Col. Samuel Trautman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
agoodsupplyofbodybags) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ph_logs2024-09-30 09:37 am
agoodsupplyofbodybags) wrote in ph_logs2024-09-30 09:37 am
my heart's dark but it's rising, i'm pulling all the faith i can see (OPEN)
Who: Col. Samuel Trautman (agoodsupplyofbodybags) & YOU!
What: At the eleventh hour, a heartfelt prayer is heard and answered
When: the morning after the gala & all through October
Where: The Oak & Iron and literally EVERYWHERE
Warning(s): canon typical warnings for the Rambo franchise: violence, PTSD, police brutality, torture, etc.--and any warnings that might come from discussing the gala because the demons would not let Trautman slip free of the visitor's center and into the arms of Mortanne without making sure he also knew the truth about Dahlia Leeds
Visitor's Center - Final Night
For the first time in two weeks, Sam is starting to feel just a tiny bit claustrophobic.
Watching John walk away from the Visitor's Center and into the night, he's more aware of what he's going to lose when he leaves here than he has been the whole time he's been here: this John Rambo, not just living but healing. This John Rambo, at peace with his nature if not with the war. It's a version of Rambo that Sam can take solace in: his finest creation, not just made to win and to fight, but made whole where Sam failed him.
There's more, though. There are others: that boy, Radar. That sweet girl jingling cheerfully with every step, the warmth of Father Mulcahy, the good humored elf that had adopted him as her own--other visitors like that sweet space faring woman who spoke of John with such affection. Meeting them all, getting to know them a little while he tried to help them get to know John better...
He can see why John is doing so well--and Sam can't help but feel an immense sense of loss at being ripped from this strange little community that has embraced this particular man with such ready, desperate acceptance and affection.
He's laying awake in his bed later that night, his very last night, when he's gripped by a strange impulse that has him flashing a wry smile at the ceiling...
"I must be crazy, but...I've done crazier in my day." he murmurs with a soft laugh. "The old saying goes that there's no atheists in foxholes and all--but a soldier the likes of us says goodbye when we sign on. To win a war is to be ready to die...and I...I think that may be wrong. I think that I may have been wrong. So, I'm asking you--all of you ladies that have been so good to my dear friend, John: keep helping him. Hell, maybe even let him stay here. He deserves the peace he's finding here, and if he can help you with all this strangeness then maybe he'll serve you better than he can serve us back home. Just...I hope the things I've shared here will be enough to save him, and if not...show me what else I can do for him."
He hesitates, unsure how to leave this strange prayer...
"...amen? Not sure that works for a bunch of goddesses. Respectfully, I'm on very new ground here. But--thank you. For this--for letting me know he's...gonna be all right."
Sam shuts his eyes--and finally, at long last, sleep comes to him.
* * * * *
When Sam wakes up, it's from a dream the likes of which he's never had before--and hopes he'll never have again. It started pleasantly enough, gently roused from sleep by a white haired woman and escorted through town in a black coach--or was it a hearse?--to the local inn, where he was given a room. There, he seemed to fall asleep again to a horrific nightmare filled with fire, screams, masked men and women and a terrible secret being exposed...
He bolts up in bed, feeling, to be frank, absolutely haggard. Only...he's not in bed. Well, he is, but this isn't the barracks. The room doesn't have the oppressive humidity of the heat at the Thai border, nor the stale smell of stored linen and gritty dirt. The bed, too, is--well, it's damn comfortable.
Sam gets up, looking down at himself as he flicks back the covers--he's not wearing his pajamas or his uniform, but simple clothing that leaves him feeling oddly stripped bare.
Standing up, he moves to the door of his room, opens it--and steps into the hallway of the inn from his dream.
"...well, I'll be a sonufa..."
Chuckling, Sam makes his way downstairs--and the morning after the gala, one Samuel Trautman can be found in the Oak & Iron's main area, having breakfast. and open to saying hello to anyone that feels like approaching him.
And from there, he'll be...well, all over the place. He's here to stay, it seems, and if you recognize him from the visitor's center, he'll be more than happy to share his strange tale.
agoodsupplyofbodybags) & YOU!What: At the eleventh hour, a heartfelt prayer is heard and answered
When: the morning after the gala & all through October
Where: The Oak & Iron and literally EVERYWHERE
Warning(s): canon typical warnings for the Rambo franchise: violence, PTSD, police brutality, torture, etc.--and any warnings that might come from discussing the gala because the demons would not let Trautman slip free of the visitor's center and into the arms of Mortanne without making sure he also knew the truth about Dahlia Leeds
Visitor's Center - Final Night
For the first time in two weeks, Sam is starting to feel just a tiny bit claustrophobic.
Watching John walk away from the Visitor's Center and into the night, he's more aware of what he's going to lose when he leaves here than he has been the whole time he's been here: this John Rambo, not just living but healing. This John Rambo, at peace with his nature if not with the war. It's a version of Rambo that Sam can take solace in: his finest creation, not just made to win and to fight, but made whole where Sam failed him.
There's more, though. There are others: that boy, Radar. That sweet girl jingling cheerfully with every step, the warmth of Father Mulcahy, the good humored elf that had adopted him as her own--other visitors like that sweet space faring woman who spoke of John with such affection. Meeting them all, getting to know them a little while he tried to help them get to know John better...
He can see why John is doing so well--and Sam can't help but feel an immense sense of loss at being ripped from this strange little community that has embraced this particular man with such ready, desperate acceptance and affection.
He's laying awake in his bed later that night, his very last night, when he's gripped by a strange impulse that has him flashing a wry smile at the ceiling...
"I must be crazy, but...I've done crazier in my day." he murmurs with a soft laugh. "The old saying goes that there's no atheists in foxholes and all--but a soldier the likes of us says goodbye when we sign on. To win a war is to be ready to die...and I...I think that may be wrong. I think that I may have been wrong. So, I'm asking you--all of you ladies that have been so good to my dear friend, John: keep helping him. Hell, maybe even let him stay here. He deserves the peace he's finding here, and if he can help you with all this strangeness then maybe he'll serve you better than he can serve us back home. Just...I hope the things I've shared here will be enough to save him, and if not...show me what else I can do for him."
He hesitates, unsure how to leave this strange prayer...
"...amen? Not sure that works for a bunch of goddesses. Respectfully, I'm on very new ground here. But--thank you. For this--for letting me know he's...gonna be all right."
Sam shuts his eyes--and finally, at long last, sleep comes to him.
When Sam wakes up, it's from a dream the likes of which he's never had before--and hopes he'll never have again. It started pleasantly enough, gently roused from sleep by a white haired woman and escorted through town in a black coach--or was it a hearse?--to the local inn, where he was given a room. There, he seemed to fall asleep again to a horrific nightmare filled with fire, screams, masked men and women and a terrible secret being exposed...
He bolts up in bed, feeling, to be frank, absolutely haggard. Only...he's not in bed. Well, he is, but this isn't the barracks. The room doesn't have the oppressive humidity of the heat at the Thai border, nor the stale smell of stored linen and gritty dirt. The bed, too, is--well, it's damn comfortable.
Sam gets up, looking down at himself as he flicks back the covers--he's not wearing his pajamas or his uniform, but simple clothing that leaves him feeling oddly stripped bare.
Standing up, he moves to the door of his room, opens it--and steps into the hallway of the inn from his dream.
"...well, I'll be a sonufa..."
Chuckling, Sam makes his way downstairs--and the morning after the gala, one Samuel Trautman can be found in the Oak & Iron's main area, having breakfast. and open to saying hello to anyone that feels like approaching him.
And from there, he'll be...well, all over the place. He's here to stay, it seems, and if you recognize him from the visitor's center, he'll be more than happy to share his strange tale.
no subject
"You're hardly the first to want to pay respects. If you want to leave something on Mother Mortanne's altar, there's plenty of pinecones in the yard. They're a symbol of hers."
no subject
He moves forward while he speaks, accepting the invitation as he scans the ground for pinecones--none yet, but he impulsively picks up a fallen sprig of evergreen. He even goes so far as to take a single needle that sheds into his palm and sticks it between his teeth like he did as a boy, letting that flavorful pine bite light across his tongue.
"She, uh--helped me stay on." he explains after a beat. "Visitor's center. I'm not a spiritual man, but a friend of mine seems to have grown close to...one of her sisters, if I understand these Mothers correctly? He's pledged himself to the goddess of spring, so...I got a wild hair and prayed. She listened...spiritual or not, one good turn does deserve another, I say."
no subject
A pause. "Though I suppose by-and-large, no one from other worlds knew about her, to pray to her, so that just makes sense. Anyway, I take it that means you know Rambo? He's the only one I've heard of going so far as to take an oath. Though First Aid is also very connected to Serranai."