New Wars Old Faces

"New Wars, Old Faces"

Who: Christiane, Wallace & Jean-Michel
IC Date: May, 1940
OOC Date: Jan. 24, 2008
Where: Arras Hospital, France

What: Christiane attends to the wounded, one of whom happens to be Corporal Wallace. Just like old times.

Logger: Christiane

Arras Hospital (16 4)
The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

Arras Hospital is a relatively modern facility. The building was built about ten years ago, when the old hospital no longer served as well as it should, so the house still retains some of that freshness of new paint and new gear. Upon entering, there's a large waiting hall and a receptionist meeting the clientele. Hallways leading off of this area goes to various sections of the hospital.

It is currently night time.


Out <O>

Christiane is bustling around the hospital, issuing instructions to the younger nurses and treating the wounded as they come in. She does it with brisk efficiency, though her face is somber as she goes about her work. Far too much like old times, this day.

Wallace opens his eyes, realizing that, first of all, he can breathe. Well… he's not dead… because either heaven or hell does not smell like a hospital. He blinks once, twice, mentally pushing away the claws of anaesthesia, and with a groan forces himself up on his elbows, his head simply balanced atop his shoulders instead of looking in any one direction.

Jean-Michel is sitting on a bed, nursing his hand that seems to be looking a lot better. Stitched up now, he looks over to Wallace and gives the man a reassuring smirk. His English is terrible, unfortunately, so he doesn't say much to him.

Christiane has gotten round to Wallace and is bending down to inspect the triage work she did on his chest wound. She nods a little to herself. Well, that won't kill him. "Easy, Corporal," she says softly. "You will be fine."

Wallace is looking through Jean-Michel at first, but when the movement of the man's lips becomes a smirk, his gaze focuses on the not-exactly familiar face. He nods slowly, then hears his rank, and a close voice. He's being addressed? He turns to the nurse and blinks. Like a fish out of water, his mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. No… "Nurse… Ingels?" One hand reaches up to rub at his eyes, and he blinks a few more times, it must be the damned anaesthesia.

Jean-Michel chuckles to himself and offers to Christiane in French, "I do not think that the British learned enough French while they were here."

Christiane starts when she's called by name, straightening, so she's focusing on Wallace's face rather than his wound. She takes a breath, smoothing her expression. "It is Morgenstern now," she says. "But you may call me Chrisa. Is it…" She gives her head a little shake. There were so many boys back then, but that hair… "…Wallace? My God…"

Jean-Michel remains silent now, watching the interaction with some measure of curiousity. Not like there's much else to do when you're sitting on a hospital bed with dozens of other wounded soldiers.

Wallace grins, more a half-smirk, and he manages to push himself to a fully sitting position, the wince of pain really is only slightly noticeable. "Looks like the years have been kinder to you than me" Wallace says, then he hears the name she goes by now, and manages to grin fully. "Is that grumpy old bastard kicking around here somewhere too?"

Christiane laughs a soft laugh. She always did try to keep her humor, even in the darkest times of the Great War. "Unlike you I stay out of trouble. Markus, you mean?" She grins as her husband is called 'a grumpy old bastard.' She won't argue with the label. "He is well. He has a little cafe, not far from here. You should come and see him when you are released. Our daughters will see you get a decent meal, and a cup of tea."

Jean-Michel purses his lips ever so slightly as the two older characters seemingly have a nice conversation about whatever it is they are talking about. His eyes flick down to his hand and he goes to inspecting the stitch job done on it.

"When?" Wallace manages to stand without too much issue… the chest wound really only hurts him when he puts too much pressure on his arms. "I feel great." He flashes his best 'I am too honest to not be believed' smile, before adding, "Besides, I want to see him skittering around in a kitchen with an apron on serving tarts." Wallace manages a snicker at the thought.

Christiane grins at the image. "You may very well, if you catch him when he's making sandwiches. But sit, for now! I do not understand you boys. You are shot, you lay down. It is not difficult." That said, she turns her attention to Jean-Michel. "~Careful with that,~" she says to him in French. "~It is still tender~."

"~I was not going to touch it…" responds the Frenchman slowly. He scratches at his arm and looks off into space again, keeping an ear on the conversation.

Wallace has learned one thing in his life… always listen to a nurse… except for when she tells you she'll be fine in that trench. His right eye twitches slightly and Wallace nods slowly, his eyes closing as he sits on the cot once more. Elbows resting on his knees, he covers his face and mutters, "God I have to get out of this town."

Christiane flits a glance back at Wallace, nodding to herself when he complies. Good, Corporal. "Indeed you shall," she says to him, speaking English as she checks Jean-Michel's bandage. "Arras has changed much in the last years. For the good, in most parts, though I still wonder what it must have been like before the Great War, when all the old buildings still stood."

Jean-Michel makes a face like only a Frenchman could while listening to people speak English and not understanding it but, other than that, remains quiet and complacent on the bed in the hospital.

"I heard they have memorials here from the Great War." Wallace glances over at Christiane as she works on the Frenchman's bandage. "Have you visited them?"

"I have seen them, yes," Christiane replies, her attention still fixed on Jean-Michel's bandage. It doesn't need that much attention, but the subject Wallace chose makes her want to busy herself. "I do not visit them often. I do not like to dwell on the past." She busies herself a bit more, then looks up Jean-Michel with a smile and says in French, "~This looks to be a clean wound, not difficult to treat. It should not keep you here more than a day or so.~"

Jean-Michel nods and gives a smile back to Christiane, "Merci. Managed to pick off two of Les Boches but…" He pauses and waves his right hand slightly, "Another one shot me." His French is clearly high southern French and the boy's tone of voice can more than indicate that he's bourgeois.

Wallace manages to actually snort, shaking himself loose of his own maudlin. "I shouldn't either, should I?" He glances over to Christiane then, and forces a grin. "Maaarkus-" God that was awkward to say, "is a lucky man. I have to say I envy him." He rubs at his eyes then, as if doing so just might help cleanse himself of the demonds want to haunt him there.

Christiane's accent has adapted to the local twinge but there is still a clear trace of Belgian in it, especially to a native Frenchman. "~Well, there are no Boche here, so put them out of your mind. I will be back to change your bandage for the end of the night, but there is little else you should require~." That she, she straightens. There are other patients to see to. To Wallace, she smiles. "Markus and I have both been lucky. I have had a good life here." If she has any regrets, she doesn't show it. "I must see to my work. I shall be back to check on you later, Wallace."

Wallace sits up, and despite his injury, manages a sharp (albeit seated) salute for Christiane. "Yes ma'am." He offers, and gives her a nod of respect as she moves off, although to a passerby it might almost seem mocking in its rigidnes.

Jean-Michel simply nods but closes his mouth further. Best not to bug the nurses as they go about their duties. That would be a good idea, yes.

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