Dear God, Give Me Courage, for Perhaps I Lack It More Than Anything Else

[collaronhisneck]

WHO: Father Francis Mulcahy and others
WHERE: Various, check starters
WHEN: September 2nd through 4th
OPEN TO: Everyone, but only the last prompt will be an open in full. The rest are first come, first served in order to prevent Topic Fatigue.
WARNINGS: None so far; mentions of wartime problems may come up

---

( fountain, September 2, open to Major )

Considering he'd gone to sleep in his normal rickety cot, the familiar sounds of an April night outside Uijongbu drifting through the lashed-down sides of his tent, the rumble of engines passing by on the road in the distance...

Well, the last thing he expected to wake up to was water.

Jolting awake with the sudden plunge and the screaming lack of air, instinct kicks in just like his feet, and Mulcahy surges in the direction he hopes is upwards, towards light and away from the darkness, a stray thought passing through his mind that he hopes he's not heading for The Light just yet. There's so much left to do, after all. The coughing starts when he founders into the early morning light, because he'd managed to swallow some of the water before he surfaced, though fortunately it seems to be coming out fairly easily. What he doesn't realize right away is that his glasses seem to have disappeared; he's more concerned with catching the rim of the fountain and clinging to it while he spits up the water that invaded his esophagus. Not the most comfortable of welcomes, this.

( inn, September 2, open to two closed )

Recovered, more or less dry, glasses firmly in place, pack still on his back, and more befuddled than he'd ever been in his life (which is saying something, considering some of the shenanigans he's witnessed), Mulcahy has managed to make it to the inn in time for the noon meal. He's still not certain he's not hallucinating all of this, but it hurts when he pinches his arm and everything feels reassuringly solid, the grain of the wood a noticable texture under his fingertips, the air warmer than he's expecting and with almost a sleight weight to it. At the very least, he's certain this isn't a dream, and the rumbling in his stomach seems to reinforce that idea.

If he isn't waylaid, he's going to approach the first person he sees that isn't occupied with something else, smile warmly and a little nervously at them, and ask the first relevant question that comes to mind. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but I was told I could find something to eat here - how does that work, exactly? I don't seem to have any money, but I don't mind lending a hand if it's needed."

( hospital, September 3, open to two )

The hospital isn't at all like the ones he's seen and especially not like the one he knows best, but in his quest to learn the village the building had easily drawn his eye since it was so close to the inn and he'd decided to explore. The 4077 is a temporary camp - it's a mobile surgical unit, after all - so a structure this solid is a change by itself, not to mention the age. The village reminds him so much of some older places he's seen throughout New England and Europe it's uncanny, and in many ways it's similar to several villages in Korea as well, although those similarities aren't so happy. Run down and the upkeep not kept up with, people living day to day and just trying to survive - it's no surprise that a lot of the buildings seem a little shabby, a few into actual disrepair. The hospital looks better than many, which encourages him - it means people are doing their part to keep up areas that may be needed. It's a good sign of a community pulling together.

Still, he's not about to go poking around in places he may not be wanted, so Mulcahy sticks to the hallways and carefully peers in any doors before he enters a room, in case he's about to disturb any patients. He's fairly sure there aren't any there, but better safe than sorry, and he'd like to see if there's any staff so he can volunteer his services should they be needed.

( church, September 4, open to any )

The makeshift cross outside the building had drawn him like a needle to a magnet when he'd spotted it, and while the structure is obviously a house that's been repurposed, Mulcahy can't deny feeling more at peace at the sight. Obviously someone's felt the separation from their congregation much as he has, and apparently for quite awhile if there's been steps taken to convert a dwelling. He stops in the road outside the building, head bowed and hands folded in front of him for several seconds as he silently prays, and then releases a deep breath before climbing the steps to the porch and opening the door. Seeing what needs to be done will be a good way to keep busy, and perhaps he can find some way to help or prepare for a dedication. He's no Bishop, but there seem to be a lack of them in the area, which leads to a distinct possibility of "winging it."

Comments

[thegreatexperiment]

It took everything in Sam's power not to add 'Yet' to his statement. As it was, she caught it in her throat and had to swallow it down, like an actual, physical thing.

Yet.

Yet.

She scrubbed her face with the heel of her palm, following him on to the kitchen. "Why Korea?" she asked. It was a perfectly valid example, of course. But a little bit random. "Is that where you were before here?" It seemed as reasonable an assumption as anything else.

[collaronhisneck]

Oh, believe him, he's thinking it, too. He's simply thankful that right now it's not happening. Small blessings and all; he's lived under the rules and insanity of the military too long not to know that almost anything that could go wrong, will go wrong.

"Yes, actually." The kitchen is cleaner than the hallway, though still not pristine, and Mulcahy steps into it to start opening the cabinets and seeing what's inside. Which isn't much, when you get down to it, some pots and pans, some serving dishes, knives and other cooking implements. At least it's well-stocked. "I'm- I was serving with the army there as a chaplain at a MASH unit. The Koreans practice almost every religion known to man and so a few communities have churches, but Christianity is far from the most prominent religion in their culture."

[thegreatexperiment]

She followed him into the kitchen, but paused at the threshold. She'd already done plenty of digging through cabinets. It only yielded frustration. Let him figure that out for himself, she figured. So she leaned against the doorframe, folding her arms across her chest.

"What's a MASH unit?" she asked.

Inexplicably, she suddenly had the mental image of a bunch of guys with potato mashers on their feet, stomping around in a vat of tubers like vintners crushing grapes for wine.

It probably wasn't anything like that. But it was fucking funny to think about.

Anyway, pretty much all Sam knew about the army could be boiled down to the fact that Lake Forest had been somewhat close to an active fort, which meant a lot of kids moved in then moved out two years later. No one wanted to be friends with a fort kid. Unless it was the choice between a fort kid and Sam. Then everyone wanted to be friends with a fort kid.

[collaronhisneck]

In many - or at least some - ways, this is actually an improvement from where he'd been. Actual roofs on the buildings, walls that wouldn't leak heat from shoddy furnaces, much fresher food. But there are, of course, several negatives to go along with this "bounty," and Mulcahy is already feeling the ache of missing his friends and surrogate family at camp. At least half of his explorations were due to him not wanting to think so much about that right now and finding things to distract him.

"MASH stands for mobile army surgical hospital - field hospitals that can be packed up and moved within hours depending on how the front lines are moving, because we need to be as close as we can be to the fighting. Sometimes we're too close. But we're there to do a valuable job, because the quicker a boy gets into surgery after he's been injured, the greater his chances of survival."

Although the potato-mashing idea is honestly funnier.

[thegreatexperiment]

Sam's scowl got a little bit deeper. The concept of a MASH was clear enough. Even logical, in some respects, although sterilization sounded iffy, at best. But there was something else bothering her about what he was saying.

"Front lines of what?"

She hated asking simple questions like that. Sam was just so used to always being the smartest person in a room.

But something wasn't adding up here.

[collaronhisneck]

She was entirely correct in that sterilization was sometimes iffy, mostly in the fact that the army often failed to send enough supplies. The human body could fight off a remarkable amount of invasions from the outside, but when a hospital didn't have enough gloves for its surgical staff, or had to wash in boiled water instead of any sort of antiseptic solution... well, those times were trials to all of them, and the results were often chancy. Just because a soldier might live didn't necessarily mean he was intact.

Mulcahy glances at Sam once more, his face more solemn than it has been so far, but it's not an easy topic even if he's fully prepared to speak on it. "War. Something that should never happen, and yet happens much more than we care to think about. I joined the army to provide spiritual guidance for our boys in times of trouble, but... it's not exactly what I imagined it to be."

[thegreatexperiment]

The multiverse could give a person one hell of a headache. Which was especially problematic for Sam, now that she could get headaches again.

She found herself grinding her knuckles into the heel of her palm.

"No, no," she said. "I know what front lines are. But what the hell war are you talking about? I'm pretty sure we learned our fucking lesson about fighting land wars in Asia after the whole Vietnam thing."

And she wasn't even going to touch the 'spiritual guidance' part.

[collaronhisneck]

"The whole thing in-" he begins, bewildered, because that's completely unfamiliar territory to him. He's heard of the place, certainly, read literature about the religious and secular customs to be found in the country, but his reaction is a big clue that he's from before that period in time. And if it's not enough of a clue, the spreading realization across his face as he puts together his own information to arrive at a conclusion will confirm it. "Whatever it is you're speaking about, I suspect I haven't seen it yet. I've heard that people here come from different time periods or even worlds, which seems rather... odd to me, but I suppose there must be a point."

Mulcahy closes the doors of the cabinet he'd been looking in, having found it full of normal teacups and saucers, nothing exciting, intending to move on to the rest of the house-slash-church. "The Korean War, although they're still calling it a police action. For me, it's 1953; I understand for some people here, the year they know is much closer to 2053 than mine. It sounds like you're one of those."

[thegreatexperiment]

Well. That cleared up a few things.

Sam could hardly call herself an expert on the Korean War. They'd sort of glossed over it in her AP US history class, pretty much jumping from World War II and the Holocaust to Vietnam and counter culture and all that stuff. But she knew enough about the timing of it all to nod slightly.

"Yeah," she said. "Okay. That makes sense. I mean, as much as time travel ever made sense." She wouldn't get started on her feelings regarding the physics of time travel. Not now.

"I'm from 2014," she said. "Oh, and the name's Sam."

[collaronhisneck]

Turning to face her once again, Mulcahy gives a nod at her confirmation of his statement. "There you are, then - much closer to 2053 than 1953. I daresay you've seen and heard quite a lot that I can't begin to comprehend without a great deal of time to absorb it first." The fact that the US apparently goes on to have another horrible war in Asia after Korea isn't something he really wanted to know, now with how utterly futile Korea has been for everyone, but it's something that he can't just forget now that she's said it. It is, however, possible for him to push it to the side and not worry about it now, given that he can't change it. Even were he at home, he likely couldn't do anything about it there, either.

"It's good to meet you, Sam - my name is Francis Mulcahy." It's a bit of an experiment, if she'd connect the "chaplain" he mentioned earlier with "priest" and how she'd choose to address him. He's no stickler for formality, but even he gets tired of the constant "Father" and "Padre" instead of some form of his actual name.

[thegreatexperiment]

In light of the new context, Sam actually managed a smile. Of course his name was something like 'Francis.' It just oozed with a certain 1950s vibe.

And matched his glasses, somehow.

"I'd say it was good to meet you too, Francis," she said. "But under the circumstances, that feels uber vulgar." Being rats in a cage, and all. "So, I'll go with a good, old-fashioned 'hi' instead." She paused. Then rippled her fingers. "Hi."

It wasn't much, but for Sam, it was some impressive people skills.

"Where you originally from?"

[collaronhisneck]

1919, actually. He's finding fewer babies are being baptized as "Francis" in 1953.

Mulcahy smiles a little at her greeting - and at the fact that she didn't make the connection, or chose to discard it if she did. It really is something of a relief to have one person refer to him by his name and not his title. "'Hi' does seem more appropriate, somehow. I can't exactly say I'm happy to be here, but it has let me meet some very interesting people.

"Philadelphia, actually. Most of my family is still there, but I wanted to do some good in the world and so I signed up for the army." It hadn't... quite gone the way he'd expected it would.

[thegreatexperiment]

"I've been to Philly," she said. "My school took a trip there when I was in eighth grade. It was part of this whole 'Founding Fathers' tour thing." Her school had also been loaded. For reals. Lake Forest was a particularly affluent suburb of Chicago. The tax money going into the public schools had bordered on obscene.

Not that she was complaining.

She shrugged. "I remember it being pretty cool. I wonder if your fam is still there in 2014." Or if Philly even existed any more...