(Untitled)

[realnicetrip]

Time on the island was something of a relative concept, but the calendar said it was July the 4th today, and to Harry that meant only one thing: barbecue time. It'd been an awfully long time since he'd last set foot on American soil, and to him that made it all the more important to keep up with traditions from home. There were enough displaced

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[thirdboxcar]

In all honesty, Walt's a little disappointed they're not having fireworks. It's been a while since he's last seen some and he feels like the 4th of July needs to have them, but if they can't have any, that's okay with him. He's had to make to with less.

And while there are no fireworks to be looking forward to later on, he's pretty sure people he knows, friends, will come tumbling in sooner or later, so here he is, with a beer in his hand, anticipatory waiting for somebody to show up.

[quileutejacob]

"Marine!" Jacob was pretty aware that the guy's name was Walt, especially after they'd talked on the beach that day, but he was still more than a little in awe of a marine who seemed so young. 23 wasn't that much older than 17, after all, and it kind of made it seem...more accessible or something.

"I guess this is probably your kinda holiday, huh?"

[thirdboxcar]

Walt feels his ears perk up and turns around out of reflex. He's been called just that, just 'Marine', a few times now, so he doesn't mind. A smile broadens on his face when he realizes it's that kid, Jacob, from the beach, and he waves.

"Hey, Jake!" He greets, then nods. "It kinda is! I'm missin' the fireworks, though."

[quileutejacob]

"Me too," Jacob admitted. "Fireworks were always the best part, even if I lived in a place where the cops didn't really look kindly on a bunch of kids setting them off. You have no idea how fierce some tribal elders can be."

[teenagerenegade]

Charlie has always loved the Fourth of July. Trying to explain it to Edmund is kind of like banging his head off a wall but, in the end, his boyfriend's usually happy that he's happy and Charlie is happy. There's barbeque and ice-cream, probably, somewhere and Charlie's getting a sunburn across his nose and he just doesn't care.

Balancing several plates at once, he almost walks straight into someone.

"Oh, shit!" he says, with a wide apologetic grin. "Sorry!"

[sluttylyingliar]

"Absolutely no problem," Rachel says with a grin, making no effort to move. She's showing her patriotic enthusiasm with a sandwich and a bottle of whiskey. "Your nose is pink."

[teenagerenegade]

"Is it?" asks Charlie, looking decidedly unbothered as he offers her one of the plates. "You want one of these. It's just a bit of everything."

He hands her the plate over and rubs his nose.

"Ow."

[sluttylyingliar]

"I'm watching my figure," she says, snatching just a bit of meat off the plate before handing it back. "It's cute," she says, gently bopping his nose. "Suits you. You feeling patriotic?"

[anger_sideways]

Hawkeye didn't really consider himself a patriot. He was fond of America, certainly, but he was sure that if he'd been born and raised in France or Mexico or Botswana he would have been just as fond of those places. Borders were only lines on a map to him, and nationality mere happenstance. It was ridiculous to get worked up over it.

On the other hand, he did like a good party. The idea of sulking over a matter of principle while other people were eating an entire spit-roast pig was ludicrous, so he'd bottled up some of his homebrew gin, found a clean shirt, and intended to make a good afternoon of it.

[patriotqueen]

Guy walked over to the man with the bottle in his hands. (Such people were always the right people to meet early on at any party.)

"Hawkeye, dear, can you explain this to me? I'm lost. What are you celebrating?" He asked, posher than posh, Englisher than English.

[anger_sideways]

Ah yes, Guy. Good to see him again, and lucky that he wasn't wearing a polka-dot dress this time. That had been memorable for all the wrong reasons.

"I don't know, they're being terribly subtle about it," Hawkeye said, and started stroking his chin and gazing around himself with exaggerated bemusement. "The barbecue, the drinking, all this red, white and blue - aha! I know! It's Bastille Day. Go and ask the man if the frog's legs are ready."

[patriotqueen]

No, this time he was wearing his Eton tie. It seemed appropriate.

"Is it, already? Dear me, how time flies," he played along with a grin, and looked over to the barbecue. "But wait... there are no frogs on the fire. I think you might be mistaken."

[whatdiesinside]

Today, he doesn't have to make that tense journey through the trees, because the island is coming to them. With more than a couple hours of sleep and some breakfast in him, he's been content to sit in the sun and smirk lazily at anyone suggesting with their eyes or sighs that he help set anything up; now it's more of the same but with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

He's on the steps now, his back in the shade of the barracks and sun on his arms and face, soaking into his hair. The air's getting heavier but he doesn't think it's ever smelled this good, Camels and charcoal and meat, and if he just closes his eyes he can empty himself out and feel okay.

[realnicetrip]

Harry had been glad to see people finally moving into the barracks. The two new men weren't Easy, weren't even from the army, but they were at least from the right war, which was a start. He'd not talked to them much, beyond basic introductions, but a party like this was the perfect time to do something about it.

"Shelton, right?" he said, approaching the man lounging lazily by the barrack steps. If he wasn't Shelton, he was Sledge; he had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. "Want something to eat? The hog's ready to carve up, and there's a batch of burgers nearly done."

[whatdiesinside]

Snafu nods and his mouth goes tight over his teeth, around his cigarette in some approximation of a smile. People keep trickling through, moving north to the party and he'll wander along after once he's ready, and hell, a burger might be enough to tempt him. "This'll do me fine for now," he says, lifting his drink--he'd rather get an easy buzz going before he eats, "But I'll let you know."

Rolling his shoulders back and stretching his arms a bit, he palms the pack of Camels and lighter from his lap to offer up, "Smoke?"

[realnicetrip]

"Hell yeah," Harry said, reaching out a hand to take the offered cigarette. He waited until it was lit and passed over to add, "You're gonna regret being so free and easy with those when you've got nothing but roll-ups to smoke."

He took a deep drag, eyes closing momentarily as he pulled the smoke in deep. "Oh yeah, that's a taste of home alright."

[the_nsa_agent]

Casey privately considered every day a cause for celebrating America. He didn't need a holiday, but he wasn't going to miss one that included barbecue.

He had himself a plate of tasty food and a spot at a table, and, though it didn't really look like it and he wouldn't have admitted it, basked in the presence of other like-minded patriots.

[defected]

In his lifetime, Bryce Larkin had probably spent more time outside of his country than in it, but that made surprisingly little difference. As much as he enjoyed the travel and the excitement, the mission always came first. Each might not be cause to celebrate his country, but it was another day to fight for it, and that had always been enough for Bryce.

He made his way around the barbecue, untouched beer in hand, making small talk when it was called for and watching the crowd when it wasn't. This would be one such instant where it wasn't, but despite their many differences, Bryce wasn't in the mood to bear grudges. Trigger-happy though he was, John Casey was in the business of serving his country, just like Bryce. It was worth a brief greeting, at the very least.

"Casey," he finally said, nodding at the other agent.

[the_nsa_agent]

"'Anderson'," Casey answered with a nod of his own, the quotation marks clear in his tone. He might not like Larkin much, but he wasn't about to blow the man's cover, especially not when he could do the same to him; though the only thing Casey really hid was the fact he was a spy, he'd rather keep it on a need to know basis. "Did you try the hog?"

[defected]

"Not yet, no," replied Bryce automatically, but with the lift of a brow. Though the island had forced them all into a more run-of-the-mill existence, Bryce never would have imagined himself discussing the hog at a fourth of July barbecue with John Casey. Their conversations were usually cut short with him lying on the floor bruised or bleeding (or both.) Whether this change was for the better remained to be seen.

"Island life treating you well?" He asked, fully aware that he wasn't the only - couldn't be the only one - bored out of his mind here.