Realistic or Modern M*A*S*H 1x1 RP w/ hellomydear

[Lumpkinz11]

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Possible Backstory/Setting
"The M*A*S*H 4077 is more than just a medical facility; it is a vibrant tableau of human resilience and friendship. Picture a bustling tent filled with the sounds of medical equipment, the chatter of nurses and doctors, and the distant rumble of artillery. As the sun rises over the camp, the scent of brewed coffee wafts through the tents, a comforting routine that fuels the group for another day of saving lives amidst the relentless chaos of war.

Each evening, as darkness cloaks the camp, the 4077 crew gathers around a campfire sharing war stories laced with laughter and camaraderie. In those moments, the burdens and traumas of their jobs melt away—if only for a little while, allowing friendships to strengthen and spirits to soar."​

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Character - Username
Hawkeye by Lumpkinz11
Mabel Slaymaker by hellomydear​

1x1 with hellomydear

DNP unless you are us; please, message me for anything ​

 

[Lumpkinz11]

In the heart of this war-torn landscape, amidst the chaos and cacophony that define my life at the mobile army surgical hospital, I find a moment of solace. I’m Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, but everyone calls me Hawkeye. I like to think of myself as an antidote to the madness that envelops us all.

As the sun dips low on the horizon, casting long shadows over our makeshift operating tables, I lean casually against a metal gurney, lost in my thoughts and a dog-eared copy of Henry Miller’s latest novel. My blue eyes, sharp and perceptive, tell a story of their own, revealing a depth that often surprises people when they first meet me. Dressed in my olive-drab military fatigues, I carry a cocky charisma that seems to break down barriers, endearing me to both patients and my fellow staff.

The sound of laughter wafts from the nearby mess tent, a mix of good-natured camaraderie and cynical banter. It’s a familiar comfort in this environment, where humor often serves as both a shield and a balm. As I thumb through the pages of the novel, I can't help but let a smile creep across my face, knowing that even amid the turmoil, we all find ways to laugh.

Lately, I find myself laughing, mingling, and enjoying things less. My friend, BJ Hunnicutt, insists this new shipment of nurses and staff will lift my spirits, but I am more hesitant. Closing the book in my hands, I let up on the metal gurney, and eye it; sitting down, the metal creaks and shifts under my weight.​

 

[hellomydear]

This place is like an inclusive resort compared to the aid stations and small camps set up in the front lines. I couldn't believe how clean it was and it was so quiet. Peaceful almost. If I'm delusional enough to escape the reality of where I am, I could get cozy here. Clean bed, private tent, and apparently the male doctors are nice to look at according to some nurses I've spoken with on my way into the 4077th. Key word: Male. I'd be the only female doctor. Not anything I'm not used to. The jeep pulled up in front of the OR and I was incredibly grateful to stretch my legs. I straightened out the skirt of my brown dress uniform and adjusted my hat, standing in a small huddle of other women that would be falling under the responsibility of Margaret Houlihan. Me on the other hand... I have no idea who will be in charge of me.

The young man with glasses held a clipboard, he was fumbling over his words as he spoke to me. I'm not that scary and intimidating, am I? My attention was taken from the young man who claimed to be named Radar after several attempts to introduce himself as a company clerk as my eyes are met with the tall dark haired man approaching the huddle of ladies. I can already tell he's sizing each one of us up to take his pick of the litter, so to speak. I rolled my eyes and looked away, returning my attention back to Radar as he gestured vaguely at the mess hall, showers, Post-Op, OR, and the small tent across from a place he referred to as 'The Swamp,' which would be my quarters. I'm not quite a major, not a nurse, not a captain. The army didn't have many female surgeons and they had no idea what to do with them most of the time.

 

[Lumpkinz11]

Just then, my thoughts are interrupted by a spirited conversation among the newcomers, particularly one voice that stands out - the clean, seemingly cold woman. Her words mingle with the sounds of the camp, and I catch phrases like “clean bed.” She seems so fresh, so naive to the true nature of this place. I chuckle to myself, amused by her observation, wondering if she really is delusional enough to believe she could escape the realities of where she is. I had no idea of her past, but I was keen on assuming the plight of women. She stands in a group of peers, presenting herself with a confidence that turns heads, but I can see the uncertainty lurking beneath the surface.

As her attention is drawn away from the nervous young man named Radar—who seems to have stumbled into this world with a clipboard instead of a scalpel—my interest piques. This woman is striking, not just in appearance but in the way she navigates the tension of this camp. It’s evident she knows the drill, but I can tell she’s holding back. I make my way over, curious to see what kind of spark lies behind her keen eyes.

“Hey there,” I say, my voice carrying a hint of playful confidence. “If you’re looking for some camaraderie, you’ve come to the right place. I might not be able to offer a clean bed, but I promise we can fill the quiet moments with laughter—even if it’s the gallows kind.”

She meets my gaze with perceptive eyes. I see a flicker of something—curiosity, a challenge, perhaps even relief .

“Name’s Hawkeye,” I continue, extending a hand. “And I assure you, I’m more than just a pretty face—though I can hardly speak for the other doctors.”​