C'est La Vie

Who: Lucy and a random telegram delivery boy
When: 15 May 1941, supper time
What: Receiving a telegram
Rating: PG

It was just before six. The springtime sky was still light, but it would be growing dark soon. Lucy had just made a pot of tea to go with her cut of fried bread -- she was hardly every hungry anymore and lived off of tea, liquor, and cigarettes. She had just taken a seat on the sofa with the wireless when the doorbell rang. She had no idea who it could be; she wasn't expecting any visitors. Opening the door revealed a young dark-haired boy, no more than fifteen, beads of sweat on his pimply forehead.

"Lucy Thatcher?" he asked, his accent thick.

"Yes?"

"Un télégramme de Londres." He handed her a small white paper.

"Un moment," Lucy said, reaching for her small purse and digging for the fee. "Ici, et un petit supplément." She made sure to give a small tip. The boy thanked her before heading back down the stairs to the street below.

She assumed it had to be something from the office. She didn't know anyone else in London, especially after the last attack. Who could possibly be sending a telegram? With slightly shaking fingers, the blonde opened the small paper.

Who: Jackie, OT any
When: 14 May, 1941
Where: The streets of Paris

Jackie looked around, her arms prickling. She had a very bad feeling tonight. She knew that she shouldn't be outside past curfew, she knew that the situation with the soldier was just something that would go terribly wrong.

Here she was, an international singer- walking through a dark alley, afraid of what might happen. Her hands were shoved into her pocket, one of which was wrapped around something cold, and metal.

Hopefully, this would all be over soon, and she would get to her flat, and take a nice warm bath. Perhaps the soldier wouldn't be there.

Who: Lucy and Nicholas
Where: Moulin Noir
When: Sunday, 7pm
Rating: PG I'll say.

One thousand four hundred thirty-six. The number had burned itself onto the inside of Lucy's eyelids so that it was all she saw when she closed her eyes. 1,436. Dead, the whole lot. It was numbing, really. She had nearly cut her finger off with scissors that morning, but even as the blood flowed ruby red onto the newspaper in front of her, the pain never really seemed to come. The bottle of brandy that had been full yesterday morning was nearly gone now, and Lucy took the last of it before heading out to meet Nicholas.

He was the first one she had thought of when she saw the headline about the London attack. Not only was he the only British company she had in Paris (or all of France, for that matter), but she imagined that he had to be in a bad way about it, too. The walk to the Moulin Noir seemed relatively quick with everything going on in Lucy's crowded brain, and she hurriedly muttered the password before being ushered inside. Her eyes scanned the somewhat empty club for her companion. Upon not seeing him she chose a small table near the back corner of the place, lighting up a cigarette as she waited.

Who: Hans open to Eric
Where: a quiet restaurant
When: Saturday afternoon

Hans felt like a man about to make a black market deal - which in a way, he was. He had the Reichsmarks in his coat pocket, and had agreed upon a location to meet his supplier. A quiet restaurant in an area where people were not likely to care if two men spoke business and exchanged things under the table. These days, Hans had to conduct his business at lunch time - he'd just been assigned to take over Gunther Wulf's night patrol, temporarily. Wulf had been called to escort a special transport all the way to Germany, which meant until his return Hans had to take over his patrol group. Extra work, but extra pay, which was alright enough. So far there had been no trouble, at any rate - so it was just a mild inconvenience at times like this.

Dressed in civilian clothes, Hans slipped into his customary booth and waited for the American to arrive. He hoped Eric brought the goods with him - Hans' supplies were running low.

Who: Viveka ot anyone
Where: outside her house, sitting on the porch
When: sunset

Viveka watched the sun setting over the houses in the city. All the neighbors that surrounded them, and she knew not a single person but Adi. She was too afraid to make friends, the way things were. Any neighbor, even one who seemed friendly, could notice something suspicious and make a report. If they were investigated, would her papers hold up? She didn't want to take a chance. Still, when Adi was at work, she was so lonely. How she longed for the friendliness of the village she'd grown up in, where everyone had known each other. People visited daily there, and if someone walked down the street - they were greeted by everyone they passed.

Not here in Paris. No one waved, or stopped to say hello. No one had come to welcome them to the neighborhood. The isolation of the city seemed ironic - that a population so large should be so unfriendly. But maybe they were all afraid - after all, Adi was a Nazi. An architect, granted - but when he wore his uniform to work, he looked the same as any other. Perhaps this more than anything kept the neighbors away.

The colors of the setting sun reflected in the windows of the building across the street and caught her eye. At least the sun was still the same - that was some comfort. The same sunset, no matter what the crazy state of the world it set upon.

Who: Anton ot anyone
Where: Jardin du Luxembourg
When: May 07, 1941


Having secured a few days furlough for a job-well-done, Anton dressed in plain clothes and looked for a quiet place to enjoy the day. He settled on the Jardin du Luxembourg, where the flowers were in bloom and the grass was green and lush. A perfect place to unwind and enjoy the day. He'd brought a bit of lunch with him, and some writing supplies and postcards he'd picked up in the city. While eating his sandwiches, he'd write a few notes on the back of them to send home.

He unwrapped his first sandwich, and chose a postcard he'd picked up on his visit to the Eiffel tower. He chewed thoughtfully on the ham-and-cheese while pondering who would like this card best. Maybe his sister, though he had to admit to himself that he didn't much know her tastes in things. Growing up, he hadn't had much time for the little-tag-along. He vowed that if they both survived this war, he would be a better brother and spend more time with her.

Dear Hannah, he wrote. Paris is interesting. Food is okay, language is dreadfully hard. He was studying the language, and making a bit of progress - but communication was still difficult at best. Hope you are well and happy. Love from your brother Anton.

He eyed the card critically, wondering if he should have written more.

Who: Jackie OT Vito
Where: Jackie's flat
When: Saturday afternoon

Jackie had a little bit of time left in her afternoon- and she was going to have a guest at her flat. She used what coffee she had left, and had a fresh pot on. A few cookies sat on an old silver tray.

Her flat was decorated with various things she had acquired on her travels, and even a few pieces of exotic furniture.

Her cat growled softly, as she sat and waited.

She had to talk to him about something important.

Who: OPEN
When: Evening, 4th May 1941
Where: le Moulin Noir
Summary: Anouk hits the Moulin.
Incomplete

She hadn't been here in weeks. Since the war had kicked off the artistes had moved onto greener pastures, leaving the real enigmas to their turf.

( Swordfish )

Who: Faust, Alain, Victoire, Fancy OPEN
When: Wee hours of the morn, May 1st 1941.
Where: The Black Death Tavern, via Paris rail depot.
Summary: Faust oversees an operation before taking a nightcap.
Incomplete

This was not a part of the job that he particularly enjoyed. For one he was required to wear uniform. The tight collar scratched at his neck irritably.

( not a creature was stirring )

Current Time: May, 1941- any post within the month of May is acceptable! Please try to keep them somewhat chronological. If you have posts from April still going on, that's okay- just finish them up at your leisure then move on to May.

Current Curfew: The current curfew lasts from 10 pm to 6 am. During the night, inhabitants have to close their shutters or windows. Without Ausweis (authorization), it is forbidden to go out during the night. Special permissions are getting harder to come by, and the rules are getting stricter.

Current Rations:10 oz (280 g) of bread, 4 oz (114 g) of sugar, 2 oz (50g of cheese), 13 oz (360g) of meat, 6oz (170 g) spaghetti, 1.5oz (43 g) rice per day and 3 oz (85 g) of margarine per week per person. Supply problems affect many stores. The queues in front of shops are frequently lengthy.

Current Exchange: The current exchange rate is twenty French francs to one Reichsmark. Reichsmarks are the official currency of the occupation, and are both coin and paper currency.

Current Laws: Some important laws to remember - Curfew; Citizens must carry papers at all times; citizens must use ration books to purchase materials that are in short supply; Jews must wear a yellow star sewn on to their clothing to identify them at a glance; Jews must take the last carriage on the Paris Metro.

The Vichy government encourages all citizens to report suspicious activities of neighbors,visitors, and family members to their local Gestapo office.

Current Dangers:
Obligatory Work Service (Service du Travail Obligatoire or STO ) frequently requisitions and transfers French workers to Germany against their will for the German war effort (factories, agriculture, railroads, etc) in work camps. Avoiding being picked up for this is a wise idea.

Patrols are on the streets asking for papers. Being caught out after curfew (especially without the proper papers) is an unwise idea.

Jews, métèques (immigrants), Freemasons, Communists and Protestants, Gypsies, homosexuals, and activists are being detained and interrogated, and often sent to Camp Gurs after these interrogations. Businesses are frequently raided if there is any suspicion of resistance activity (or sometimes seemingly at random).

Neighbors and friends seeing a suspicious activity may be tempted to report such under new laws that offer rewards for information leading to arrests, so watch what your neighbors are watching you do.

Current Rumors:
Rumors persist about the Nazis' new fuel source; many more Nazi vehicles are being seen on the road. It often leaves a sickening smell in its wake. Nazi officers know that this is being shipped from Germany, and it seems to be very efficient. This fuel source has been said to make those who come in contact with it physically ill for days, and if some is spilled, it will kill and wither the plant life almost instantly.

Rumor has it that an important visitor, a high up Nazi official from Germany, will be touring Paris at the end of the month. Nazi patrols are becoming increasingly vigilant, and restrictions are tightening in preparation for this important visitor. Who could it be? No one is quite sure.

On the last day of April, the body of a young man was fished out of the Seine, completely bloodless, a stricken look on its face. Government officials were quick to remove the corpse, and cautioned those who found it to not spread wild tails about the murder. Still, the word is spreading... what could have caused this?

Transport trains (with prisoners? supplies? no one is quite sure...) have been leaving in the middle of the night, long after curfew, bound for unknown destinations.

A local doctor has been living the high life despite the crackdowns and rationing; while others eat bread and soup bones, he and a few of his friends have been eating well every evening on fancy plates. Where are they getting all of the meat from?

Street urchins can earn quick coin by bringing rats to M. Renoir's Butcher shop.

Current Diversions:
Come and see the entertainment at Le Moulin Noir , deep within the catacombs beneath the streets of Paris. If you don't know where you're going, you'll almost certainly get lost; if you do, you had best know the password, as well, or the doorman won't let you in. Current Password: je cours ma perte (I got a death wish) . Featured entertainments include the performance trio of Liberté, Egalité, et Fraternité; and the American jazz sensation Jacqueline Pearson.


Soldiers of the Reich may prefer to spend their time at the Soldatenheim , catering to the needs of Germans far away from home.

Those looking for some companionship of the female variety have been known to frequent The Black Death Tavern, where proprietor Fancy LaMorne and her girls offer more than just drinks..


Current State of the War:
Germany and her allies are winning the war as things stands; America is still a neutral party and will be for some months to come. Yugoslavia and Greece have just fallen. The Luftwaffe is bombing British cities with much success - on May 1st, they begin a series of eight night raids on Liverpool. On May 9th, they attack London, crippling the railway system. The RAF attacks Hamburg, but this has little effect.

The next day, in a massive raid on London - the Westminster Abbey, House of Commons, Tower and Mint are hit. A record 1,436 British citizens are killed.

Also on the 10th, Rudolf Hess, Hitler's deputy and former World War 1 fighter pilot, flies from Augsburg to Scotland to persuade anti-Churchill politicians that England should stop the war with Germany, adopt a neutral attitude and allow Germany to eliminate the Bolshevik menace and gain Lebensraum in the East. He is taken to a secret location, interrogated and then held incommunicado at various places.

On the 14th, Admiral Darlan reports back to Vichy after meeting Hitler and von Ribbentrop. The Vichy Cabinet approves German concessions and French counter-concessions unanimously. A few days later, Vichy France announces release and repatriation of 100,000 French POWs. However, the Vichy military court sentences 56 NCO’s and privates siding with de Gaulle to death or hard labour in absentia. All property of free French fighters is to be confiscated. It’s announced that the Women’s Land Army are now more than 11,000 strong.

On the 16th, a raid by 111 German aircraft on Birmingham marks the end of the Night Blitz campaign against England . Most Luftwaffe bomber formations in France and Belgium are being transferred to airfields in eastern Germany and occupied Poland. The RAF launch a night raid on Cologne, and has raided Hanover, Berlin, Hamburg and Cuxhaven the night before.

British civilian casualties for May are 5,394 killed and 5,181 injured.

Who: Dr Morgan Michaud-Carre
When: Curfew is just falling
Where: The streets of Paris, between the hospital and home.

After leaving Josephine the nurse to her own way home, Dr. Carre continued to walk. She was not terribly nervous about the entire affair, but really didn't wish to be stopped. She doubted, however, as the bells rang, that she'd be very close to home before the inspections of papers REALLY got underway...

(Open)

Who: Joséphine open to whomever
Where: The streets of Paris
When: Close to curfew

Joséphine left the hospital late than usual, because the patient load was so heavy. Though she knew she had the proper papers, she was worried about walking home because curfew was so near. On Christmas eve, she'd been at a club that was raided. While she was questioned and released, she knew the incident had doubtlessly wound up in her file - so she didn't want to take any chances. Everything was suspect now in these dark times.

She'd learned to be cautious about things since then. Her carefree attitude still remained, but it was tempered by a bit of common sense at times like these. So she hurried on her way towards her home, trying to keep her head down and avoiding as much notice as possible. She heard the sound of someone walking nearby, and turned to see who it was, glancing over her shoulder.

WHERE: Moulin Noir
WHO: Vito Marchese, OT all
WHEN: 15 Avril 1941

Vito sat at a corner table, his back to a wall and several exit routes mapped out in his head in case something bad happened. There was a whiff of incense in the air, something from Morocco that Vito had unloaded here weeks before.

The simple fact of people in Paris was, they liked their luxuries. Good wine, incense, artworks, silverware. Whatever wasn't nailed down and gave its new owner the impression that their life wasn't completely horrid. There were goose-stepping bastards out in the street, yelling in their ugly, gutteral language, but, hey ... the wine was outstanding.

That was just gray-market stuff, though ... not illegal, just restricted and hard to find, sometimes. The black market stuff, well ...

The easiest way to find guns was stop off at a village that had just been the site of a battle, a few days or weeks before. If you had food, you could trade it for whatever weapons and ammo had been lying around and gotten picked up. Grenades for cabbages, Mausers for meat. And Vito always had produce and fish to sell.

He picked up his wineglass and swirled it, looking at its rich red color in the dim light of the club, savoring its aroma. Business was good.

Even so, there was a lot more he could be doing with his time. It was just a matter of meeting the right people.

Who: Victoire & OPEN
When: 14 April 1941, evening
Where: Le Moulin Noir
What: A night of drinking and music does a body good.
Rating: PG?

Monday nights were usually Victoire's nights off, along with Sundays. Last night she had spent her time at her small apartment, listening to old records and drinking tumblers of whiskey. It had really been rather depressing sitting there in a tattered silk robe in the semi-darkness by the light of a candle (electricity had become to expensive to use except during emergencies), drinking by herself and playing Billie Holiday records in English. She had finally given up around one and gone to bed. Victoire promised herself she would get out and about today, so she spent the late morning doing her shopping (it was depressing work and she hated doing it -- hardly enough food for anyone to live on) before enjoying the nice weather by lunching on the roof of her building. She didn't really feel like spending another night sitting alone in her flat, so the redhead had put on one of her nicer dresses (looking rather worn) and her best pair of stockings (a run had started in the heel and began creeping its way up the back of her calf). She did her hair and put on makeup. It had been a long time since she had dressed up for anything other than work. She stood back and looked at her reflection in the spotty full-length mirror in her bedroom. Not bad.

The weather was pleasant. It was a little chilly but Victoire didn't mind. She lit a cigarette before heading to the catacombs, intending to spend her evening at Le Moulin Noir. Within minutes she had reached her destination without getting lost -- she had haunted Moulin Noir many a time and knew the way well. "Je cours ma perte," she recited to the doorman, who recognized her and let her in. The music was loud but good, and the club was surprisingly full for a Monday night. Although, she supposed not many people had jobs to get up early for anymore. Victoire watched the couple singing and dancing on stage for a moment before heading to the bar and ordering a drink. After being served, she swiveled on her stool to face the stage, her elbows resting on the bar behind her, a cigarette in one hand and her drink in the other.

Who: Fancy, OPEN
What: Anything
Where: Church (Evening Mass)
When: April 13
Incomplete

The smell of the incense burned her nose. She thought about the stories she'd heard. About the boys who'd been in the last war, their lungs burned from the inside, condemned to cough them up in chunks as they waited for a choking death that wouldn't come quick enough . She also had heard that they were gassing the jews. They may have already gassed <i>her</i>. She shivered then, not so much as from the cool april air that wafted in through the opening and closing of the heavy church as from the memories in her mind. A smile, a touch, things powerful and yet fragile. Here in an instant and gone in a flash. Life was so short and too long all at the same time. 

She glanced around at the people who filled the pews. <i>I should have done something. I could have done something. Tried.</i> But she hadn't wanted to get involved. Just wanted to be left to her own devices. Good God was she ever paying for that now. What had France been thinking? Letting these monsters in? They looked so at home here, were already settling in. How long would it be before they decided to 'morally cleanse' Paris? Would her occupation suddenly cause her to be an undesirable citizen. At least her Parisian neighbors only glared and slurred her behind her back. But the Nazi's, regardless of the fact they were guilty of using her services the Nazi's could turn on her at any moment. And they wouldn't use words and looks to get their points across. The Nazi's signed all their contracts in blood. 

She wanted to do something. Fight back, make them pay, find answers to her questions; something, anything. But what? And how? She'd heard rumors that people were doing things, but it was all second hand information. She could get papers, information; drunken lusting soldiers slipped up, or passed out. Either was helpful. But what good was any of it if she didn't know what to do with it? 

She really didn't know why she kept coming to church. 

Who: Ginou, anyone else
Where: Jardin du Luxembourg
When: April 10, 1941 - morning
What: Foraging for useful plants

Ginou pulled her coat tight about her and felt Jeanette's fingers for signs of cold. It might be a glorious spring morning in Paris, but the wind cut like a knife. The baby lay in a makeshift hammock of her very own, made from an old curtain and draped around Ginou's shoulders, while Ginou herself was lucky enough to be wearing the greatcoat of her landlady's late husband. This was her first foraging expedition since Jeanette's birth, although she had run errands for Mme Dupont. She could not exist on the kindness of a widow any longer however, and since her old employer would not allow maids to bring babies to work..

Herbs, buds, blossoms, leaves: most were useful as well as pretty. Roots too, had their uses in cooking as well as medicine, and in times of rationing it was a logical source of income or means to barter. It was clear that numerous Parisians had had the same idea, however, and their trampling over perfectly good plants would make her job that much harder.

It was good to be out and about though, with her sleeping bundle of love nestled against her chest. Fresh air and sunshine did wonders for the soul, particularly when wartime was hidden by the trees.

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.

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: Open
Where: Nazi Headquarters
When: April 8th (around noon)
Summary: Faust arrives at HQ
Complete

He got out of the car, collected his belongings and began the walk down the causeway to the building in front of him. He'd come directly from the station, an ample excuse for not being in uniform, and had all of his luggage with him. This entailed a single khaki tote bag and briefcase. It had been recommended by his C.O. back home that he wear the uniform, which was mostly the impetus for his arrival in civvies.

Gliding silently through the doors into the reception, he approached the main desk.

"Faust. My office."

He was handed his papers and directed into the heart of the building. He strode casually along the corridors in search of his station.

Who: Viveka and Adi
When: dinner time April 06, 1941
Where: their home
Summary: Getting settled in their new place


Viveka could hardly believe their good fortune. Not only had Adi been assigned to Paris, which got them out of Germany, but he'd been alloted a small home. The place had quite a bit of exterior damage from the invasion, and it hadn't been lived in for quite some time so it was dusty and in some disrepair - but it felt like a palace to her. She tried not to think too hard about who the previous occupants had been - why they had left behind everything from couches to dishes. That they didn't have to try and find so many things was another stroke of luck. Though Adi's ration card was good, she worried every time she had to use her own. If they checked the records too carefully, someone might find a discrepancy - that the card on file lacked some bit of crucial information. The papers had been carefully done, and Adi had paid quite a tidy sum for the silence of those who had created them - but still. She worried.

She tried to keep that worry from clouding her thoughts as she prepared dinner for her husband who was due home from work any moment now. Adi was what made all this bearable- and Adi had so many burdens to bear already. She didn't want to upset him. When she heard the door, she smiled and called warmly "Welcome home, love..."