Time to Think ( Open )

[Harry Hamilton]

Harry wasn't drunk. He'd never been drunk in his life. He hadn't even touched the bottle sitting in front of him. But he couldn't think clearly and his head was spinning. He stared at the dark wood grains of the table he was sitting at, his eyes unfocused. Anyone looking at him could tell there was something wrong with the soldier. But only he knew.


Before he'd been so sure of himself, of his future, of his goals, but one simple, seemingly meaningless action seemed to toss him around like a whirlwind so that he was left dazed and confused.

Her name was Clarice. He could remember every detail--her face, what she was wearing..

The streets were overflowing with people. It was so crowded that the young G.I.s were having trouble getting through. Some troops stopped and chatted with the locals but Harry Hamilton was determined to keep his men moving. "Come on, boys, move out." There were a few disappointed complaints, but the soldiers obeyed his command.

He had to admit that this was a much better greeting than the one the last town gave. The place was crawling with Krauts. He lost a lot of men there. Everytime he did he wondered why that man wasn't him. He just as easily could of been the man lying bloodied and motionless on the road, but he wasn't. He was very protective of his men--he saw them all as younger brothers, and everytime one of them was killed, it was like losing a brother. But you couldn't dwell on it. You couldn't dwell on any of it. You were here to kill Krauts, and that meant staying alive long enough to shoot Jerry before he could shoot you.

Harry tried to push all this out of his mind as he turned onto the next street. This one had tons of civilians as well. There were people waving French flags, and even American flags ( where did they get those? ). They were all yelling something in French ( all he could get was the word 'Americans' ). Women were running up and kissing his soldiers. He had a few come up to him but it didn't really affect him. He was in love with Elsa, she was the only one for him. And then, all of the sudden, he felt someone's lips on his. He didn't see her approach him, and without thinking, he was returning the kiss. He then realized what he was doing before pulling away and opening his eyes. He looked around frantically--but she was gone. "Wha-?" His blue eyes scanned the area and he saw a flash of blonde and blue. "Stiles, organize the men--I'll be right back." He heard a "Yes Sergeant!" before Stiles was kissed by a brunette. Harry pushed and even shoved his way through the crowd as he went after the woman. She was about to turn the corner when he caught up with her.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

She turned around to face him. Harry stopped to catch his breath--it wasn't because of the heavy running he'd been doing a moment before. To say she was beautiful would be an insult in every sense of the word. She was...angelic. Her sky blue eyes made him feel so strong and so vulnerable at the same time. He looked away for a moment before forcing himself to make eye contact.

"I..you um..well.." As he stuttered, she looked at him confusedly. "Do you speak English?"

"Yes. My father was from London." She had an accent but her English was fluent and perfect.

"Really? I'm-I'm Harry. Sergeant Harry Hamilton."

"My name is Clarice DuPont."

He had to see her again. And he did when he was on leave. That second visit, she gave him apicture to remember her by. He kept it in his uniform pocket at all times. Harry took it out and gazed at it before stuffing it back in the OD coat. Stop it! He ran a hand through his hair and took a sip from the untouched bottle of beer. He just needed time to think, that's all.

( OOC: The set up's crap, but my muse is failing me at the moment. I wanted to set up a thread to maybe help with activity a little. )

[Furey "Blondie" Campellone]

Allons enfants de la Patrie
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !
Contre nous de la tyrannie
L'étendard sanglant est levé
Entendez-vous dans nos campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras.
Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes!

The French National Anthem. Furey had heard so much of that song in the past few weeks that he began to grow sick of the damn thing. The British had their ‘God Save the King’, the Germans had the ‘Horst Wessel Lied’, the French their ‘Le Marseilles’, but above all, the Americans had the best. ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ was the song that played in Furey’s head every time his plane dove down on a German Stuka, every time he shot a German Messerschmit down. It was a glorious anthem, and a Glorious song to hear in your head as you pushed down on the wheel of his plane, and dove onto an enemy.

But, Back to the French National Anthem. From the first time he arrived in a French town, riding aboard a Jeep with a Brigadeer General, the French national anthem could be heard playing. When he rode into the first Free French Airfield, Actually in France, he was greeted by the French National anthem, and a French Officer in a dress uniform that Furey almost thought was from the French Revolution. It was played as Furey rode in a Convertible Staff-Car, down the Champ D’Elysees in the Liberation Parade. It was even played in the streets that Furey was driving his Jeep down.

Furey looked around, and yawned as the Air blew over his Crusher-Style, white officers cap, with the Gold Majors Insignia placed on it. His jeep seemingly glided across the French streets, and as it weaved and woo’ed through the streets, turning around corners and speeding down the streets, Furey smiled for the first time in a few weeks. The past weeks had been stressing on him. His commanders were arguing on whether to permenantly ground him, and make him a Land-Based commander, or to let him continue flying high in the sky. He needed a drink.

His jeep roamed the streets, wising by cars and maneuvering through large crowds of people exchanging monies for wine and bread, the occasional flower being tossed into Furey’s jeep when the people realized he was an Allied Officer. He smiled, he enjoyed receiving flowers, and there were always fresh flowers in a vase on his secretaries desk, which he enjoyed smelling. He looked around, and slowed his Jeep down as a bar came into view.

He pulled it to a stop in-front of the bar, and hopped off of it, taking out the keys and putting them into his pocket before stepping across the road, and opening the door to the bar. As he walked in, the smell of Cigarette smoke and beer was evident, and he took a deep breath as he walked into the main area of the bar. A few soldiers took note of the Major, and saluted, but he dismissed them, as they were on leave, and shouldn’t have to salute.

He found a seat, next to a man he didn’t recognize, and ordered a strong, thick Whisky with a bit Of German Schnauppes mixed into it, before having it Shaken. As the Bartender brought the large glass back, Furey removed his Crusher Cap, and set it down onto the bar, before taking a long sip of the glass, letting the smooth and cool, yet strong liquid roll across his tongue, and down his throat. He set the glass down, sighing in content, before noticing the man next to him, a Sergeant, was obviously troubled by something. So much so, that he’d gone through the beer that was almost full, in the short period of time that spanned Furey sitting down, and looking back at him.

“Whats wrong Sergeant?” He asked, before waving the bartender over, and saying “Another beer for this Sergeant, its on me.”

He looked back at the Sergeant, and waited for a response.

[Harry Hamilton]

Harry could hear "La Marseillaise" playing in the distance, but he wasn't paying much attention to the song at the moment. His eyes were still fixed on the photo he held before him. He couldn't get that face out of his head. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't think about anything else except Clarice. She clouded his thinking more than the alcohol did.

Perhaps it would have been better if he'd never come to France. No! I could never say that.. He didn't regret meeting her. But before he did he was sure that he wanted to marry Elsa, but now..now..he knew he loved Clarice. They hadn't known each other long, but when he'd seen her..it'd happened so fast and--What's the matter with me? he thought as he took another sip of the beer.

He suddenly heard a voice and looked at the man beside him. "Major Campellone, sir!" Harry remembered meeting him at a party a few weeks ago--the party where was going to propose to Elsa, but he'd frozen up and missed his chance. He sat up at attention and saluted weakly. "Oh, no sir, I couldn't--" He protested when Campellone offered to buy him a drink. He cringed a little when the officer asked him what was wrong. "Well, sir..."

His mind raced as he tried to figure out what to say. It all sounded really silly when he thought about it. But this bothered him much more than the nightmares he would have about combat. Many a night he'd wake up in a cold sweat after strangling a Kraut in a foxhole, only to realize it was a dream. The dreams were so real since in reality he did have to go through those sort of horrors every day. In the two years since he'd left home, he'd become a completely different person--and he wasn't sure he liked who he had become.

Harry was aware that Campellone was waiting for an answer. "Sir..I met a girl in France. And I think I love her."