seen from Yemen
seen from Tunisia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Israel
seen from Poland
seen from Austria
seen from Japan
seen from Italy
seen from United States
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seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
“Come on, you really have to come!” From the way she practically bounced on her toes in excitement, it would take quite some argument to talk her out of her plans. A dance, open to all branches of service, all the allies, seemed a perfect way to spend one of her last Saturday night on furlough. “It’s not as if I’ll have a date and I can’t just go alone, Mairead! Please come!” —— @luxche
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@luxche || starter call
blue are sharp and observant as he watches the woman from across the diner. she’s been by herself since the moment she sat down, her head lowered into a bow as she focuses on whatever is in front of her. she’s pretty, that he made note of the moment she walked in and sat with her back facing him. “ma’am, i’d like to buy that woman a coffee.” he shifts in his booth and reaches for his wallet, opening the leather bi-fold and fishing out a few single bills to pay for the beverage.
its a few moments later that the waitress brings the woman a steaming hot cup of coffee. he snuffs out the cigarette he’d been smoking into an ashtray before standing and approaching the table. a hand moves out to gesture to the open space as lips curl into a warm smile. “is this seat taken?”
@luxche continued from x
Mairead took a breath to steady herself, shrinking under Bertie’s gaze. She folded her hands in her lap, trying to calm the shaking she felt.
She hadn’t meant for him to find out, or for Katherine to find out, but here they were. She had come to visit her friends, a visit which had (as cruel fate would have it) fallen two days after her release from prison, for “suspected collusion with enemies of the Crown.”
Perhaps it was obvious in her appearance- the shadows under her eyes, the way she jumped a little at the approach of anyone in uniform now, the bruises she had tried (and perhaps failed) to hide with cosmetics, the way she seemed slightly thinner- or perhaps it had been something she’d said, or the way she said it, that tipped the King off. She knew if Bertie had found out from clues, he would perhaps be too kind to ask, but she had wavered first, a reaction to some comment or gesture, and that gave her away.
And now all she felt was the panic she had swallowed these last few days, twisted in her chest, some of it turned to anger at what had happened, at who had caused it. She knew there were some who had been treated worse by the British in her country- Kevin Barry was dead, and MacSwiney too, and her brother had been shot without trial almost five years ago now- and perhaps she ought not to feel this way.
“It won’t be alright,” she managed to say, her voice unsteady, but there was no mistaking the bitterness that she so often held back, even in times like these. “It won’t be.”
She didn’t even think about who she was talking to- now he was her friend first, and not her King- and it wasn’t until a few moments later that she realized her mistake, and seemed to shrink more.
Albert might not have mentioned her state, putting it down to her journey back to them and the stress he thought would come from being released from prison, but his concern for her had only continued to grow the longer they had spent in each other’s company and when the slip presented itself, he could hold politeness no longer and simply had to ask.
Her dismissal of his assurances at least brought him pause as he looked her over carefully, she had been through a lot, that much was obvious, the bitterness took him off guard though and for a moment, he let a silence linger, a little too comfortable in it to really notice that it might have been awkward or at worst intimidating for others. His gaze didn’t move from her either as he looked at her worriedly, especially as she shrank away again.
“Why -do you think that?” Gentle encouragement to speak with him, if she was willing to treat him as a friend and not a King for a matter that merited an unsteady outburst as that, well, he had to pursue it. “The -war is -over now, -peace has a --chance, is that not --something we -should -nurture rather than --reject?”
@luxche cont.
“Where am I?” she asks, trying to sound as demanding as possible, or at least as firm as she can, confident, but all she feels in her voice is the tremor of a frightened girl. She sees the uniforms and recognizes them as friendly, but she wants to know where she is. She feels the soreness in her side from her tumble earlier, and the world sways a bit around her- not much, but she sees it, the slight tilt.
“r.a.f. mount batten,” says farrier evenly, trying to puff inconspicuously on a fresh cigarette. the last one he had smoked had been pulled from his lips by a gutsy nurse who was checking on the irishwoman and tossed out the window. “devon,” he adds. “britain, and all that.” his gaze shifts from the weeping willow outside the window to the woman in the bed. “you’re safe,” he repeats. “but there’ll be some suits wanting to talk to you later.”
@luxche || hayley makes aesthetics for everybody
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( @luxche / continued )
he didn’t used to be this defensive --- quick to feel slighted, perhaps, and his temper isn’t a new thing, it’s only worse, these days --- but the war has rubbed him raw, every emotion he has rising to the surface and ready to spill out with no warning. he’s gotta keep those walls up, hasn’t he? he’s gotta see the world for what it really is, see how civilians are treating his brothers now. how they’re pretending that things are the same, as if the hell out there never even existed. as if donny’s not still living there, in his head.
donny’s not going to apologise for who war has made him become, for what it has made him into. america wanted him to fight, and he fought. he’s still fighting. so maybe that makes him as asshole, but so what? there’s no glory to be found here.
❝ yeah, that so? ❞ it’s probably comical, how quickly a military connection can get donny to lower his weapons. he’s still wary, still cautious---but he sounds less pissed off, so it’s a start, right? ❝ where’d he serve? ❞
@luxche
Hugh wiped off the chalk dust from his hands, finding himself in another loop of impossibility and realizing that a break was much warranted. He walked by Mairead’s desk, an eye wandering over the papers that were neatly stacked, a small napkin with handwriting catching his attention. It caused Hugh to stop and instead he approached her with a smile. “...Mairead,” he started with a melodious tone of voice, “can I happen to see that note that you have there on your desk? Is that yours?”
❛ i saw you together. ❜
Moulin Rouge starters
@luxche
“You didn’t see nothin’.” Her defensiveness was probably a dead giveaway. Whatever Mairead had seen was damning enough to ruin things with one word to Katherine’s father. Didn’t the girl understand the need for secrecy?
