Title: Loitering

Who: Davies, Lilian, Hatch, cameo by Bas

Summary: After cutting on Sergeant Bas, Doctor Hatch has a smoke. Davies loiters outside the medical tent, and Nurse Lilian loiters near them.


The Grid-----> > > > > THE GREATEST GENERATION < < <

Coordinates : 1 3

Tall, regal trees reach for the sky as they have for hundreds of years, their crowns lending welcome shade in the summer and frosty artwork in the winter. Old leaves cover the ground, but obscured by plentiful underbrush, they are more felt than seen when walking over them. It is an oasis in an area otherwise covered by farmland, left alone to flourish where elsewhere the hand of man has cut down every tree for their own needs.

It is currently dawn.

Sub-Rooms :
1. Medical Tent
2. Slit Trench
3. Slit Trench

(Item 1) .303 British x 135 Ammo
(Item 2) .303 British x 135 Ammo

West <W> East <E>
South <S> North <N>

There was just quite a fuss in the medical tent surrounding poor Bas, that went on for quite some time. Once (relative) calm has returned, Hatch wanders over to the side to find his cigarettes with hands that are still shaking just a bit.

Davies has been roped into courier duty more often than not since arriving in France, so a lot of his time has been spent running messages back and forth between various people on various sides of the line. He's found some respite from that now, though, and is taking a breather. Albeit not much of one. The 'fuss' in the medical tent attracted his attention, so he's loitering outside it, waiting to see what grim or happy news results.

Bas is on the Operating table getting massacared, or something, by Hatch! Luckily he's all sedated and shit so doesn't know what evil has been done to his body!

Hatch sticks the cigarette in his mouth. His hands pat over the pockets of his drab civilian clothing, the only color being the red cross on his white armband. The sound nearby makes him turn slightly. "Private. Have you got a match over there, by any chance?"

Davies is trying to peek into the Medical tent while loitering just outside it. And not doing a very good job of being subtle. He jumps when someone calls him 'Private!', straightening up. Trying to look like he wasn't just skulking and trying to eavesdrop. "Err…I was just…a match, sir?" He fumbles around in his pockets, but does manage to dig one up. "Oh, surely do. What you need it for?" He asks it while handing it over.

Hatch replies, unsmiling, "Thought I'd get a bit of a tan." He takes the match, striking it and holding it to the end of the cigarette in his teeth. The first lungful is far better than any fresh air France is trying to provide. "What were you doing over there? Everything alright?"

"I was just…taking a bit of a breather, Doctor," Davies says. Though he instantly looks sorry for admitting it, as now Hatch might ask him to do something. "Everything's mostly alright, so far as I know. Alright as it can be 'round here, I suppose. How's the Sergeant doing? I heard he might be…uh…" He trails off and shrugs. "Is he doing alright?"

"He's breathing," Hatch says, if a little drily. The nicotine's helping calm the jittery hands and he finally sits down on a crate. His elbows settle on his knees. "Don't suppose he'll be taking any French girls dancing for a while, but you know. Small prices."

Davies nods along as Hatch talks. He doesn't look entirely like he knows whether all that's good or bad, though he finally just lands on, "Breathing's good, I suppose. I mean, of course it is. Better than not." He ducks a little into the tent, to try again to get a look at the 'breathing' Bas.

Hatch turns his head, though he can't see much of Bas' cot from here. He lifts the cigarette and draws a long drag, exhaling a thin stream of gray. "He awake, then?"

Davies turns and gives a one-shouldered shrug to Hatch. "Looks still asleep to me, but I'm not a doctor." He's loitering just inside the medical tent. Hatch, just having finished patching up Sergeant Bas, is smoking just outside it. Not finding much entertainment in trying to stair at people recovering from surgery, he turns to gawk at Hatch a bit. "You think we'll make it to Paris soon?"

"I expect so," Hatch says, confidently. Then: "I mean, well. I'm not exactly sure how far we've got left. But we'll get there." He takes another puff on the smoke, flicking his thumb against the back. "Er." He looks back up, sliding his glasses off. "You'll pardon me, Private, I'm afraid I seem to have left my manners back in England. I don't even know your name."

Lilian has been cruising about quietly, tending to patients further away. She pokes her head out of the tend to catch some fresh— well, people are soking and she blinks a little. There's a polite smile, and she listens to catch up for a moment. If anyone looks, she has something of a scar on her upper arm.

"I'd like to see Paris…" Davies mutters, a touch dreamily. "I mean, I bet it's nicer, when the country's not at war and all, but it still seems like it'd be a grand place for a man to see, y'know? You think what they say about French girls is true, Doctor?" Unclear what, precisely, 'they' say. The lad doesn't specify. He makes the comment without having noticed Lilian is nearby.

At 5'9" and fair to the point of pale on a good day, this is not an imposing man, but he carries himself with a certain aloof self-assurance that makes an illusion of further height. He's crested through his twenties with a baby face that could be quite disarming if he ever bothered to smile. Deep-set, hooded blue eyes turn down ever slightly at the edges and his brows always seems to be drawn, heavy with either thought or just irritation at something or other. His accent pegs him as from the upper class. Short, dark brown hair is thick and tortured constantly by the wind.

An armband on the left bears a red cross, identifying him as a doctor.

Lilian is a tall, curvy nurse. That's it. Curvy. She has a bit of a chest. A lot of it, actually but we don't go into detail because that screams tacky, okay? Good. Either way, she's on the pale side with intensely dark blue eyes and dark brown, almost black hair.

For her part, her clothing marks her as one of the nurses that nurses people. Along with sensible shoes. Her hair is kept up in a sensible bun and everything seems in place.

Hatch tilts his head when Davies doesn't introduce himself on the prompt, politely clearing his throat. "Ah, well, I'm sure I don't know." He hooks his glasses onto his shirt pocket, then raising an eyebrow. "What…is it they say?"

Lilian is quiet for a moment. Squinting. She's gotta hear this… It could be juicy gossip. Or she just might have to throw a shoe at Davies. But she listens. Silent. Potentially deadly.

Davies must have missed the query about his name, though it does eventually occur to him that he was asked. "Oh. Jack, sir. That is, Private Jack Davies. Good to meet you and all of that. You English?" He asks it, while extending a friendly hand to Hatch to shake. "I am, but there seem to be folks 'round here that aren't. The Sergeant's not." He still fails to notice Silent Lilian.

Hatch stands up when the hand comes out, shaking it. "Dr. Charles Hatch, well met. Yes, I'm from just about north of London." His accent supports that, and it's rather upper-class at that. "And no, I suspect the Sergeant's from someplace in Africa, isn't he. Talking of rhinos and all that. Sounds adventurously awful. Whereabouts in England are you from?" Jokes about French girls apparently averted. Lucky Davies.

It could have ended hilariously or terribly. Either or, really. Lilian lifts an eyebrow, quietly amused. "I see," Lilian murmurs. She pokes her head out of the tent, finally stepping out entirely. Eavesdropping is rude, after all. "Hello there, and sorry." Just in case she startled someone. Lilian definitely sounds English.

Bas is still laying there on his cot following the harrowing operation on his sleft boob, or whatever had been shot up and all that jazz.

"Oh, aye!" Davies says with a big grin when the 'London' vicinity is mentioned. "I'm not far from there myself. London, that is." Though he admits after a pause, "Well, I'm from North Finchley, more proper, outside London. But I'd go with my da into London sometimes, when he needed to go to the shops or markets. He runs a butcher's shop, you see. Eh?" The sound of another voice, and a girl's at that, makes him turn his head. "Oh, hello." He looks a little confused by her apology. He wasn't startled, it seems. "The doctor says the Sergeant's going to be alright. Well, he's breathing, at least."

Hatch smiles politely at Davies. "Ah, yes. I do know where you're talking about. Charming." He's about to say something else perhaps, and then is distracted by Davies' looking around. "Miss King, hello there."

Tompkins arrives from the West.

Lilian smiles politely. She nods. "Interesting," She murmurs. Speaking of sergeants, she pauses. "I'm going to check if he's awake yet. He seemed a bit - rough for wear," Lilian offers. She's very polite about it and goes to take a look.

Then a smile to Hatch, "Hello Doctor Hatch."

' so it just sends me a blank line"

Davies is sort of loitering near the entrance to the medical tent, near enough to Hatch and Lilian to chat with them. Bas is inside, recovering from surgery. He bobs his head politely to Lilian again, following her (albeit it at distance) when she goes to check on Bas. He's curious.

Hatch finishes off his cigarette, tossing it down into the mud. He presses his heel onto it and, after a silent sigh, also heads inside.

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