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"What the fuck, Private?"
His voice is quiet, but harsh, and very angry. The private stares at the ground, pretty angry himself, and wearing an expression as though he's chewing something unpleasant.
"What in the world do you mean by parading yourself with boots looking like that?"
It's become his stock tone of late - overtly disappointed, but not motivated enough to get loud about it. Tired. Pessimistic.
Demotivational.
"We don't do many of these, Private, so when you come before me, I expect you to be at your very best. My parents are capable of doing it. Others here are capable of doing it. I am capable of doing it. You should be too."
The private's expression is now clearly telling him to go fuck himself, if only it were raised to him. The others look...confused. Uncomfortable.
"You have no excuse for looking like you've just been pulled through a back alley gutter arse backwards. Even if you just have been. I expect more pride in your position than that. It's a fucking disgrace."
A pause.
"Well?"
The words feel like they're being yanked forcibly from the private's lips.
"Yes sir."
Gerrard doesn't even nod.
"Go and get it sorted. Be here in an hour, and be a fuckload better than you are right now. The rest of you, dismissed."
A sigh is the only defiance raised, and the private turns on his heel and stalks off, the smoke almost visibly pouring from his ears. The offending boots pick up a scratch along with the rest of the muck on them as he kicks a wall that probably deserved it about as much as he did. The rest of the company fall out, shaking heads and grumbling. A corporal is the only one who remains.
His eyes close, and he breathes in, out, pinching the brow of his nose. When he talks again, all the harshness has gone from his voice.
"Frixo, did I just chew a guy out for having less than perfect boots?"
The corporal nods.
"Yep, in front of the entire division. And he thinks you're a twat for it."
Go on. You know you want to.
"And...with respect...so do I."
There it is.
"Mm-hmm."
The corporal starts to head off, pausing and looking over his shoulder.
"Get help, sir. You weren't always like this."
His head comes up, eyes opening on what is now an empty parade yard.
...where?
His voice is quiet, but harsh, and very angry. The private stares at the ground, pretty angry himself, and wearing an expression as though he's chewing something unpleasant.
"What in the world do you mean by parading yourself with boots looking like that?"
It's become his stock tone of late - overtly disappointed, but not motivated enough to get loud about it. Tired. Pessimistic.
Demotivational.
"We don't do many of these, Private, so when you come before me, I expect you to be at your very best. My parents are capable of doing it. Others here are capable of doing it. I am capable of doing it. You should be too."
The private's expression is now clearly telling him to go fuck himself, if only it were raised to him. The others look...confused. Uncomfortable.
"You have no excuse for looking like you've just been pulled through a back alley gutter arse backwards. Even if you just have been. I expect more pride in your position than that. It's a fucking disgrace."
A pause.
"Well?"
The words feel like they're being yanked forcibly from the private's lips.
"Yes sir."
Gerrard doesn't even nod.
"Go and get it sorted. Be here in an hour, and be a fuckload better than you are right now. The rest of you, dismissed."
A sigh is the only defiance raised, and the private turns on his heel and stalks off, the smoke almost visibly pouring from his ears. The offending boots pick up a scratch along with the rest of the muck on them as he kicks a wall that probably deserved it about as much as he did. The rest of the company fall out, shaking heads and grumbling. A corporal is the only one who remains.
His eyes close, and he breathes in, out, pinching the brow of his nose. When he talks again, all the harshness has gone from his voice.
"Frixo, did I just chew a guy out for having less than perfect boots?"
The corporal nods.
"Yep, in front of the entire division. And he thinks you're a twat for it."
Go on. You know you want to.
"And...with respect...so do I."
There it is.
"Mm-hmm."
The corporal starts to head off, pausing and looking over his shoulder.
"Get help, sir. You weren't always like this."
His head comes up, eyes opening on what is now an empty parade yard.
...where?
