Edonine laughed quietly as she left. She squinted her eyes against the vibrancy of the new sun– it felt wonderfully warm in contrast to the bitter cold. A carpet of fresh frost crunched underfoot.
Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]
He joined her before long, tugging his coat cuffs up.
She rubbed her hands to warm them up, "I need a coat,"
Without hesitation, Pierre unbuttoned his own and settled it on her shoulders. “There you go.”
She lifted her arms, poking her fingers past the oversized sleeves. "Pierre," she giggled, "I look ridiculous,"
He poked at her shoulder. “You look adorable. Now come on.”
"I hope you don't say that about a little boy." She teased, edging into her practiced lower-pitched voice. Not too forced, just enough to be believable. To Pierre, now it sounded hilarious and so obvious.
He groaned, lifting his face to the sky. “Oh come on…”
She buttoned the coat, and hurried along towards where food was being ladled out by a woman who'd volunteered. Geoffrey was sitting by Cruz near a small fire, sipping their breakfast from crude bowls since there was a shortage of utensils– most of which were being boiled into bullets. As for Bailey–who had gotten back just the other day–he was going without breakfast again, sitting on a chair outside his tent and staring down. So docile and quiet, and particularly unkempt and unshaven.
Pierre’s eyes lingered on him as they passed, but he forced himself to tear his gaze away. “Hey, Cruz. Geoffrey.”
"Wassup, cowboy?" Cruz answered with his signature crassness.
"Goodmorning," Geoffrey answered with a little more demurity, considering the obvious effect of a hangover.
Pierre chuckled, ignoring the shiver that passed through him. “Hungover, Geoffrey? Too much to drink?”
Geoffrey smiled a little, replied with a delayed answer. "A little.."
"No!" Cruz burst wjth laughter. "He was so drunk last night he thought I was his wife!" Cruz laughed and laughed. Geoffrey went red.
Pierre almost choked on his spit, bursting out into uproarious laughter.
"Aye, poor man." Cruz pat the blushing man's shoulder. "We all miss our ladies,"
"At least it was you, and not another poor man," Geoffrey smiled good-naturedly.
Pierre snorted. “Right, yeah. Speaking of poor men, where’s Louis? He hungover too?”
"Sleeping in," Cruz replied. "And yeah, he had a bit to drink too," he grinned.
Francis came over, "Hi guys,"
"G'morning, Sprout," Geoffrey smiled at the boy. "Got cold?" He asked, noticing Pierre's coat. Francis nodded.
Pierre barely withheld a smirk, reaching over to ruffle ‘Francis’s’ hair. “Mm.”
Geoffrey let Francis sit next to him. "Bailey's been as responsive as a stalk of rhubarb," Geoffrey commented.
The smile dropped from his face. “Oh.”
"Aye." Cruz spoke up. "General Daniels let it slide for a while, but now he says if the man doesn't step up, he's gonna demote him," he sighed.
Geoffrey looked at the fire with a note of sadness.
“But…” Pierre trailed off with a sigh of defeat. “That’s so stupid…”
"Well.." Geoffrey sighed. "Tis the tire of war."
“Still…” He glanced back at the Commander.
"Should one of us try talking to 'im?" Cruz spoke. Bailey lifted his hands to rub his face in slow movements.
Pierre hesitated, then gave a nod. “Yeah. Yeah. I can, if you want… suicide is…. somewhat familiar territory.”
"Aye." Cruz murmured a little quieter, eyes flitting down with empathy.
He stood, brushing dirt off his pants, and turned to approach the commander.
Bailey was shivering; he didn't bother cloaking himself against the cold.
Clearing his throat, Pierre paused in front of the man. “Commander.. do you want me to get you a coat..?”