Wing and Sword: Life During Wartime
Bobitron
Explorer
[sblock]Marcel stays quiet during Dr. Bruzzi's comments about Capitaine Martini. The man's service sounded commendable, and the Legion wouldn't put him where he was without a degree of competence above the average soldier.
The surgeon's rapid and accurate work is studied carefully by the young medic, his eyes following Bruzzi's every move with interest. When he speaks about speed coming with experience, Marcel nods. "I know." He looks around for a clock, curious about what the rest of his unit is up to. "I don't see the fighting coming to a abrupt halt. Both sides are a bit too stubborn to give up right now. I can understand why the Arabs are willing to fight, but not the methods they use. We do not fight soldiers, Doctor. These are murderers and madmen." Marcel's expression is grim. "The prisoner we took at the farm will find a fate far worse than the crimes he committed when he reaches hell." Marcel once again looks for a clock. "Doctor, how long have we been? Tempers were rising outside as we came in."
ooc: Your "mob gathers" comment has me sooo nervous. Normally I'm not a fan of the sblock things, but it's working very well in these circumstances.
[/sblock]
The surgeon's rapid and accurate work is studied carefully by the young medic, his eyes following Bruzzi's every move with interest. When he speaks about speed coming with experience, Marcel nods. "I know." He looks around for a clock, curious about what the rest of his unit is up to. "I don't see the fighting coming to a abrupt halt. Both sides are a bit too stubborn to give up right now. I can understand why the Arabs are willing to fight, but not the methods they use. We do not fight soldiers, Doctor. These are murderers and madmen." Marcel's expression is grim. "The prisoner we took at the farm will find a fate far worse than the crimes he committed when he reaches hell." Marcel once again looks for a clock. "Doctor, how long have we been? Tempers were rising outside as we came in."
ooc: Your "mob gathers" comment has me sooo nervous. Normally I'm not a fan of the sblock things, but it's working very well in these circumstances.
[/sblock]
The Shaman
First Post
Normand and Pyotr...[sblock]As Normand moves toward the truck where Sánchez waits with the machine gun, Pyotr looks down the street at the crowd. Spot 23. In front of what appears to be a brightly-lit café a man lies on the sidewalk, surrounded by broken glass – judging from the shattered window at the front of the shop, it appears the man’s exit was direct and abrupt. Several pieds-noir men and women, including a couple of the home guardsmen, are gathered around the man on the ground, shouting epithets.
Sánchez looks at Normand as he approaches, followed closely by Ortu. “Forget something, Silvio?” the Spaniard says, his voice deadpan. The machine gunner says nothing as he climbs into the back of the truck.
“An Arab?” Pyotr asks Nedjar, standing on the steps of the clinic. The Algerian nods. “I think so. I heard the crash but I didn’t see him until he was on the ground.”[/sblock]Marcel...[sblock]“About forty minutes so far. The clock is behind you,” Dr. Bruzzi replies. The surgery takes an hour to complete – in all likelihood suppressing the riot...uh...I mean, the events outside the clinic will be over long before the operation is finished. Think of this as Marcel’s opportunity to gather some local intelligence...
“Murderers and madmen, perhaps,” the surgeon continues, “but many ex-soldiers have joined the FLN.” He glances at Marcel. “Now they are the maquisards, and the French are the Occupiers.”
I’ll try to use the spoiler blocks sparingly – in this case, given the separation and the differing timeframes, it seemed to make sense.[/sblock]
Sánchez looks at Normand as he approaches, followed closely by Ortu. “Forget something, Silvio?” the Spaniard says, his voice deadpan. The machine gunner says nothing as he climbs into the back of the truck.
“An Arab?” Pyotr asks Nedjar, standing on the steps of the clinic. The Algerian nods. “I think so. I heard the crash but I didn’t see him until he was on the ground.”[/sblock]Marcel...[sblock]“About forty minutes so far. The clock is behind you,” Dr. Bruzzi replies. The surgery takes an hour to complete – in all likelihood suppressing the riot...uh...I mean, the events outside the clinic will be over long before the operation is finished. Think of this as Marcel’s opportunity to gather some local intelligence...
“Murderers and madmen, perhaps,” the surgeon continues, “but many ex-soldiers have joined the FLN.” He glances at Marcel. “Now they are the maquisards, and the French are the Occupiers.”
I’ll try to use the spoiler blocks sparingly – in this case, given the separation and the differing timeframes, it seemed to make sense.[/sblock]
Bobitron
Explorer
[sblock]Marcel glares across the operating table with level eyes. "I grew up in the midst of the Resistance, Doctor. Neither the Germans nor the French committed crimes akin to what I saw in that farmhouse. I have seen Frenchmen turn on their daughters for having a relationship with a soldat. A German soldier kicking a young boy so hard in the stomach that he sh*t blood for a week. War brings out the evil in many men. But never have I seen a soldier slit the throats of a family for an unjust occupation of land. I do not doubt that there are soldier amongst the enemy. The battle we fought after our first jump was much like the fights in other wars, on other continents, against other men. Those men fought and died in battle against France's sons, whether adopted or native. The men we killed at Rubiera's farm were not soldiers. Perhaps I am naive or unrealistic, but those men are murderers, not soldiers." Marcel's eyes finally leave the doctor's face. "I do not mean to rant on, Doctor. But the men I knew during the Resistance were not murderers."
ooc: I didn't mean to complain about the sblocks, working very well in this case.[/sblock]
ooc: I didn't mean to complain about the sblocks, working very well in this case.
[/sblock]
The Shaman
First Post
Marcel...[sblock]A slight smile plays over the doctor’s thin lips as he listens to Marcel. “Soon I’m going to be an old man,” he replies thoughtfully, “and I’m not as passionate as I once was. I’ve seen too many men die much too young,” he continues, “young men much like yourself, and the memory of it is painful. It colors my view of the world.”
He pauses as he resets Babaye’s ribcage, with Marcel’s help. “The Arabs want independence, but they’re years away from being able to manage the country without the French – they simply haven’t the capacity for it now. The Europeans, like our dear mayor out there, refuse to accept that the Arabs will breed them out of existence in Algeria, and instead of looking for a compromise, they expect the army to hold the country for them by force.”
Dr. Bruzzi looks over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses at Marcel. “Eventually the barbarians overcame Rome. And it was followed by a darkness that lasted centuries.”
He hands Marcel a needle and a length of delicate silk and shows him where to begin suturing to close the incision in the Senegalese legionnaire’s chest. After watching the medic’s technique for a few moments, the physician moves to Babaye’s head, to check the anesthetic. “Pauline, see to the other patients. We’ll get that ball out of the legionnaire's thigh next.”
“Yes, doctor,” the nurse replies, casting a heavy lidded glance at Marcel as she exits the surgery.
Dr. Bruzzi watches Marcel’s suturing vigilantly. “The Rubieras’ youngest daughter – Angelique, isn’t it? Was she injured? How did she escape?”[/sblock]
He pauses as he resets Babaye’s ribcage, with Marcel’s help. “The Arabs want independence, but they’re years away from being able to manage the country without the French – they simply haven’t the capacity for it now. The Europeans, like our dear mayor out there, refuse to accept that the Arabs will breed them out of existence in Algeria, and instead of looking for a compromise, they expect the army to hold the country for them by force.”
Dr. Bruzzi looks over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses at Marcel. “Eventually the barbarians overcame Rome. And it was followed by a darkness that lasted centuries.”
He hands Marcel a needle and a length of delicate silk and shows him where to begin suturing to close the incision in the Senegalese legionnaire’s chest. After watching the medic’s technique for a few moments, the physician moves to Babaye’s head, to check the anesthetic. “Pauline, see to the other patients. We’ll get that ball out of the legionnaire's thigh next.”
“Yes, doctor,” the nurse replies, casting a heavy lidded glance at Marcel as she exits the surgery.
Dr. Bruzzi watches Marcel’s suturing vigilantly. “The Rubieras’ youngest daughter – Angelique, isn’t it? Was she injured? How did she escape?”[/sblock]
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Bobitron
Explorer
[sblock]Marcel catches the nurse's glance with his own eyes as she leaves, but quickly brings his attention to the work at hand.
"Pauvre fille." He pauses his speech as he pushes the needle through Bayabe's flesh one last time to finish closing the wound. "She hid, simple as that. I don't know for how long, or how she kept from calling out once things quieted down. But she did. Saved her life, for certain." Marcel sets down the needle and silk, wiping the affected area with a clean cloth and inspecting the sutures. "No injuries except those up here." He taps a finger to the side of his head. "I can't imagine having to live with what she must." He shrugs. "But she is young, I suppose. She will grow up, fall in love, marry some farmer or shoemaker, and have many babies. It is the way of things."
Marcel moves to the sink, washing his hands vigorously. "I find folly in thinking that the French and the French alone can govern these people. Before we arrived, they lived their lives, did they not? True, the departure of the Europeans would leave Algeria in a time of strife. But eventually things would settle back to how it was. As deaths mount, the French people will not stand for it. The days of colonialism are over, doctor. I fight for the Legion and my comrades, not some ideal that France should rule over these people. If I can stop a person, be they French, Algerian, German, Italian, whatever, from dying an unjust death, I will do all in my power to do so." He speaks with conviction, his clear voice filling the surgery.[/sblock]
"Pauvre fille." He pauses his speech as he pushes the needle through Bayabe's flesh one last time to finish closing the wound. "She hid, simple as that. I don't know for how long, or how she kept from calling out once things quieted down. But she did. Saved her life, for certain." Marcel sets down the needle and silk, wiping the affected area with a clean cloth and inspecting the sutures. "No injuries except those up here." He taps a finger to the side of his head. "I can't imagine having to live with what she must." He shrugs. "But she is young, I suppose. She will grow up, fall in love, marry some farmer or shoemaker, and have many babies. It is the way of things."
Marcel moves to the sink, washing his hands vigorously. "I find folly in thinking that the French and the French alone can govern these people. Before we arrived, they lived their lives, did they not? True, the departure of the Europeans would leave Algeria in a time of strife. But eventually things would settle back to how it was. As deaths mount, the French people will not stand for it. The days of colonialism are over, doctor. I fight for the Legion and my comrades, not some ideal that France should rule over these people. If I can stop a person, be they French, Algerian, German, Italian, whatever, from dying an unjust death, I will do all in my power to do so." He speaks with conviction, his clear voice filling the surgery.[/sblock]
[sblock]
Normand lifts himself unto the back of the truck, and turns, intending to be seen and noticed. He's sort of glad all the blood hasn't been clean from hi, and that some of the minor cuts he suffered haven't been treated yet, as he believes it will give his image extra strenght. While he keeps his rifle pointed to the ground, and makes darn sure it doesn't point at anyone, he doesn't attempt to hide it either. He talks in a relatively soft voice, intending to be heard by the people closest to the truck, but not trying to be heard by the whole crowd.
"Come on now, people. All you're destroying is your own homes, by acting like that. And you're making it harder than it has to be for us to try and protect you. I've bled for ya'll enough today, I really don't want to do it more."
OOC
I guess it's more Diplomacy than Intimidate, sadly.
Diplomacy check:9
Aww crap. I hope I get some modifiers.
[/sblock]
Normand lifts himself unto the back of the truck, and turns, intending to be seen and noticed. He's sort of glad all the blood hasn't been clean from hi, and that some of the minor cuts he suffered haven't been treated yet, as he believes it will give his image extra strenght. While he keeps his rifle pointed to the ground, and makes darn sure it doesn't point at anyone, he doesn't attempt to hide it either. He talks in a relatively soft voice, intending to be heard by the people closest to the truck, but not trying to be heard by the whole crowd.
"Come on now, people. All you're destroying is your own homes, by acting like that. And you're making it harder than it has to be for us to try and protect you. I've bled for ya'll enough today, I really don't want to do it more."
OOC
I guess it's more Diplomacy than Intimidate, sadly.
Diplomacy check:9
Aww crap. I hope I get some modifiers.
[/sblock]
The Shaman
First Post
Normand and Pyotr...[sblock]A dozen or so faces look up at Normand as he speaks. One of them, a woman in a yellow print dress, yells back shrilly, “You don’t have to live with these Arabs, légionnaire!” Her face is a mask of fury. “You have guns and sleep behind a barbed-wire fence with guards. These - ” she hesitates “ – these MURDERERS live right among us! And you say you’ll protect us? Like you protected the Rubieras, no doubt!” Several shouts of agreement accompany her words.
Up the street, the man on the ground, framed by the light spilling from the shattered café window, is taking a terrific beating as the crowd roars its approval.
OoC: The good news is, at least this time Normand didn’t make things worse... [/sblock]Marcel...[sblock]“The Algerians haven’t ruled themselves for centuries,” Dr. Bruzzi replies quietly as he checks over Marcel’s sutures. “If the French were to suddenly decide to leave, the vacuum would be disastrous.” He looks directly at Marcel. “Do you have any idea how few non-European doctors there are in Algeria? Here in the southern territories there are just thirty-five physicians, and only two of them are Muslims.”
The physician sighs deeply. “In any case, right now it is Algerie francaise, for which I suppose I should be grateful. I’m a colon, too, with a farm and my practice. I’m too old to want to uproot myself again.” He smiles. “And I must admit, Africa is in my blood.”
Dr. Bruzzi directs Marcel to start an IV of antibiotics as he removes his gloves and washes his hands and arms. “What happened to Rubiera’s hands? He had a half-dozen Arabs working his place.”[/sblock]
Up the street, the man on the ground, framed by the light spilling from the shattered café window, is taking a terrific beating as the crowd roars its approval.
OoC: The good news is, at least this time Normand didn’t make things worse...
[/sblock]Marcel...[sblock]“The Algerians haven’t ruled themselves for centuries,” Dr. Bruzzi replies quietly as he checks over Marcel’s sutures. “If the French were to suddenly decide to leave, the vacuum would be disastrous.” He looks directly at Marcel. “Do you have any idea how few non-European doctors there are in Algeria? Here in the southern territories there are just thirty-five physicians, and only two of them are Muslims.”The physician sighs deeply. “In any case, right now it is Algerie francaise, for which I suppose I should be grateful. I’m a colon, too, with a farm and my practice. I’m too old to want to uproot myself again.” He smiles. “And I must admit, Africa is in my blood.”
Dr. Bruzzi directs Marcel to start an IV of antibiotics as he removes his gloves and washes his hands and arms. “What happened to Rubiera’s hands? He had a half-dozen Arabs working his place.”[/sblock]
Bobitron
Explorer
[sblock]Marcel connects the IV as directed and looks up as Bruzzi mentions the farmhands. "I don't know," he says quizzically. "I suppose they may have run. We didn't find any Arabs that seemed friendly to the Rubiera family. The one I suspect did the deed says he is innocent, but I doubt him with all my heart. He was carrying a bloody knife, for God's sake." He finishes the IV and steps back. "Would you recognize the workers if you saw one?"
ooc: Man, I would hate to find out that guy was a worker, and the one we killed with the shotgun as well. I guess I would have fired if the door was kicked in after hearing gunfire and grenades going off, as well. :\
Whatever happened to the prisoner, anyways? [/sblock]
ooc: Man, I would hate to find out that guy was a worker, and the one we killed with the shotgun as well. I guess I would have fired if the door was kicked in after hearing gunfire and grenades going off, as well. :\
Whatever happened to the prisoner, anyways? [/sblock]
[sblock]
Normand shrugs slightly and half-grins at the woman.
"Do I really look like I've been staying safe behind barbed-wire, ma'am? And one of my companions is in there being operated on, and he might die, too. And the ones responsible for the Rubieras are dead."
Or arrested, but I don't think I want them to know that.
"And that," he says, pointing at the man being beaten, "sure won't help anything."
OOC
Let's see if I can make it worse -this- time!
Diplomacy: 11
"Ahh hell. I can't just stay here and look."
Normand hands his rifle, as well as his grenade pouch to Ortu, and then jumps off the truck, headed straight to where the arab is laying down.
"Alright, alright. He's had enough now. Break it up before you kill him, and I have to punish more killers today."
Normand frowns as he talks, rolling his shoulders as he always did before a bout.
OOC:
Well I figure -that- one can be intimidate.
Intimidate: 3
Aww man. Now I'm gonna get the crap beaten out of me.
[/sblock]
Normand shrugs slightly and half-grins at the woman.
"Do I really look like I've been staying safe behind barbed-wire, ma'am? And one of my companions is in there being operated on, and he might die, too. And the ones responsible for the Rubieras are dead."
Or arrested, but I don't think I want them to know that.
"And that," he says, pointing at the man being beaten, "sure won't help anything."
OOC
Let's see if I can make it worse -this- time!
Diplomacy: 11
"Ahh hell. I can't just stay here and look."
Normand hands his rifle, as well as his grenade pouch to Ortu, and then jumps off the truck, headed straight to where the arab is laying down.
"Alright, alright. He's had enough now. Break it up before you kill him, and I have to punish more killers today."
Normand frowns as he talks, rolling his shoulders as he always did before a bout.
OOC:
Well I figure -that- one can be intimidate.
Intimidate: 3
Aww man. Now I'm gonna get the crap beaten out of me.
[/sblock]
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