing so. What he was confident in was getting down the mountain, finding safety and going home. His tour was over; his battalion were dead. He would surrender his weapon and retire; the war was no place for him now.

If only it could be so simple.

{{ small post, sorry, i was going to write another attack or something but then i thought you could decide what happens next c: