NOW LIVE! Today's the day you meet your new best friend. You don’t have to leave Wolfy behind... In 'Pets & Sidekicks' your companions level up with you!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2360239" data-attributes="member: 26473">Marcel...[sblock]"I'm looking for Duke? Marcel Fortier, reporting."The man sitting at the table throws his pen on the floor, fumbles for a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that are hastily slipped on. “Nom de Dieu! ‘Duke’? What the devil is ‘Duke’? You mean ‘Dutch’? French batards.”From behind the lenses his pale blue eyes light on Marcel. The man appears to be in his early thirties, with strawberry blonde hair worn short but lacking the typical Legion buzzcut and a thin beard. In the tee-shirt it’s easy to see his farmers’ tan – nut brown arms and face, pale white body and legs. He’s thin but the ropy muscles on his arms and legs suggest that he is stronger than he looks. His French is clean, with a slightly northern accent.“Putain French like to have their putain jokes,” he continues. “Call me ‘Dutch’, or ‘Duc’, again and you’ll get a ground-glass enema, and then we’ll see how funny you are. Batards,” he finishes lamely. He stares a Marcel for a moment, as if something is registering itself in his consciousness. “Reporting for what?”He looks Marcel over, perhaps seeing the musette bag with the red cross stenciled on it hanging from Marcel’s shoulder for the first time. “You’re a new medic? You have orders?”He tilts the glasses up on his head to read the mimeograph. “About damn time. This lump of merde – ” he motions at the sleeping form on the next cot “ – can’t handle one platoon, let alone two. Finally Olivier sees this.” He shakes his head, lets the glasses fall onto his nose. “Joep Bestebreurtje. I’m the senior medic. That’s Bazyli Zawadzki.” He jerks his head in the direction of the empty cot. “That’s yours. Normally this is our operating theatre, but if someone’s badly hurt we’ll take him to the doctor’s office in town. Better light.” He gets up, hunts for his pen on the canvas floor.“The CO is taking three platoons into the field tomorrow morning. Third platoon will be staying here. You can stay with them. Get to know where everything is while we’re gone, take care of sick call.” He pulls off the glasses again, tosses them haphazardly on the table, and gets down on his hands and knees, finally locating the pen under his own cot. “Now I have a letter to finish,” he says, resuming his seat. As he holds the pen over the paper, he adds, without looking up, “I’m Belgian. Not Dutch. French batards.”[/sblock]I’m giving знаток a chance to post before updating the other legionnaires’ convo.</blockquote>

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