UsxFem!UK. Slight Fem!FranCan. All historical information is accurate to the best of my abilities. Feel free to correct any mistakes with historical information or British/American 1940s slang.
"Alice? Alice!"
The voice of a cross woman broke through the early morning quiet of a little flat in Portsmouth, England. Late April, 1944. The air was cool and humid, but really, when was it not?
"Coming, Mother!" In a room with a window overlooking the road, a young woman was grumpily dragging herself out of bed, every squeak of the metal bedsprings in the thin mattress grinding in her ears. She tossed her thin white shift being used as a nightgown into a basket – she was going to have to do laundry today, wasn't she? She stumbled over to her closet, not having her red rimmed glasses on yet. Through the feel of the fabric and the blobs of color she could make out, she pulled a worn and slightly patched light blue dress from the depths of immaculately organized hangers. There was nothing on the floor to stumble on when making her way back to the dresser and the mirror perched on it.
She tossed on a clean white shift and dark gray stockings under it, buttoning up the blue cotton to her neck, like a proper lady. Taking two red ribbons from the old wooden dresser, she tied up her long blonde hair into two high pigtails. Even with the lift from pulling them up, they still flowed to midway down her back.
At last she grabbed her glasses, putting them on and watching the world become clear to her grassy green eyes. She licked her dry lips, brushing some loose strands of hair out of her face. She never wore makeup even when it was more available and affordable. Nothing was too widespread nowadays. Really, she never needed it. Her skin was still light and smooth as cream, her lips delicately pink, and of course her eyes big and beautifully green, framed with long dark yellow eyelashes, though they were often narrowed. Sighing, Alice hurried out of her room. Mother wouldn't like it if she took too long in her room.
"There you are, Alice!" her mother scolded as Alice scurried to the kitchen table. Her mother was standing at the stove, pulling the scones from the oven. Alice noted with a little dismay how small they were. The radio was on, crackling with some notifications about a military exercise gone wrong in Devon. Just above the radio hung a small black and white picture of a man in a Royal Air Force uniform.
Alice just shook her head slightly, glancing out the window over the town. Across the city, large empty lots still stood with crumbling remnants of brick walls here and there. However, if one looked close, they could see sprigs of green shooting up against the ever present cinders.
"Alice Elizabeth Kirkland, I am speaking to you!" her mother said sharply, jolting Alice out of her observations. She turned her green gaze back to her, her mother giving her a stern look as she placed a chipped white plate in front of her with one small scone and a mug of tea. "Honestly, why am I serving you, miss? I am not your serving lady!"
She sighed, raising the mug to her lips, glancing at her mother over the rim. "I know Mother, I do apologize. I have just woken up, forgive me." She spoke with a cool and even tone simply dripping with dignity and maybe a drop or two of sarcasm. She raised an eyebrow, her least favorite feature, always oddly dark and thick. "Was there something else you wanted to tell me, Mother?" she asked, taking a sip of her tea. She wrinkled her nose ever so slightly.
Her mother glanced at the mug for a moment, noticing the look of discontentment on her daughter's face. "We're running out of tea leaves… and flour," she added, glancing at the tiny scone. "I needed to use some to make mine. But I do want you to do something for me. Go to the market for me today. I spoke with Mrs. Bonnefoy, she would be grateful if you went with Françoise."
Alice rolled her eyes as her mother turned her back. The French girl was quite a handful. Lovely maybe, but promiscuous and overly flirty and overall not Alice's idea of a proper lady in the slightest. She was a young woman who had fled Paris before the fall of her homeland and landed in Portsmouth. Alice's mother befriended Francoise's mother, and the girls had been paired together often as of late. The girls were somewhat friends, but were always at odds. Their personalities could not be more different.
"If you insist," she muttered quietly, munching her scone daintily. Her mother's cooking skills bothered her greatly. While no great chef, her mother was decent in the kitchen… and rather to say, Alice was not. At all. Her mother didn't let her cook in this time of food being tight because Alice could somehow manage to mess up toast.
She sighed, standing up. "I suppose I should get going then, before it runs out for the day," she pointed out, washing her dish quickly and walking back in the direction of her room to fetch her scuffed black leather pumps. Her mother simply nodded, turning her attention back to the stove and the radio. Sometimes Alice didn't really understand why her mother paid so much attention anymore. Alice cared just as much as the rest of them about the war, but sometimes depressing news was the last thing she wanted to hear. Sometimes, enough was enough.
"I'll be back soon, Mother," she called at the door after grabbing the ration vouchers on the countertop. Her mother gave a hum of acknowledgement as Alice shut the door gently. Now to Francoise's flat, on the second floor, the floor below Alice's. She stepped down the stairs quietly, being mindful of the other residents. She didn't want anyone else to be awoken like she had been, in an unpleasant fashion. On the correct floor, she knocked quietly on the plain wooden door, bracing herself for the impact.
"Alice!" a smooth and accented voice cried as the door flew open and Alice found herself half tackled by 8 stones of Frenchwoman. She cringed ever so slightly as Francoise kissed her on both cheeks – a French custom, to be fair, but Alice was English. And the offending girl had a tendency to be a little too enthusiastic with her lips for Alice's liking.
"Get off."
Francoise let out a tinkling laugh as she relinquished the irritated young woman from her grip. She stepped back and looked over Alice, her sapphire blue eyes sparkling with amusement. Her light brown hair was up in an elegant bun and she was sporting her ever present amethyst cloak with a dark turquoise blouse and a ridiculously impractical rosy pink skirt. Alice rolled her eyes. The girl always had to be the fashionable one, even in times like this. Her frivolous tastes bothered Alice to no end. They were going to the store, not to meet the Queen.
"I apologize, mon cher, I am just 'appy to see you. I 'ave been in thiz dreary appartement for too long, I fear," She informed Alice, leaning against the doorframe lazily. Alice glanced over her shoulder with disinterest, noting the ever present scent of wine and roses that always seemed to emanate from Francoise and her home.
"Whatever you say. Let's go now. I don't want to get there too late." She grabbed Francoise's gloved wrist and started to pull her away from her door. The brunette had a second to shout an 'au revoir, mere' to her mother and slam the door shut before Alice had her halfway down the hall and steering towards the stairs.
"Ma cherie, what iz your rush? Eet iz a beautiful day!" Francoise gushed once they were out of their building and headed down the cracked asphalt towards the harbor. Alice flinched as Francoise flung an arm around her shoulder. "Just enjoy eet for once, eh? You need to relax, far too often you seem to… 'ow may I say… 'ave a steek up your pretty leetle derriere."
Alice's eyes flew open at the insult. She glared at Francoise with her mouth hanging open for a few moments. "I do not! Just because I'm not a bit of skirt like you doesn't mean I have a stick up my arse!"
Francoise simply smirked at the insult. "Maybe you need one," she retorted back smoothly, laughing in a less than appropriate manner. Her laughter only increased as she started running, running away from a furiously blushing and annoyed Alice trying to take a swing at her arm, gasping that Francoise would say such a thing. Melodious laughter broke the morning stillness of the air as they ran towards the port.
Alice finally ran out of wind somewhere near the boardwalk, gasping for air for a moment. Straightening up, she looked over the harbor, still breathing heavily. The humid sea air coated her tongue with a salty sheen and filled her nose with the smells of ocean brine and smoke from the ships pulling in and out. The harbor and dockyard were the pride of the town. The people of Portsmouth were proud of their use as a naval base, despite the hardships it brought. The bombings were fresh in the soil and memories alike, but, like all of England, they held strong. Alice was filled with a deep rooted English pride to call this place home.
"Are you steel mad at me, Alice? Or can we go to ze shop without further incident?" a French-accented voice said beside her suddenly, causing Alice to jump ever so slightly.
"Without further incident, my arse… you started it…" Alice grumbled, brushing past her friend. Francoise took a look at the harbor as well and sighed, frowning for just a moment. Her home was across that stretch of mine infested water… she shrugged lightly and turned to follow Alice.
The two walked in silence for a few minutes, Alice not being really one to start a conversation and Françoise having already had her fun. The girls simply walked side by side, bypassing other citizens of the town and the occasional crumbly lot, like the one across the street from their flat building. They were almost to the store when something caught the lovely blue eyes of the older one. She grabbed Alice's arm and pointed out to the harbor again. "Alice, look. Ze soldiers."
She glanced over with mild interest. Sure enough, a tanker was anchored in the port. Alice narrowed her eyes, trying to see it clearer. An American ship.
Alice shrugged. "We get tankers here all the time. It's best to stay away from them," she advised, pulling Francoise along. Americans didn't come here too often, but it was a similar story to any other soldiers. Respect them, thank them and keep your young virgins away from them.
"But why, Alice?" Françoise whined. "I 'ave heard such wonderful theengs about ze Americans. 'ow 'andsome and brave zey are… and 'ow rich," she added, her eyes glinting in a way that Alice knew shouldn't be trusted.
"I am sure those accounts exaggerate greatly," Alice responded dryly. "They are no more handsome and brave than our soldiers… and our soldiers aren't so obnoxious and rude anyway."
"Why are you against ze Americans? You don't know any of zem."
"Why are you for them? You don't know any either."
Francoise shrugged. "Touché," she admitted. "Now come on. You were ze one who wanted to get to ze shop so badly, oui?" she reminded Alice, gripping her wrist. Ignoring any protests Alice might have been spewing, Francoise started pulling her along the road again. "We are almost zere."
She stopped just a block or so from the store, looking at it with interest. Alice, having finally pried herself out of Francoise's grip, glared at her. "What? What are you looking at now?" she asked irritably. Francoise just smirked, pointing at the front of the shop. Alice turned her head to where she was pointing and narrowed her eyes. "Damn."
Several young men were standing outside the store, passing cigarettes among them, simply talking and laughing, perhaps just a little loud for the morning. Their tan uniforms were unmistakable, a little unfamiliar but unmistakable. Even from a block away, she could hear their voices, different accents mingling in the air – Brooklyn, Boston, Connecticut, Texas. The Americans were here.
"Bloody wonderful…" Alice mumbled under her breath.
She was jerked forward again even more enthusiastically by Francoise, her friend already with a broad smile on her lovely face. Whenever the French girl smiled, Alice knew she should start worrying. "Whatever it is you're thinking, no! Didn't you hear what I said just a moment ago?"
"Je regrette, but I never do, Alice. Just calm down and enjoy yourself."
Alice pulled away. "I don't like to 'enjoy myself' the way you do! And I came here for an actual reason, not to fool around with the bloody Americans!" She started walking away from the Frenchwoman briskly, leaving her snickering in the middle of the sidewalk. Oh, if she had anything to say about it, she was going to.
Holding her breath against the cigarette smoke billowing around the entrance to the store, Alice walked in, blatantly ignoring the soldiers. The bell above the door tinkled as she pushed in, looking around at the small shop. The wooden shelves were sparsely lined with goods, most in small cardboard boxes. There were very few cans on the shelves. Metal was scarce and being concentrated to the factories. Alice sighed a little at the sight.
"Zat was very rude, ma cherie, leaving me in ze middle of ze street like zat," Francoise said suddenly, breaking the stillness beside Alice. She jumped, having not heard the girl come up beside her. Alice was somewhat surprised. She would have thought Francoise would have been outside longer with the damn Americans.
She brushed her off, going off to find the items her mother requested. Tea leaves and flour, was it? Turning down the aisle for the baking needs, Alice was disheartened by just how low the store was. There were but several smaller bags left on the low shelf. She fished the vouchers out of her pocket, checking them. They could afford two bags this week. Alice grabbed two bags and moved on to the next aisle. Now then, where was the tea located again?
She hadn't been paying too much attention to the murmurings coming from the next section. However, rounding the corner, she would have wished she had paid attention to the fact that people were back there, as she blindly walked into someone, a bag of flour slipping from her arms in surprise.
Alice stepped back, watching a hand quickly dip down to catch the escaped bag… and promptly miss, the bag thudding to the floor anyway.
"Heh. Aw damn. I tried, man," a voice sounded, presumably from the owner of the hand. Alice glanced up from the ground as the stranger scooped up the bag anyway, bringing it up to his chest. "Sorry about that, sweetcheeks."
The owner of said hand and of failing reflexes was a young man. Alice glanced at him, blinking once or twice. The most prominent feature about him was his eyes. His eyes were a brilliant cerulean sky blue, shining out from behind his wire silver framed glasses. They were smiling and friendly and full of optimism that one didn't see around here that much anymore, especially in such concentrations. They were minimally obscured by the occasional stray lock of hair, streaking across his forehead in sheens of golden brown, the color of wheat fields on a breezy summer day. One lock poked up above his forehead in an oddly shaped cowlick. His face was lightly tanned along his smooth skin down to his mouth, which broke into a bright grin at the girl in front of him. His smile was dazzling. Most of him was.
It figured that the last thing Alice noticed about him was his uniform. Tan with leather boots, along with a dark brown leather bomber jacket that must have been just for his personal preference. All in all, an American military uniform.
"I believe this is yours," the American said, handing out the package of flour. Alice only now realized that she hadn't said anything yet, just staring at him this whole time.
She blinked again, standing up straight and up to her full height – which was still a good seven centimeters shorter than him. "Of course it is," she replied stiffly, taking the package back gingerly, looking it over. Good, it wasn't broken. "Mind out next time," she warned, trying to brush past him.
"Hey! I said I was sorry, sweetheart," he insisted, moving somewhat to the side.
Alice stopped walking for a moment, not turning her back. "Don't call me that, git."
He laughed. "Wait. What's that mean anyway?"
She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the shelves in front of her. If he didn't know, than he was one. Typical Yank. Now then, where were those tea leaves?
"Wait." He placed a hand on her shoulder, causing Alice to stiffen and recoil. Who did he think he was, touching her? She spun around, irritation rolling off of her in waves. The dumb American was still smiling, completely oblivious. "While you're here, mind telling me where the coffee is?"
Alice raised an eyebrow at him. Coffee? Ick. "I don't know," she told him icily.
"Eet ees right down 'ere," another voice purred. Alice looked behind her, finding Francoise at the end of the aisle, batting her eyelashes at the American. She shook her head dismissively, finally seeing her tea on the topmost shelf. Here she went already, chatting him up.
The good leaves were on the highest shelf. Curse her shortness. She stood up on her toes, reaching for the top. One box was just within her fingertips when it was snatched away from her. "Hey, I was-"
The box was being held out to her. She stood down, glaring at the holder in suspicion. That soldier was holding the box out to her, giving her that dazzling smile again. Alice blinked. How could anyone's teeth be that blindingly white?
"Here you are, doll."
Alice warily plucked the box from his hand once she got her senses back. His smile never went away, though he turned back to Francoise. "So, where's the coffee?"
She shook her head, taking the box in her arms and starting away towards the cash register. Francoise was going to take care of him, all right. However, she didn't get very far, almost running into another man in a similar uniform. Alice stepped back in shock. For a split second she thought she was seeing double. This man before her looked just like the other. Upon closer inspection however, it wasn't. This one did look very similar, to be fair, but everything was slightly off. He was a little shorter than the other. His hair was just a little wavier and a little longer and a little blonder. His skin was a shade paler and his eyes were more of a periwinkle than a sky. And of course he was sans jacket.
He stepped back faster than Alice had. "Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. His voice was much softer than the other man's. Alice sniffed. This soldier seemed to have more manners, at least. He stepped to the side quickly, leaving room for Alice to pass by unopposed.
She turned slightly, sighing in annoyance at Francoise's actions, gabbing animatedly with the young soldier, batting her eyes and everything. Alice scoffed. "Francoise, are you coming? Your mother wanted you home, I recall." Technically, it was Alice's mother that wanted her daughter home. Whatever.
Francoise tore her eyes away from the American, giving Alice a pouty face. "Must we? I am 'aving a good time," she whined, glancing back at the man beside her suggestively. Alice glowered at her.
"Yes, we must. And I don't give a flying fuck if you're having a 'good time', you can have a good time with someone else."
Alice didn't expect the louder American to burst out laughing. She turned her piercing gaze onto him. "What are you laughing at, git? I didn't do anything funny."
"That's what you think," he snickered. He put a fist on his waist, leaning against the shelf. "I thought you limeys were supposed to be all proper and polite and shit. All ladies and stuff."
Francoise laughed, putting an arm on his shoulder. "Ah, don't let looks deceive you, mon cher. Ma petit Alice, zough she likes to pretend, iz not much of a proper lady." Her eyes were twinkling, enjoying every moment of riling her friend up a bit.
Alice's eyes widened. How dare that little frog!... "I am more of a proper lady than you will ever be, thank you very much, you bloody skank!" she gasped. Francoise raised a delicate eyebrow, mildly impressed as Alice turned to storm away. Again though, she was interrupted by laughter. It was that damn American again. She just curled her hands into fists and kept walking before a hand stopped her.
She glared daggers at the man as he was still laughing. Eventually he straightened up, looking at Alice with amusement. "You're a fiery dame, aren't you? It's cute." Before Alice could say anything, the loudmouth kept on talking. "It's Alice, right?" He stuck his hand out, his blinding smile growing so large his cheeks might break off. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, American hero!" he announced loudly. Without waiting for Alice to move her own arm, Alfred grabbed her hand and gave it a little kiss on the back.
Her eyes widened even more as her cheeks grow pink rapidly. She retracted her hand as fast as possible. "What in the bloody hell was that?" she sputtered, wiping her hand on her dress. Most people she knew didn't do that… and besides, it was so unexpected.
Alfred looked over at his lookalike companion, looking a little frustrated after the rejection. "Man, I thought these guys did that over here."
"Well, it's not like you exhaustedly researched British etiquette before getting on the boat." He sighed, looking very used to the antics of his companion. He turned to Alice, looking sheepish. "I apologize for him. He always does this." He glanced behind her at Francoise. "Je m'excuse pour mon ami ici."
Francoise got a bemused look on her face. She stepped away from the noisier one and sidled up to the aurora-eyed blond. "Oh, a fellow speaker of ze language of love. Mon nom est Françoise, et le vôtre?"
She attached herself to the man's arm, already chattering away in French. The man looked shocked, like he was surprised that she had taken such notice of him. Perhaps he was unused to the attention? Francoise started leading him away, talking animatedly in French, pausing every few moments to let him get a word in edgewise. Alice turned the other way. Unfortunately, she did not get very far before the bloody remaining American tried to keep talking to her with that stupid gorgeous smile still present on his face.
"So, wait, Alice, is it? Would you-"
Alice spun around, her naturally limited patience already having run out. She glared at him coldly. "Listen, Yank. I'm not here to amuse you. Why don't you take your friend and head back to that oh so glamorous battlefield of yours and have your fun there?" Alice spun around on her heels and left the aisle quickly to go to the register.
Alfred leaned against a shelf, watching her go in confusion, his expression one of a kicked puppy. "I was just going to ask what aisle the cream was in…"
She stormed to the cashier, angrily tossing the slightly intimidated girl the vouchers. The young woman at the counter eyed Alice warily as she checked out the vouchers and placed the items in a small brown bag. Alice took the bag in one arm, keeping the other free for tearing Francoise away from her soldier. "Francoise. Now," she ordered, pulling her friend away from the blond man over Francoise's protests. "Good day now," she muttered to the bewildered blond as she pulled the Frenchwoman into the street.
"Zat was so rude, Alice!" Francoise pretended to gasp. "What did you do that for, eh? We were just talking! Surely even you are not zo prudent zat you would not even allow me to speak to a man!"
Alice just glared at her. "They were not just men. They are American soldiers."
"Zo? What do you 'ave against zem anyway? Mine was perfectly nice!"
Alice stopped walking, putting a hand out in front of Francoise. Her eyes were frozen over with bitterness as she stared at the stunned brunette. "Listen to me. Those stupid young Americans know nothing. They are overpaid, overfed, oversexed and over here where they shouldn't be. I would sooner they head over to the mainland where the real action they crave so much is."
She dropped her hand, leaving Francoise once again in the street as she shifted her bag to her other arm and walked away up the boardwalk. The sooner those damn soldiers were gone, the happier she'd be.