Eine In der Kammer ("One in the Chamber") Whirlwind & M.Project only

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Apollyon, Jan 6, 2015.

  1. "Albert Einstein once said...Technological progress is like an axe in the hands of pathological criminal. It took me a while to get what he was saying; How often have we chased the dream of progress, only to see that dream perverted? More often than not, haven't the machines we built to improve life shattered the lives of millions?I used to be one of these forsaken people. Always looking past the things I was doing, and never back at what I had done. But how far, I wonder, must we go before we as a whole see what we've done to ourselves."

    Wilhelm gingerly grasped the barb wire fence, staring out vacantly towards their periphery. It was almost as if he were waiting for someone. Someone he knew wouldn't come. The chill of the December evening air wracked his body with pain. It had bee several months since his capture by his own Germans--even less time than that had come to pass for them to find him guilty. Guilty they said, of treason. Harboring Jews, and even helping the enemy escape. That's what the back aches, the high fevers, the hacking and coughing, the muscle aches, the nausea and vomiting--the typhus was for.

    Yet, even now as he passed his bowl of rotten potates and gruel onto a child standing inline; with a gentle ruffle of the girls hair an a faint smirk he wondered if she could see him now. Lorraine Manon. He wondered, if it was for naught; saving what lives he could manage to spare with his now bony, malnourished fingers. He couldn't possibly make up for the damage his people had done. It was all he could do to atone for his own crimes.

    " It's in our Nature to want to rise above our limits. Think about it. We were cold, so we harnessed fire. We were weak, so we invented tools. Every time we met an obstacle, we used creativity and ingenuity to overcome it. The cycle is inevitable... but will the outcome always be good? I guess that will depend on how we approach it. These past few months, I was challenged many times, but more often then not, didn't I try to keep morality in mind, knowing that my actions didn't have to harm others? In the past, we've had to compensate for weakness, finding quick solutions that only benefit a few..."

    It was colder now. Wilhelm, along with twenty others were stripped bare and herded like cattle into a chamber that looked no different than a shower room. Yet, even Wihelm's dull, listless eyes could tell those were no shower heads. Those were spouts for releasing Zyklon B, a form of hydrogen cyanide. In the dark, all alone he heard coughing and wheezing. The cries of little children and the strained voices of their parents trying desperately to console them. Shutting his eyes slowly, he let the tears fall silently.

    God...what had he been doing all this time....?

    -Several months earlier-​
    #1 Apollyon, Jan 6, 2015
    Last edited: Jan 6, 2015
  2. “So, it’s Lorraine and Mathieu going in?” their sort of leader said. Those amongst them nodded, and Lorraine picked up some envelopes, adjusting them and letting them click on the table as she did so.

    “I hope we have snipers who will be close by?” she asked skeptically, annoyed she wouldn’t be behind the guns this time.

    “Two, but others will be there just in case. Don’t act suspicious and there will be no use for them,” the man, named Théodore spoke up again. Lorraine made a ‘tsk’ noise with slightly snarled lips, standing and pushing away from the table.

    “Come on Mathieu,” she mumbled quietly, walking out of the home turned ‘command center’, where they would meet, go over plans, and held their weapons.

    Today, Lorraine wore a silky crème blouse, tight on her arms and looser at the bodice, tucked into a pencil skirt that reached just below her knees. Her dark hair was straight and smooth, and makeup actually made an appearance on her normally clean face. Her sister had too much fun dolling her up that morning, and Lorraine had to draw the line at curling her hair before escaping the blonde girl’s manicured clutches and racing out their door.

    Mathieu she had worked with on numerous occasions. Son of a farmer, he wasn’t the brightest, but he was intimidating in stature and made a good escort. He was also great with a handgun and had a nice face, so he was usually used for photos and small runs into Caens. Like today. Theodore had insisted Lorraine drop off the letters containing information to be sent to Britain, considering she wrote them and she was rather inconspicuous to the Germans, but had also wanted her sent with an escort. She’d protested mildly, but decided it wasn’t the worst idea in the end and agreed.

    For now, her nude heels clipped the sidewalk, Mathieu keeping pace behind her as she entered Caen. German soldiers were practically on every street corner, and it was only a matter of minutes before two halted her and her companion, demanding papers. Lorraine sighed in annoyed fashion, making one of the Germans frown and the other smirk. She carefully opened her clutch and pulled out her ID, as the purse also held her letters and a small loaded purse gun. She closed it back while the smirking one checked it, while the more serious one stared at Mathieu’s ID.

    “I’ve seen you…” the German said, as his companion handed Lorraine back her ID. Her eyes slowly went to Mathieu as she put away her identification, raising a brow.

    “Oh where?” the farmer’s son chuckled nervously.

    “On anti-German propaganda, that’s where,” the man said gruffly starting for Mathieu while Lorraine looked genuinely alarmed at this turn of events. She quickly took a step back, reaching into her purse when Mathieu pulled out his own gun and fired, killing one of the men. Lorraine looked for somewhere to hide, quickly spotting a postage box. She sat behind it as heavy boots rushed past her and gunfire began going off like rockets. She peeked around and caught the eye of the still living guard.

    “Get her! She was with him!” the man shouting. Her lips became an O as she quickly stuffed the white letters into the box, getting up and slipping out of her heels before running for her life.
  3. May 6th, 1944

    It was a hot summer day like any other. A cool breeze passed through empty streets. Eyes peering out of windows, the eyes of those who refused to leave their homes despite the threat beholden to them. A threat from both the Allies and the Panzergruppe West. The Americans had seized the beaches of Normandy; silencing their 88 Flak anti-aircraft guns and their coastal batteries.Now the British and Canadian forces were making headway for Caen. The largest city in Normandy France. The world was...on its knees. So much blood the once crystalline beach heads that sparkled and shone drenched in the blood of hundreds of sons. With each wave crest splashing, like he could almost hear their mother's crying out against him--he'd seen it all before. In a place so cold it froze your words in your mouth. It made you stammer uncontrollably.

    Albrecht placed a hand where a hole in his chest used to be. Caused by shrapnel from an exploding tank while he was trying to drag one of his men to safety. It always hurt right before a battle since then. Like the registered what was going on. It would even start to bleed when he shot and killed someone. His heart was throbbing harder and harder. Even still, he walked about the empty streets, once bustling and full of life. Buildings from the Middle ages--monuments to humankind's engineering marvels in the foreground while the light blue skies took a back seat. He wasn't like any German officer, he liked to be in the thick of things. His rank of Leutant was equivocal to Lieutenant.

    He stopped, staring down a bare cobblestone street. His intuition told him the Allies would come through here. But a splinter in his mind, thought: "I wonder if I will will be able to see here again..? What was her name? Lorraine."

    It was a travesty;to be content just before a large battle. Whatever was he thinking? But it was all he had left TO think about except for how to kill, how to shed blood--how to sow discord.

    He looked up, heaven bound and shut his eyes. The heat of the sun didn't warm him the way her eyes had. The stars could not match them. The heavens didn't have the constellations that the freckles on her face could make. And that smile, when she did--it was blinding like a super nova...

    May 1st, 1944

    "Leutant! The city's secure, sir!" The man came to a complete stop, became rigid and saluted.

    "Thank you, are the batteries in place and functioning?"Albrecht questioned.

    "Yes, Leutant! Things are moving smoothly." The Unteroffizier replied remaining saluting.

    A shot rang out, raising Albrechts head as he blinked calmly. Shortly after, several more followed.

    "That doesn't sound like things are going as smoothly as you had told me. There should be no live fire exercises in the city." Albrecht sighed, placing on his cap and straightening his grey uniform upon which various medals dangled. There was even a Knights Cross awarded to holders of the Iron Cross to recognize extreme battlefield bravery or outstanding military leadership.

    Marching out of the forward command, his black polished boots clicking the ground. He withdrew his Kongsberge Colt, cocked it and held it down by his side. As soon as he came upon the chaotic scene--he lifted the .45 caliber handgun and fired whilst stepping forwards. This shot would whiz by the boys head maybe even glancing his cheek. The impeccable aim was deliberately misplaced, it was meant to warn not to kill. The next three shots that came after danced around the young man; hopefully calling for a retreat before he had to shoot him in the leg and capture him.

    It was not something he wanted to do--but something he might very well have to.


    Sorry! Was sick and busy. @_@ Thanks for the words of encouragement though. :D
  4. “Merde!” came the cry of Mathieu as a bullet grazed his cheek. His hand instantly went to his face, and there was hesitation in his feet. During that moment, several more bullets whizzed by and he turned around quickly, throwing his hands up. “Alright, alright! Don’t shoot!” he growled angrily, a drip of red moving towards his jaw. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the German officers heading after Lorraine and he felt his heart race, turning his face completely that way. “Hey! Get off her tail she has no idea about me! I just gave her a lift into town!” he shouted, but since he’d stopped, one of the men grasped his arm, ignoring his words and twisting Mathieu’s appendage until the handgun fell from his fingers and hit the ground. It sounded like a thousand bricks to the now captured Frenchman, sighing heavily. He had to be convincing enough to make these German’s believe the man he’d killed was in self-defense, and he’d never had anything to do with the French Revolution. I’m done for he thought with another sigh while cuffs wrapped coldly about his wrists. His only true hope was that he would be rescued. Yes, he would hold onto that.

    Lorraine’s panting cut the calm French air, the soft padding of her hosed feet pitter pattering away from the heavy boots following her. Part of her was looking for a way back to Mathieu, to help him. She knew these streets and alleys well enough, but it was something that had been drilled into the revolutionaries minds was that if one was captured, it was best to get out of there before you were next. The good difference one of their own could make… it made more sense to leave the fallen or captured if you were alone. And apparently the ones with sniper rifles were intimidated by the number of Germans they’d have to kill to get Mathieu out, this had been part of a plan she’d been unaware of, or they were simply unable to get a clear shot to help their friend. She could only hope they had whoever was trailing her in their sights.

    The woman ran down a back alley, turning to look behind her and stepping on a shard of glass in the process. She cried out involuntarily and shouts came. Growling in frustration at herself, she pulled her gun from her purse and fired a few rounds as a German rounded the corner after her. At the whizzing bullets he retreated with a few other men back behind the corner. Her throat was burning, never a great runner, but she had her determination that verged on arrogance running through her, pushing her on as she carelessly fired another round behind her to deter her followers. Her feet took her around another corner, almost out of Caens.


    (It's no problem, glad you're better!)
  5. “Merde!" The man cried out in pain. It wasn't a mortal wound, nor was it debilitating-- it did exactly what he wanted it to. To force a retreat. At least, that was it's intent. It was strange that a superficial wound could speak volumes. Wilhem knew all too well what such a slight could do; it could break the wills of men and women alike. It could speak more in the brevity of pain, than a letter in all its words and letters could convey. Hen he saw the man throw down his weapon, and hold up his arms. Mentally, Wilhelm was screaming at him.

    "Run damn you, run! Here is your chance." The squeal of leather glove said.

    “Alright, alright! Don’t shoot!” the resistance fighter bitterly spouted. “Hey! Get off her tail she has no idea about me! I just gave her a lift into town!”

    But his face had to remain calm, cold--even distant. However, inwardly he knew..the man's life was perhaps just forfeited by this refusal. Maybe the fear of bodily injury was too great and that flight or flight instinct was just...overpowered. Wilhelm now knew he couldn't handle him easily, not in-front the others. If he was seen as sympathetic to French Resistance his men could turn him in suspicion of treason. After all, what "good" German was supposed to do, was to treat those rat bastards a thing or two about how 'superior' the Aryan race was supposed to be. This man would not like his façade. For his mask, he wore the face of a brutal, cunning man. A terribly smart man. A vindictive man--and a damn good shot to boot.

    He wasn't going to be easy on him. He couldn't be, not if he wanted to keep the man, and his self alive--at least long enough to figure out a way to save him. In walking up to Mathieu, he ruthlessly the side of the gun's handle along with several of his leather bound fingers across the man's jaw as he was held. It no doubt would bust several of his teeth, lacerate his lips and bust his nose as it sent him tumbling.

    "Shat up!" Wilhelm shouted, portraying his voice with his Munich accent with an enraged tone. He then cocked the pistol, and put his boot upon the man's throat aiming the barrel down into his face.

    "You insects like to kill Germans? How about a little eye for an eye, yes?" He then took notice of the girl fleeing and looked back down at Mathieu. "I'll kill your friend as compensation." He then let up, and yelled in German to the two others to take Mathieu to his office, tie him to a chair and watch him. Meanwhile, he stalked after Lorraine.

    It wasn't long before the veteran had caught up with her. Biding his time, he slipped through one building and out another. Heavy shelling from ships had heavily damaged the buildings in the area making it possible to navigate through them rather than around them. Eve though he weren't French or a native to Caen as a battlefield commander he had to make split decisions and couldn't always look at a map so it was memorized. This made tracking Lorraine all the more easier He had heard several gun shot. It echoed through the streets an corridors--a dead give away to here whereabouts.

    "She must've gotten desperate or trapped." He thought, moving through the rubble of another building.

    He was inadvertently avoiding snipers he was unaware of in his single minded pursuit. Some would liken him to that lone black wolf persona. When he hear heavy panting and bits of French swearing he stepped out, fleet footed, he raised his handgun and put it to the back of the woman's head abruptly--cocking the hammer.

    "Keep moving forwards," He spoke the French dialect with almost cruel perfection. " Up ahead, there will be a side road that ends in a dead end. You will take it, and we will talk about your friend."
  6. Mathieu, never having been shot before, shivered a bit as blood seeped out from his injury. But if a man looked in his face he’d be unable to see anything but ignorant strength and resistance. Soon approaching him was a man in grey uniform and heavy jackboots. The man’s intense blue eyes could look down on Mathieu’s shorter height of 6’ tall, but not by much. The farmer’s son moved his shoulders into a stiffer motion, preparing for the worst. A hard hit rocked him, sending his face turning and blood splattering from between his lips to the pavement below. Mathieu coughed in response to the German’s command to shut up, chin and mouth throbbing and he grimaced, trying not to curse more. He had gotten to his knees after the hit, afraid he was going to black out temporarily, but he began regaining his composure. He glanced up to the German with hate burning in his fierce green eyes before he wobbly stood once more. He sniffed blood back up into his nostril, breathing heavily through his lips while the man went after Lorraine. A flood of emotions ran through the French man’s expression… fear, bitterness, anger, hope she had gotten away. He kept looking back despite his head being constantly tossed forward to prevent him, until he was brought inside a building so he could no longer look back.

    Lorraine could no longer hear anyone behind her and she could see her way out of the city. She paced quickly, grimacing every now and again and muttering curses as her foot was bleeding a bit and one of her friends had been taken in. Not to mention she could no longer come back into the place she’d been to so many times it was like home. All of these thoughts got in the way of hearing the thud of Wilhelm’s feet behind her until it was too late. She pushed back her thick dark hair when the end of a gun pressed to her skull and words were spoken soft but firm in her ear. She hesitated in her escape route, knowing she could not disobey or simply be taken in or killed herself. She was a tad confused as to the motives of this person threatening her, but she had an undying spark of rebellion and hope in her chest that continued her feet forward. Body having stiffened at the suddenness of the man’s approach, she moved almost robotically in the direction he had sent her. The closer she got to the dead end though, the slower her feet became. Once she reached the last few feet, she stopped, turning around inch by inch until her dark cocoa eyes met the German officer’s blue grey orbs. She swallowed hard, noticing he was handsome but not unexpectedly so. Extremely tall in her opinion but not a body builder in stature from what she could see. Her doe eyes flickered to and fro about his form, taking in every detail she could before they went back to his face. “Are you going to kill me?” she asked. Her voice was surprisingly soft and nonchalant about the words that just escaped her. Long eyelashes fluttering as she blinked a few times, face calm and, while her nervousness was there, she seemed to carry a peace about her.
    #6 Whirlwind, Jan 28, 2015
    Last edited by a moderator: Jan 28, 2015
  7. “Are you going to kill me?” The petite and lithely woman before him asked, she was calm but he could smell her fear.

    And who wouldn't be afraid? His eyes while they might have been handsome, they were honed eyes. Intelligent and cunning eyes. It were like he were looking down a rifle scope with the cross hairs on her set to kill. Yet, he hadn't pulled the trigger just yet. He gave no indication that it was hesitation on his part, but deliberation. He could tell all she saw was the uniform, not the man. But that was fine, most did see the uniform first and the human being behind it second. This was war, and he most assuredly understood that his country was occupying hers and had taken it by storm.

    "And if there is death, then thou shalt pay life for life," He muttered in finely spoken French. " an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a hand for a hand, a foot for a foot, burning for burning, wound for wound, stripe for stripe. Book of Exodus, Chapter twenty-one, verse twenty-three through twenty-five." It would probably be a puzzling thing; a German officer pointing his side arm at her, quoting the Bible verbatim.

    Wilhelm then sighed and holstered his gun, pulling from his tunic pocket a pack of cigarettes. He plucked one out for himself, placing it between his lips before extending it towards her, offering her one. Rather she would take it or not--was completely up to her. However, despite his nonchalant and complacent character, his demeanor would yield no openings for a surprise attack to be successful. The way he stood, it was man that hadn't seen battle nor like higher officers who didn't go into the field. No, his shoulders where squared away and his feet planted firmly. He wasn't easily startled anymore; mortar bombardments, artillery shelling, air raids. These things either strip away the fear, or make someone cave into it.

    After offering her a light if she had taken his former proffer, he stuffed the lighter back in his pocket and puffed a few times before exhaling through his nose very calmly.

    "You ask, am I going to kill you--Well, should I? The answer is a very feasible yes by all means in the Third Reich." He stated, staring at her, his gloved thumb flicking the ashes away from his self.

    "You and your compatriot come here, you open fire on one of my men killing him. Why shouldn't I kill you? Your friend, he wasn't very smart. I tried to get him to run, but...he surrendered. I had to be quite rough with him. But, he's alive--for now. He should've run away. I doubt I can find an easy way out for him." Wilhelm sighed, taking a hit of the cigarette.

    "War is damn complicated. People see the ribbons and the medals and they think they are heroes. " He had looked away momentarily, but he then looked her dead in the eyes. "But even monsters can carry medals and ribbons I'm afraid. I'm not a hero, I'm not a Nazi--I'm a soldier. That's the plain and simple truth. I wear this uniform out of pride for my country, not the twisted maniacs that have hijacked it. When this whole thing began, we were poor, we were destitute--we were scared. But you give a poor man money, you give a destitute man a life and you give a scared man courage and you own them without their ever realizing it."

    He exhaled, looking down. He dropped the bud of the cigarette upon the cobble stone. "I want you to close your eyes, take a deep breath and hold out your hands. Don't open them no matter what. If you feel anything, if you hear anything--don't open then unless I say."

    Awaiting for her to do so, he upholstered his weapon, and re-cocked it. Drawing the hammer back, making that distinct terrifying click. Seconds would seem to turn into hours, minutes into lifetimes. But instead of aim at her, he aimed high pulling the trigger. A resounding 'bang' flooded the world between and around them. He caught the expended casing, holstering his side arm. He placed the bullet in one hand, and his handkerchief in the other. He then lent down sliding his knife out of his boot. He stepped behind her grabbed her hair and cut a bit off.

    "I want to know--we don't all fight for the same reasons. Then again, we do. We fight for our loved ones and our homes, we fight for what it is that we believe may be right even if its wrong in another person's eyes." He stepped away, walking past her, a hand full of her hair. "You may open your eyes," He said, half way out of the alley.

    "You are dead young lady. I will take this hair--it's best your friend think you dead for the time being. Once your friend sees it, he will hate me. And that is good, hatred can drive a man to endure terrible punishment. I can't promise anything; I am like a doctor in an ER. There are so many I can save, and others I can not. But, I'll do what I can. See to it you get that foot checked out." He then walked from the alley, heading back towards his post and back to Mathieu, to relay the news of Lorraine.
  8. Lorraine raised a heavy eyebrow at the German’s Bible verse quotation, interested in how accurate his accents were coming through. She might have been more at ease if he’d pointed the gun away from her, and finally he did holster the weapon. Her nose twitched as her instincts told her to grab her handgun once more and fire a shot point blank in his chest, but then the man pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one. Lorraine’s thoughts became muddled, evidenced by the confused frown on her face while she shook her head. “No… thank you,” she whispered, thoughts of killing him having been placed at bay while she watched him. In the peaceful quiet that fell among Caens as he puffed smoke, the French woman saw weariness from war and death in his face. It was faint, but it was nothing she’d seen close up on a Nazi’s face before. It stood out to her. And yet she could only imagine he was sparing her at the moment because she was a woman.

    She listened to his speech in silence, understanding what he meant. She had met a runaway German herself before with his family. She knew German wasn’t a synonym for monster. But the uniform this man wore always had been in her mind.

    Lorraine hesitated to acquiesce when he asked her to close her eyes and hold out her hands. It involved trust. And yet, he had her cornered so it mostly involved obeying or dying. After staring at him unsurely for the moment, she sighed and did as she was told. The sound of the gun returning made her body stiffened and pale slightly, but she did not move or open her eyes. She did jump once the gun fired, lips parting slightly and inhaling, as she hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Moments later his scent wafted close to her nose, and a tug came from her hair. The quick saw noise and release let her know he’d taken part of her hair. She frowned slightly, head tilting downwards when he spoke again. He seemed very interested in making her believe he was not evil. His reiteration almost made her suspicious, but she could not doubt that he was currently protecting her.

    At his word her round eyes opened, instantly taking in the retreating form of the soldier. “I hope we meet again,” she called out in an even natural tone. She waited briefly, half expecting the dead end to be flooded with soldiers ready to kill her or take her in anyway, but all she heard was silence. The dusty cobblestones seemed to scream out to her to leave, and so she did. Lorraine moved quickly like a cat in the shadows and left the city to reunite with those who loved her with bittersweet news.
  9. @Whirlwind

    “I hope we meet again,” That's what the girl had said to him.

    "I hope not," he thought. "I might have to kill you for real. War is an ugly thing. The deals are peaceful; history is violent." That's what he had intended to say before he left her in absolute silence, pausing only briefly when she spoke her desire to see him again.

    Afterwards, he merely sauntered onward, his gloved hand tightening around the lock of hair which he cut off as his supposed proof that he had killed Lorraine. He would have to be ruthless in his attempt at deception. He had to make it something man could believe in and hold him to. He regretted being so cruel, the war was cruel enough as it was. Unlike many, he knew what Hitler's Germany entailed; a holocaust, a genocide of the weak and unworthy--which was practically everyone. He'd been stationed at a internment camp once before. The faces of people he'd sooner die than forget. Vacant expressions; skin and bones like some skeletal nightmare.

    Those haunting gazes of a starving people, his people. They was burned into his deepest dreams, and whenever he closed his eyes, he could feel their hands tugging on him, tugging on him as though they were pulling him into that mass grave with them. He didn't want to see any more faces amongst that throng of corpses. It was one thing to kill someone with a bullet--it entirely different to starve them, make them dehydrated and work them tirelessly. He'd seen those people, felt a palpable agony that came with starvation and dehydration. Their bodies would spasm and buckle. They would then be beaten by guards for not complying. If they were lucky, they get shot. Others that weren't, they got further abuse and even experimented on.

    It disgusted him, he no longer felt pride as a German. For the people that claimed to be so, were nothing but a pack of mad men with a twisted ideology. Ever since then, he made it a goal to try and spare as many as he could. Yet, war was an ugly beast that could turn its head and spot you and for that, he sometimes had no choice. How could he help the whole if he was dead? And that's where his true sins were to be found. Sacrificing people here and there, just so he could keep deliberating on how to save the next poor soul that happened on him.

    Opening the door to his office, he found the man he had captured. A man that had to guess, wanted to throw his life away.

    "Aussteigen," He spoke in fluent German. It meant "Get out." The two soldiers nodded, and opened the door behind Wilhelm and closed it promptly thereafter.

    He walked over to his desk, Mathieu having been cuffed with his arms behind his back and sat on a chair. Wilhelm un-holstered his sidearm, and threw it on to his desk. He leaned over, withdrawing a drawer from the same desk, he pulled out a fine bourbon and a small but well suited crystal glass.

    "Avoir envie de quelque chose à boire (Care for something to drink?)?" He didn't give Mathieu time to respond. "Bien sûr que oui (Of course you do.)." He responded for him. He sat the glass right down in front of Mathieu, and poured in a honey colored bourbon.

    He eyed Mathieu, as he poured his drink. "Care for a little history?" He asked plainly. "Bourbon is so named after the Bourbon dynasty of French origin. It was a branch of the Capetian dynasty. I'm sure you know that Bourbon kings ruled in Nevarre and France. In fact, Bourbon dynasty also held thrones in Spain, Naples, Sicily, and Parma. Isn't that fascinating?"
  10. Lorraine had managed to get out of Caen without a fuss, most people shutting themselves away after hearing the gunshots, after all. She had reported back to angry and worried comrades in arms, with whom she said a prayer for Mathieu’s safety before departing from their meeting. It was best for them not to reconvene for a while. Wait, and see what would happen. Mathieu was strong, they all knew that. But they also knew how persuasive the Germans could be. And so they needed to make sure the lad wouldn’t compromise any information he had about them, their meeting areas, and so on before coming back together. In the meantime, word would be spread by individuals, going back and forth to each other’s homes usually at night to prevent being spotted and interrogated.

    Lorraine simply returned back to her home her father had built, the one she shared with an older sister who worked as a nurse in Caen. It had been useful before, having a sister knowledgeable in first aid, for Lorraine and some of the others. Though, Amelie did not like being involved in anything to do with the rebellion. So she said. Lorraine knew she wanted to help, she was just fearful. And for that she could not fault her sister.

    The blonde Manon girl was home, obviously off her shift (Lorraine never listened when Amelie spoke of her work schedule- it changed constantly so why bother?). So when her darker, younger sister arrived home, she called out from her place on the couch, a book in her manicured nails, red lipstick surrounding white teeth. “How did everything go?” her sing song voice came.

    “Um, well… the delivery was successful, however…”

    “MY SHOES! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” the older girl shouted, throwing the book onto a pillow and running over to Lorraine. She knelt down, as if double checking that the pumps had indeed disappeared, before noticing blood smeared on her sister’s dirty feet. This made her hesitate.

    “You’re hurt?” she asked skeptically. Lorraine knew the severity of her wound would lessen her sister’s anger if it were life threatening, but since it wasn’t, she was prepared to hear about this perfect pair of heels for weeks.

    “Yes,” Lorraine said firmly, quietly looking her sister in the eyes. Still frowning, but obviously admitting defeat in that she would never see her shoes again, and that her sister was more important, Amelie relented despondently.

    “Fine, let’s clean you up,” she sighed in a weary way, leading Lorraine to the tub.


    Mathieu had the look of an ignorantly determined man, head down a bit, brow heavy, and eyeing Wilhelm with suspicion while the German ordered the others out (apparently, since the farmer’s son barely knew any German). He watched the firearm clatter and alcohol come up from the desk with glasses. He raised an eyebrow at the question directed to him in surprisingly fluent French, not answering. He just looked at the glass poured for him while the German spoke, hating him every second, even if his words were nothing to hate. Not to mention, he wanted to ask about Lorraine, his comrade, but knew he could not. And so he remained silent. A cold, arrogant statue.

  11. "You want to know something else that's fascinating?" Wilhelm said coldly. He was looking outside the window, casually sipping."Bourbon isn't French--it's American."

    Wilhelm retrieved the locke of hair he'd cut off of Lorraine, brought it across his nostrils as he smelled it and the flung it down on the table in-front of the man. "Rats...always have a smell to them." He tapped the tip of his nose.

    He sat his glass down calmly on the other end of the table, and proceeded to sit in the chair opposite of Mathieu. He crossed his legs and pressed his finger tips together. "I found her in a back alley--scared, bleeding cause she had stepped on glass." He then stood up, arms folding behind his back. He walked nonchalantly behind the other man and leaned over one shoulder.

    "Her fear was...delectable."He leaned over the other shoulder. "I could feel it in her eyes, when she saw me standing there and knew...she had nowhere to go. I could very well damn taste it." Mathieu would suddenly feel a cold, leathery gloved hand grasp at his throat forcible, making his head lift straight up like Wilhelm were trying to rip it off. He made him look into his eyes.

    "But who's fault was it that she's dead? Hmm? Mine because I pulled a simple trigger--or yours for bringing her in the first place and even more so--telling her to run? I don't like having to chase vermin down. What do I look like, a dog to you?" The seriousness in his eyes could fool the devil into thinking he was about to kill the man.
  12. Mathieu rolled his eyes and gave a soft sigh that expressed his annoyance as well as his impatience to get over with whatever was about to happen to him. Being a very direct man himself, he found this German rather tedious. His stream of rather useless trivia only served to make Mathieu believe the man was attempting to cover up something.

    Of course, any devious thoughts of trying to figure him out were dismissed when the small bundle of dark locks landed on the table before him. Mathieu stared and stared, his heart beginning to race. It was Lorraine’s hair wasn’t it? It had to be. But… then the German sat and began explaining, but the more he described the scene, the flicker of anger in Mathieu’s chest began growing into a roaring, terrifyingly out of control rage. The French man spat at the German, hitting him square in the face with the wad of saliva. The farmer’s son’s face was bright red and the veins in his neck pulsated noticeably.

    “Yes, a dirty, German dog!” Mathieu said, shoulders moving up and down as he tried to break free, in vain, from his restraints to the chair and the German’s hand on his throat. His mind was racing. Lorraine would have not shown fear of this man, and yet, she might have, in her last moments. But he had not brought her along, if anything she had brought him along. And yet he still felt responsible. After all, she had brought him along for protection and all he’d done was cause her end. How? How had this happened? Remorse mixed with his anger, wide eyes moving over the German’s face. “She would have only feared death. Not you. She died proud for the revolution!” he shouted, determined to make his life mean something as well. For if she had become a martyr, he could too. He could feel the leather wrapping about his throat and knew the end could be any second. A dash of fear flickered in his eyes.