Radar O'Reilly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
incomingchoppers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ph_logs2025-11-17 08:30 pm
incomingchoppers) wrote in ph_logs2025-11-17 08:30 pm
there's a stranger in my eyes again [November/post-event catch-all]
Who: Radar O'Reilly (incomingchoppers) & YOU!
What: Radar's fine. Everything's fine. :)
When: Throughout November
Where: Town Hall, the Leeds Estate, Baker Ranch, and the Temple
Warning(s): Some descriptions + discussion related to the Fears, especially Slaughter, Flesh, and Corruption; specific warnings will be on individual prompts/tags
all messed up with nowhere to go [Town Hall, OTA]
A bit over a year ago, Pumpkin Hollow's denizens were coming back from the Black Stag Casino. Radar in particular had just gotten pampered for a week straight in the VIP suites. He celebrated his twentieth birthday with his new girlfriend, a stretch of calm after the island's latest weirdness, and the newfound knowledge that lobster omelettes with goat cheese were really good.
If only the same could be said for his twenty-first birthday.
The Fears' hold breaks, the island slowly picks up the pieces once again, and Radar does what he does best to keep sane: he works. His former Town Hall coworkers see him scuttling around again just like old times, greeting newcomers and processing forms and popping up right where he's needed with anything that might make their jobs easier. Except... it doesn't, always. Forms get mixed up. Files end up in the wrong cabinet. Once, someone asks for a pen, and Radar absentmindedly hands over an ornamental cactus from Mr. Aberdeen's desk instead. Whenever someone corrects him, he just blinks, mumbles, "Oh, sorry sir," and fixes his mistake like nothing happened.
While manning the front desk one afternoon, he even dozes off. Anyone coming into Town Hall will be greeted by a gently snoring Army clerk, hat crooked and glasses shoved halfway up his forehead as he pillows his head in his arms. If they try to nudge him, he'll flail awake like a bomb went off, blurting, "Choppers!" before he gets his bearings.
"Oh, um." Clumsily, he fixes his glasses and adjusts his hat. "Hi. Can I help you?"
i stare at myself in the mirror alone [Leeds Estate, closed to Dahlia]
(cw: descriptions of war-related violence, gore, & body dysmorphia; emeto mention)
If you live at the Leeds Estate, meanwhile, you'll know exactly why he's been so tired.
He doesn't sleep.
Well, he tries, sure. Every night he goes to his own room, and every night like clockwork, two hours after he shuts the door, there's a quickly-stifled scream. (Radar got a lot of practice in Korea, not waking up anybody else with his own bad dreams.) He hunches over his knees with one arm around his bear, the other hand clapped to his mouth, tears streaming down his face as he struggles his way out of the latest nightmare. Battlefields. Blood everywhere. A hot rifle in his hands and a body on the ground that's only got half its head anymore, because of him. Someone peeling away chunks of his torso one strip at a time until he can see his own ribcage.
He can't stand to be touched, either. The guy who's always been so quick with a hug flinches when anyone so much as taps him on the shoulder. He shies away from everyone, even Dahlia, and can't bring himself to go to her room even on the nights Laios or Daisy aren't around. He misses her company so badly, but just the idea of her seeing his bare skin, let alone touching him, makes him want to throw up.
It's not fair. He was feeling so much better about -- about being him, and now all he can do is hide.
(He just wanted to look nice for her.)
it's hard to make friends when you're half in the grave [Baker Ranch, OTA]
When he isn't at Town Hall or the estate, he's out at Baker Ranch. Who knows what the animals might've gone through while the Fears were in charge? Maybe Radar would, if he listened, but there's been so much static in his ears ever since the island went back to normal that he can barely tell what human animals are thinking, let alone animal animals. So he just treats them with extra kindness anyway and lets the comfort of something small, simple, and fuzzy quiet his mind.
Sometimes, he keeps a teddy bear tucked under one arm while he works. It's not the same one he's been hauling around ever since Hawkeye and Phil won it for him a year and a half ago. This bear's even more worn and well-loved, its fur patchwork-thin, one eye missing, a ribbon that might've been white once tied in a little bow around its neck. One morning he walked into his room at the ranch and there it was, sitting on his pillow like it'd just stepped off the ferry from Korea, too: the bear he's had since he was a baby. Boy and he thought he cried a lot before.
That's the same day he just lays down in the grass for most of the afternoon to stare up at the sky. Some of the baby goats come over to investigate him and the teddy eventually. So do a few rabbits. So does Johnny Boy, even. He sits next to Radar with more rabbits in his lap, alternating between keeping watch and gently placing the occasional bunny on top of Radar's chest.
If you approach, the stone construct will turn to you, blink inquiringly, then hold up one of the rabbits. Hello. Would you like a rabbit in these trying times, too? Or perhaps a baby goat?
but i ain't dead yet, and i got something to say [temple, closed to Mulcahy]
And when that's not enough? There are also cats at the Temple.
Radar only saw Father Mulcahy briefly during the Fears -- he thinks; his time in the Corruption is especially blurry -- so he's got no idea how his friend is doing. Bad, probably. Everybody's doing bad. It makes him feel kind of guilty, knowing he's not just there to check up on the Father, but to talk to him parishioner-to-priest too. Because who else can he talk to about what went on? About the drums of the Slaughter, or the weight of the gun as he fired toward the Enemy? If he bottles it all up much longer he thinks he might burst.
So Mulcahy will find him sitting at the base of the Temple's tree, Christopher Mango cradled in his arms like a ridiculous furry baby. He looks up and tries to smile. "Hey, Father. Sir."
Christopher Mango sticks out a paw to lay it on Radar's cheek, juuuuust a little too close to his mouth.
wildcard
[plot with me/request a custom starter in the usual places!]
incomingchoppers) & YOU!What: Radar's fine. Everything's fine. :)
When: Throughout November
Where: Town Hall, the Leeds Estate, Baker Ranch, and the Temple
Warning(s): Some descriptions + discussion related to the Fears, especially Slaughter, Flesh, and Corruption; specific warnings will be on individual prompts/tags
all messed up with nowhere to go [Town Hall, OTA]
A bit over a year ago, Pumpkin Hollow's denizens were coming back from the Black Stag Casino. Radar in particular had just gotten pampered for a week straight in the VIP suites. He celebrated his twentieth birthday with his new girlfriend, a stretch of calm after the island's latest weirdness, and the newfound knowledge that lobster omelettes with goat cheese were really good.
If only the same could be said for his twenty-first birthday.
The Fears' hold breaks, the island slowly picks up the pieces once again, and Radar does what he does best to keep sane: he works. His former Town Hall coworkers see him scuttling around again just like old times, greeting newcomers and processing forms and popping up right where he's needed with anything that might make their jobs easier. Except... it doesn't, always. Forms get mixed up. Files end up in the wrong cabinet. Once, someone asks for a pen, and Radar absentmindedly hands over an ornamental cactus from Mr. Aberdeen's desk instead. Whenever someone corrects him, he just blinks, mumbles, "Oh, sorry sir," and fixes his mistake like nothing happened.
While manning the front desk one afternoon, he even dozes off. Anyone coming into Town Hall will be greeted by a gently snoring Army clerk, hat crooked and glasses shoved halfway up his forehead as he pillows his head in his arms. If they try to nudge him, he'll flail awake like a bomb went off, blurting, "Choppers!" before he gets his bearings.
"Oh, um." Clumsily, he fixes his glasses and adjusts his hat. "Hi. Can I help you?"
i stare at myself in the mirror alone [Leeds Estate, closed to Dahlia]
(cw: descriptions of war-related violence, gore, & body dysmorphia; emeto mention)
If you live at the Leeds Estate, meanwhile, you'll know exactly why he's been so tired.
He doesn't sleep.
Well, he tries, sure. Every night he goes to his own room, and every night like clockwork, two hours after he shuts the door, there's a quickly-stifled scream. (Radar got a lot of practice in Korea, not waking up anybody else with his own bad dreams.) He hunches over his knees with one arm around his bear, the other hand clapped to his mouth, tears streaming down his face as he struggles his way out of the latest nightmare. Battlefields. Blood everywhere. A hot rifle in his hands and a body on the ground that's only got half its head anymore, because of him. Someone peeling away chunks of his torso one strip at a time until he can see his own ribcage.
He can't stand to be touched, either. The guy who's always been so quick with a hug flinches when anyone so much as taps him on the shoulder. He shies away from everyone, even Dahlia, and can't bring himself to go to her room even on the nights Laios or Daisy aren't around. He misses her company so badly, but just the idea of her seeing his bare skin, let alone touching him, makes him want to throw up.
It's not fair. He was feeling so much better about -- about being him, and now all he can do is hide.
(He just wanted to look nice for her.)
it's hard to make friends when you're half in the grave [Baker Ranch, OTA]
When he isn't at Town Hall or the estate, he's out at Baker Ranch. Who knows what the animals might've gone through while the Fears were in charge? Maybe Radar would, if he listened, but there's been so much static in his ears ever since the island went back to normal that he can barely tell what human animals are thinking, let alone animal animals. So he just treats them with extra kindness anyway and lets the comfort of something small, simple, and fuzzy quiet his mind.
Sometimes, he keeps a teddy bear tucked under one arm while he works. It's not the same one he's been hauling around ever since Hawkeye and Phil won it for him a year and a half ago. This bear's even more worn and well-loved, its fur patchwork-thin, one eye missing, a ribbon that might've been white once tied in a little bow around its neck. One morning he walked into his room at the ranch and there it was, sitting on his pillow like it'd just stepped off the ferry from Korea, too: the bear he's had since he was a baby. Boy and he thought he cried a lot before.
That's the same day he just lays down in the grass for most of the afternoon to stare up at the sky. Some of the baby goats come over to investigate him and the teddy eventually. So do a few rabbits. So does Johnny Boy, even. He sits next to Radar with more rabbits in his lap, alternating between keeping watch and gently placing the occasional bunny on top of Radar's chest.
If you approach, the stone construct will turn to you, blink inquiringly, then hold up one of the rabbits. Hello. Would you like a rabbit in these trying times, too? Or perhaps a baby goat?
but i ain't dead yet, and i got something to say [temple, closed to Mulcahy]
And when that's not enough? There are also cats at the Temple.
Radar only saw Father Mulcahy briefly during the Fears -- he thinks; his time in the Corruption is especially blurry -- so he's got no idea how his friend is doing. Bad, probably. Everybody's doing bad. It makes him feel kind of guilty, knowing he's not just there to check up on the Father, but to talk to him parishioner-to-priest too. Because who else can he talk to about what went on? About the drums of the Slaughter, or the weight of the gun as he fired toward the Enemy? If he bottles it all up much longer he thinks he might burst.
So Mulcahy will find him sitting at the base of the Temple's tree, Christopher Mango cradled in his arms like a ridiculous furry baby. He looks up and tries to smile. "Hey, Father. Sir."
Christopher Mango sticks out a paw to lay it on Radar's cheek, juuuuust a little too close to his mouth.
wildcard
[plot with me/request a custom starter in the usual places!]
no subject
Radar startles like a frightened deer and scrambles through the file cabinet before the words are halfway out of Grace's mouth. By the time she's done talking, he's almost back to the desk with a fistful of pages. Radar starts to hand them over -- then snatches them back, frowns at the name along the top, mouths Holloway one double-you, and nods firmly in satisfaction before passing them to Grace for real.
"Here you go, ma'am."
Definitely not Radar's usual level of efficiency, but he got there in the end.
no subject
“Thank you,” she says, carefully. The forms get a quick scan. She wonders who might’ve misfiled something — stop. “Looks like my old resident paperwork got mixed in. If you could fix it with my potential new address, that’d be lovely. The second apartment on the ground floor of the blue half-timbered house.”
She pauses. “And if that’s all, I think I ought to be going.”
no subject
"Yes ma'am." He takes the papers back, already digging some scrap paper out of one pocket to write down what he needs to change. "I'll get it fixed for you. And -- "
Because, look, he can't just not say it --
"Sorry for the inconvenience and the, uh. Everything else. Ma'am. Um, I hope you have a good rest of your day."
Wrap?
“Much appreciated,” she says, smile only slightly tight. It is, after all, polite of him. “Take care, now.”
( “— It's comin' home to you.”)