C'est La Vie

Who: Hans ot Marie-Pierre
Where: the secret apartment
When: Friday evening April 1941
What: Hans is playing the piano and feeling moody


Hans closed his eyes, and let his hands touch the keys. It had been a very long week at work, and he needed to unwind. Though having an assistant had made the work load lighter, it had also in a way caused there to be more work as he had to show Dieter the proper methods for filing certain forms, and what certain policies were, and so on. The boy seemed to catch on quickly though, and Hans was optimistic about how things would work out. But there had been a lot of extra work this week beyond that - strange shipments of fuel coming in, extra supplies requisitioned for various vaguely worded projects. Curious, but it was not in his nature to pry too closely. His survival instinct was too strong for that.

Instead, he came here to the Duck's Nest to unwind, to play the piano Marie-Pierre had given him for Nadal. He improvised a melody, a haunting tune that was a bit more dour than he had intended when he begun. Still, the notes resonated with his mood, and the piece seemed to take a life of his own. He imagined that it had a story - maybe of an Icarus-like soldier, who built wings of feathers and wax and flew away from the battlefield, only to tragically be shot down by an anti-aircraft gun. Ah, imagination...

Who: Marie ot whomever
Where: the bakery
When: April 09, 1941 - morning
What: Marie is doing business


From the back door came an urgent knock, and Marie left the shop in the capable hands of her granddaughter while she answered it.

"Emil! How are you, dear?" Marie greeted the young son of the seamstress. She'd known him since he was a child. Now a young man, he stood holding a shawl in his hands, looking somewhat distressed. The lame leg that had kept him out of both the French army and away from the forced labor of the Germans was supported by a makeshift brace. "Is everything alright with your mother?"

"Oh, she has been better. She is not doing too well..."

"I'm sorry to hear that- is she ill?" Marie frowned.

"Not ill but - business has not been good. She asks if I could maybe have some bread in exchange for one of her shawls..."

"What a lovely shawl- of course," Marie said. She took the item from him carefully. Of course, even if it had been a less-than-lovely shawl, she would have accepted the trade. Helping her neighbors was far more important in times like these. "Just a moment, and I'll pack up some bread for you."

She made sure to tuck two sweet rolls in along with the breads, and handed the bag over to him. "Give my best to your mother."

Emil thanked her profusely, and limped back down the lane. With a sigh, she watched him go a while before closing the door and returning to the front of the shop.