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last night i lost all my patience, you were fucked up, i was wasted, midsummer madness, i can't take it no more so fuck the rules joji : midsummer madness
────── ∘°❉°∘ ────── september 18th and 19th, 1942 ────── ∘°❉°∘ ──────
"I HAVE NO FUCKIN IDEA WHO SHITS THIS MUCH BUT I DON'T THINK IT'S HEALTHY!" POPPIE CRIED OUT AS SHE HELD A SHIT-COVERED TOILET BRUSH UP AND WAVED IT AROUND. bill and joe were in stitches, she was in stitches. "i bet it's perconte! i think perconte shits this much!" bill was leaning on a stall in order to hold himself up, holding his side. "perconte can't shit... more than he weighs!" joe was laughing from the other side of the latrines, at the sinks, and was wheezing. the trio were put on latrine duty by winters, and found that humour somehow made the situation feel less disgusting. that was their way. even the stoic joe toye managed to loosen up a bit when they were all together— whether it was over beers or toilet brushes. poppie plunged the toilet brush back into the shit-coated ceramic and gagged at the smell. "men are disgusting!" bill laughed, before nudging her and declaring this was the reason women loved them. "not me," poppie replied, "i hate every single one of ya." "whatever." bill shook his head. "you gotta like some fella." "no, i don't. i will never marry. i'd rather be a sad old broad than a married one." "you already are, ya sad old bro—" poppie kicked bill right in the back of the knee and he grunted as he stumbled. poppie and joe burst into laughter.
"what's all this?" poppie turned to find her CO stood behind her forebodingly. "erm... latrine duty, sir." she held up a toilet brush as if to say are you a fucking idiot? "you call this latrine duty?" sobel was frowning in irritation. his scowl made poppie want to slap it off him. she bit the inside of her cheeks to mask her irritation before replying: "yes sir... sir, cleaning other people's shit isn't my idea of fun." "private docherty, your weekend pass is revoked." sobel started to leave, but as she turned and walked away poppie called out: "why, sir?" "because i said so." "sir—" "permission to speak denied, private." "but i have a right to know why—" "i will court martial you—" "alright! i'll can the lip, sir." sobel took a few seconds to register the new yorker's odd turn of phrase, before nodding and leaving the three to continue the task in hand.
as soon as sobel was far away, bill stood up stiffly and barked: "what's all this!" it wasn't even a good impression but poppie and joe clearly found it hilarious because she stumbled backwards and leaned against a cubicle to steady her laughter. "imagine!" she placed her hand to her temple. "he comes in here, mr high and fucking mighty, and takes away my fucking weekend pass!" "life's tough, pop." joe threw a wet cloth at her. it missed, instead giving the cubicle wall a hard and wet thud. "get a helmet." "figuratively, yeah, but literally, i already have one."
