A Photo

Rue de Cambrai
A main road feeding the train station and also seeing a lot of military traffic. Shops and wooden houses line the streets, all of them show the scars of past bombardments.
After the victories at Vimy Ridge pushed the German artillery back there has been some effort at reconstruction, the shops are busy, commerce must go on after all. Stalls containing fresh vegetables and French wine hope to attract the eye of a passing soldier - the concentration of men here means that the war has brought some benefits to Arras after all.
It is currently night time but the light of a flare provides illumination.

Despite still having his head bandaged up, Morgenstern is out in the trenches, moving slowly down it to find his other legionnaire comrades. He moves carefully though, somewhat stiffly. The rest of his body seems to be in good condition though.

And despite her hand still being bandaged and nigh on useless for the girl, Elizabeth is also in the trenches, her camera bag resting on her formerly injured shoulder. She seems tired, but who isn't around here?

Morgenstern's group of legionnaires is not big these days. The tightknit group has seen a lot together, they only got themselves to rely on, and despite being officially a part of the French army, they're still standing aside of it. Morgenstern speaks quietly with some of them, then looks up as someone points out the photographer, several set of eyes turning to stare at the woman. Some of them with a leer, others with neutral, tired faces, some of them with surprise. "Mademoiselle!" Morgenstern calls out, in French. "Why don't you take a picture of us?"

There's no officer close by, so Morgenstern gives Elizabeth a polite nod, then begins to shuffle the men around for a nice picture. They're all muddy, dirty and louse-ridden, but they're a proud bunch of badasses too. Most likely, most of them were criminals before joining the legion and they come from all over the world. One of them is obviously an American, him shooting Elizabeth a grin and calling out a greeting in a very typical Texan accent.

"I'd return the favour in French," Elizabeth calls as she pulls the bag from her shoulder with her one good hand, "But I'd hate to offend anyone." She offers this with a cheerful grin, he woman with the skirt that's just a few inches too short to be 'decent' (and hey, it still reaches halfway down her calves!) begining to pull her equipement from her bag. "Be a minute, mates. Bloody hand's useless now."

Morgenstern got a cigarette dangling from his lips as he now approaches Elizabeth, the men having found some way of forming up for a photo. "Need help?" he asks in a coarse but not unpleasant voice, speaking English with an accent. Not a French accent, he must come from some other European country. He eyes her hand, then raises his eyebrows when looking back to her face. "What happened?"

"The fire at the church," Elizabeth replies without adding any details; seems the lady isn't going for sympathy. "If you could get the stand up," Elizabeth asks as she starts to pull out a black metal frae, extending the sections to Morgenstern. Lucky man!

Morgenstern got his head all wrapped up in bandages still and isn't back in active duty, but with the trenches so close to the church, he's went on unpermitted wandering for awhile. He just had to find his comrades, see how they're doing, missing their company. He grunts and accepts the stand, giving it a curious lookover to figure out how it works before he begins setting it up. "Markus Morgenstern," he introduces himself, crouching down carefully to work on the stand.

Byrd is on the front line today. Just coming off sentry duty. "Bleedin' Christ," the young New Zealander grouses to himself under his breath, reaching a hand back to rub his aching neck. A flask is then retrieved from his coat pocket. He takes a quick swig, keeping low and darting a look around the trench. It's only then he spots the legionnaires. And the photographer. "Bloody hell," he curses again, but with a grin this time.

And it's a pretty lady photographer, too! Whoo! Elizabeth grins faintly at Morgenstern, extending her off hand, the left one, the uninjured one, towards the man, "Elizabeth Quinn, but just call me Liz or Lizzie." She speaks with a clearly Australian accent, so close to Byrd's own.

Morgenstern eyes her hand for a moment, then reaches his right hand over to give it a quick shake. "Call me Markus," he responds, then finishes setting the stand, straightening up again. He taps some ash off his cigarette, looking back to his comrades to see that they're still lined up for a photoshoot. "Don't you hurry with taking the photo. The men'll enjoy watching you, they're just too afraid to come talk to you too." He turns to look at her again, shooting her a grin. "So they send me to do their work. We are all curious why you are here."

And that's probably why Byrd bothered to stop and leer, Lizzie. "Now that's a sort of voice I don't hear near enough 'round these parts," he calls at her. If he's interrupting her work, he doesn't seem to care. He grins for the photographer's benefit, easing lazily back on his heels. It has the advantage of allowing him to duck even more. He eyes Morgenstern, then turns to eye his legionnaire fellows, with interest. Not quite as much interest as the pretty lady photographer, admittedly.

Granted, Lizzie is several years older than most of the nurses, perhaps twenty five or so rather than nineteen as so many nurses seem to be. But she's still cute, despite her 'masculine' mannerisms…shaking hands, indeed! "I'm really quite friendly, and don't bite," she assures Morgenstern as her good hand drops back to pull her precious camera out of the bag, having removed it from it's hard-sided box before the handshake. Hearing Byrd, she pauses with the machine resting against her hip, and turns to look over her shoulder at him. "I hear it from my brother all the time." she returns with a light laugh.

Morgenstern adjusts the helmet on his head; it sits a bit tightly, what with the bandage and all. "I'll let them know you don't bite," Morgenstern promises with dry humor. He looks over at Byrd, studying the man with intent curiosity for awhile before he lifts a hand in a greeting to him.

Byrd laughs in kind. "I ain't got no brother, love. Not that I know of, anyhow, though there ain't no certainty in that regard, with my old man. Know I ain't got one here, at any rate." His tone is light and conversational. He raises a hand in return to Morgenstern, smirking at the scrutiny, but not showing any other reaction to it. "What's all this, then?" The last question is addressed as much as the legionnaire as the photographer.

Elizabeth arches an eyebrow at the rather off-colour comment about Byrd's father, but she doesn't all him on it. "I'm a photographer," she offers, tapping at the PRESS badge peeking out of the breast pocket on her vest. "Just taking a souvinier photo, though I imagine the heads will rather like to get their hands on this. Show the 'comraderie' of war. It's a way to recruit fresh…men." She pauses only a moment before settling on that term.

"The comraderie of war," Morgenstern says tonelessly, swinging attention back to the photographer. He gives her a humorless thin smile, then nods and goes back to his squad, finding a position amongst them for the photoshoot. She's got her comraderie right there, the legionnaires bound together by that reason only.

Byrd shrugs at the badge when it's pointed to, though his interest does raise when she says she's a photographer. "Now ain't that somethin'…" The comment about recruiting fresh men earns a snort. "Fresh meat for the grinder you mean, love?" he asks lightly. Grinning. He turns to watch the legionnaires get shot, his cocky grin falling a bit. They are sort of impressive.

"I did not say -I- agreed with it." Lizbeth protests quietly as she focuses on settling the camera on it's base. She bends then, which of course causes her body to form a rather pretty 'S' shape, a shape only the female body seems capable of, one eye peering through the focus and the other squeezed shut. "Bloody brilliant," she murmurs at the picture she sees through her lens.

The legionnaires pull themselves up in an unconscious effort to indeed look more impressive. There's not a smiling face amongst them as they look into the camera, patiently waiting. Morgenstern still got a cigarette dangling from his lips, not remembering to drop it. He glances at Byrd, and gets an idea. "Come over here, join us!" he calls out to the ANZAC soldier. "/THere/ is the comraderie. The world coming together to fight."

Byrd claps his hands together, barking out an amused chuckle at the idea. "Don't mind if I do, mate," he says, jogging eagerly over to join the legionnaires. There's an almost boyish enthusiasm about him. "Haven't had me picture taken many times." For his part, he grins broadly, even trying to put an arm around Morgenstern. "If you don't mind, love," he amends quickly to Elizabeth. "Wouldn't want to hurt the war effort with me mug and all." He gives her long, long look while he waits for an answer. That calls for some serious leering.

"You're fine," Lizbeth assures Byrd as she straightens from her bent position, smiling at the entire gathering. "Everyone ready? Lovely, then on the count of three…" She bends back down, her bad hand lifting with a flash tray she'd readied at some point, and though she holds it shakily, she's stubborn in not letting it down. "One…two…" As she speaks, and reaches, "Three," her good hand lifts to the switch, and the powder in the tray goes off in a flash.

The whole squad reacts to the way Elizabeth is leaning down. They all lean to the side to get a better look at how she's now standing and there's a group-sigh coming from them. Of course, they don't realize she can see that through the camera. Even Morgenstern follows along with this, chewing on his cigarette a bit more intently. As Byrd joins them and puts an arm around him, he glares a bit at him, but then he's forced to quickly look back to the camera for the shoot. And the rest all snap out of it too and stare into the camera as the flash goes off.

Byrd sighs along with the legionnaires, in a show of something like camaraderie. The New Zealander grins at Morgenstern, then Elizabeth and her camera. Winking at her before she shoots that flash off.

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