(no subject)
Hellstrom supposed that, all in all, this wasn't the worst afterlife (or purgatory) that he could have asked for. (Frankly, he didn't know that he'd expected an afterlife at all.) Sure, it was a hell of a change from France, but the bare essentials were here, and during wartime, you learned not to pray for too much more than that. Anything you got besides the clothes on your back was a blessing.
Unfortunately, the clothes that Hellstrom had arrived in had been somewhat bloody, and although he still had his uniform, wearing it around wasn't something he planned on doing, out of both practicality and prudence. Luckily, the Clothes Box, in a spot of apparent mercy, had provided him with a relatively innocuous set of clothing: a white button-down shirt and cream-colored slacks, along with a pair of sandals.
Making his way along the beach, pants rolled up to his knees, he kept his head bowed, eyes on the sand and ocean water that, off and on, obscured his feet. He held his sandals in one hand, rummaging in his pants pocket for his cigarette case with the other. Cutting down on how much he smoked was something of a strain, but he was determined to make the cigarettes he'd brought with him last as long as he could before switching over to the island strain. Flipping the case open, he craned his neck down, catching one of the cigarettes between his lips before closing the case and returning it to his pocket.
As he began looking for his lighter, he tipped his chin upwards, squinting into the sun as he kept on walking, steps growing closer together as he grew more preoccupied. He supposed he'd accomplished a reasonable amount considering how long he'd been on the island; he'd begun the process of getting a roof over his head that wasn't that of the Compound, and, for what it was worth, he'd signed up for baseball. (Sports weren't something he'd really indulged in, but he liked to think he was good at them. Relatively speaking, at least.)
It was a moment before Hellstrom looked back down again, this time in realization of the fact that he'd left his lighter up at the Compound along with his former uniform. Lips twisting briefly into a grimace, he glanced about, feet sinking into the sand as he came to a stop. Turning in the direction of the path that led down to the beach, he offered a quick nod to the person coming down it.
"Got a light?"
Unfortunately, the clothes that Hellstrom had arrived in had been somewhat bloody, and although he still had his uniform, wearing it around wasn't something he planned on doing, out of both practicality and prudence. Luckily, the Clothes Box, in a spot of apparent mercy, had provided him with a relatively innocuous set of clothing: a white button-down shirt and cream-colored slacks, along with a pair of sandals.
Making his way along the beach, pants rolled up to his knees, he kept his head bowed, eyes on the sand and ocean water that, off and on, obscured his feet. He held his sandals in one hand, rummaging in his pants pocket for his cigarette case with the other. Cutting down on how much he smoked was something of a strain, but he was determined to make the cigarettes he'd brought with him last as long as he could before switching over to the island strain. Flipping the case open, he craned his neck down, catching one of the cigarettes between his lips before closing the case and returning it to his pocket.
As he began looking for his lighter, he tipped his chin upwards, squinting into the sun as he kept on walking, steps growing closer together as he grew more preoccupied. He supposed he'd accomplished a reasonable amount considering how long he'd been on the island; he'd begun the process of getting a roof over his head that wasn't that of the Compound, and, for what it was worth, he'd signed up for baseball. (Sports weren't something he'd really indulged in, but he liked to think he was good at them. Relatively speaking, at least.)
It was a moment before Hellstrom looked back down again, this time in realization of the fact that he'd left his lighter up at the Compound along with his former uniform. Lips twisting briefly into a grimace, he glanced about, feet sinking into the sand as he came to a stop. Turning in the direction of the path that led down to the beach, he offered a quick nod to the person coming down it.
"Got a light?"