#cod shelling

It’s hot out, April showers bringing heavy, damp mornings, even without the rainfall.

Shelling peaks in through the med bay door, looking around to see if anyone sees him before heading in and sitting down in the waiting area.

He’s got some sort of wound on his shoulder, a decently large patch of red bleeding through the dusty beige t-shirt he’s wearing. He’s rocking back and forth slightly, twiddling with his thumbs, contemplating whether he should just leave or not.

+ + + + +

This is an open rp starter, so anyone can hop in :) though it may seem intended for medic characters, there’s possibility with non-medics too!

It’s 5 pm in Valentine, men and women jjst having begun to fill the saloons and bars. There’s dozens of horses hitched out in the street.

The doors to Smithfield’s Saloon swing open, a pair of boots stepping in the same way they do every other night.

Ryan “Shelling” Zhan-Claffey, in all his glory and sparkle, is drenched head to toe in sweat and mud, smelling like he just got out of a tussle fought in a pig’s stye.

He’s a regular, always in at 5 sharp, always out by 6:30. He doesn’t live in town, nobody knows him outside the saloon, he’s a man that only exists at the bar, his entire life in valentine spanning between the first and last glass.

He takes a seat in his usual spot, the far end, closer to the back door than to the front.

+ + + + +

The droplets of water were dripping from the brim of Shelling’s hat, along with the mud, it’d soaked into everything he was wearing by now. Even as the rain had lightened, the suffocating dampness of the grassy bog they were camping out in remained.

Around him were fellow soldiers, soaking, miserable. They were all muttering to eachother, some to themselves. Some people were smoking, some were reading, some were attempting to set up tents or trying to keep the dying fire alive in the rain.

Intel had sworn up and down the convoy would be coming down the road just on the other side of the thin line of trees any hour now,