| Wait your turn... |
[Jan. 19th, 2008|05:58 pm] |
Who: Eric, Jacqueline, Josephine
When: A wonderfully grey afternoon
Where: In a food queue
Summary: A singer, a nurse, and an American chat in a queue for rationed goods.
Status: Complete.
Rating: PG-13 due to references to eating pussycat.
Eric was busy embracing his inner British man, waiting patiently in a queue and trying not to grumble about it.
Not for the first time this week, and probably not for the last, Jackie stood in line, wishing that it would hurry. She wasn't running late yet, but if she waited for too long, it would throw her off for the rest of the day.
Josephine, returning from work, decided to try and stop by the butcher to pick up some meat before heading home. She frowned at the long line. "Oh my goodness..."
"Yes, the line is rather long, isn't it?" said Jackie, who was right in front of Josephine. "I really shouldn't complain... it's food, right?"
Eric chuckled. "Everyone has to eat, and everyone has to accept how that food is obtained."
( Discussing food and song... ) |
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| Two Ducks and a NaziCycle |
[Jan. 19th, 2008|01:21 am] |
Who: Hans & Marie-Pierre
When: Evening, a few days after the drinking incident:
Where: the streets of Paris, the top of a hill outside the city, the Occitan bistro
Summary: Hans. Marie-Pierre. A motorcycle. Musicala. What could go wrong?
Complete
Rating: PG-13 , some kissage at the end.
No one had been more surprised than Hans to learn that his new position came with an official vehicle. He assumed perhaps a staff car of some sort when they'd told him about it at work in the morning - it would be useful, he supposed, for getting around town. When they'd brought it out of the motorcade , he was surprised to find it was a motorcycle complete with sidecar. "For on and off road," they explained to him, and showed him the basics of operation. After a few lessons, they handed over keys, helmet, and manual and wished him luck.
Hans did what any responsible soldier of the Reich would do - drove promptly back to his house and parked the motorcycle outside. Of course, he only stopped long enough to pick up an extra coat, and a carton of cigarettes, tossing both into the sidecar. Then he started driving around looking for a certain Occitan . The law of circumstances said that if he drove down enough streets in all the usual places, eventually he would run into Marie-Pierre. And if he did not, well. At least he was learning how to drive this thing without being a danger to himself and the citizens of Paris.
( Picture of the NaziCycle! ) |
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| what do you do with a drunken nazi ear-lie in the morning |
[Jan. 17th, 2008|12:55 pm] |
Who: Hans & Marie-Pierre
When: Directly after this
Where: Duclos' official residence
Summary: Oh, bondieu, I have a drunken Nazi in my house. Saying he loves me. This is just the capper on the best day ever.
Incomplete.
Rating: declaring it PG13 in advance
Larger than lo nid als anetz, and more outwardly home-shaped - at the very least better furnished, as it was not unknown for visitors to be entertained here; this was where Duclos usually lived (in an important distinction he drew from the Nest, which was "where he kept himself"). It had all the personality and warmth of a rather cheap hotel room, but it was comfortable enough.
Hans had immediately deposited himself on a chair near the door; after Marie-Pierre had hung up his own coat and hat, he began to remove Hans' for him, muttering under his breath in Occitan all the while. |
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| To have a human face we’ll have to start all over again... |
[Jan. 16th, 2008|11:42 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | predatory | ] |
Who: Friedrich Köhler and Jacinthe Beauchene
When: Mid-December, after the full moon but before Christmas.
Where: la Boulangerie Chabert
Summary: Suspect by association...
Complete/Incomplete: Incomplete.
Rating: PG13 for descriptions of not-niceness in the name of intimidation.
Friedrich pushed the door of the small bakery open, enveloped in a rush of warm, bread-scented air as he stepped in. The door clicked shut behind him; he let it fall, sharp brown-gold eyes scanning the shop front, taking in every detail. It was what he would have, at one point, considered a nice shop, if small; neat and welcoming. At that same, different point, the smell would have been delicious. Now, it smelled far too much of yeast and flour and to be enticing.
( There was a thread of human scent beneath the flour... ) |
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| Reverend Mother Michael Therese |
[Jan. 16th, 2008|10:29 pm] |
Who: Reverend Mother Michael Therese
When: Mid-December, 1940, Early Morning/Later.
Where: St. Ursula's Academy for Young Ladies, Private Office.
Rating: PG, at worst.
Status: Intro Post/May be joined by coming to the school, though if not a student, nun, or priest in residence, access would have to be rigorously played, as the academy is behind walls, and semi-cloistered. UPDATE: This post is closed, but the next will reference it, and continue.
Sister Michael Therese sat at her desk. On one side of the old, yet immaculately polished dark wooden surface sat a small pile of papers. Before her, carefully lined up, a green shaded lamp, a letter opener in the shape of a small sword with a cross at its pommel, a pen, and ink. Other than a few small stains of deep blue, the blotter was clean, though not very new. The novice standing before her fidgeted.
She continued to sit, not yet acknowledging the recalcitrant girl. She was deeply concerned, yet maintained a stoic demeanor, as her eyes finally left the top of the pile of papers, and focused on the young woman. She could well recall being so young, though it seemed farther and farther away some days from her current reality. "What were you thinking?"
Her voice was stern, yet kept soft. That was when the novices knew she was at her most dangerous. "There are curfews. You endanger us all by breaking them. And for what? What reason could you possibly have to be beyond the safety of our walls, least of all in secret?" She continued, expecting no response as yet. "Child, they are shooting people for such trivialities, what were you thinking?"
That was only how the day had begun. The Reverend mother had a sinking feeling already. After dismissing the girl, whose excuses had not entirely rung true, she spent the next hour in silent contemplation. She had a very, very bad feeling. |
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| Dr. Morgan Michaud-Carre, Exiting Le Passant. |
[Jan. 16th, 2008|09:43 pm] |
Who: Dr. Morgan Michaud-Carre.
When: Early morning, December 1940.
Where: Assorted, ending where she'd need to go to get her papers straightened out.
Rating: PG, so far, if that.
Status: Continued in a later post.
Summary: She's looking to update her papers so as to allow her to see patients after curfew.
Dr. Carre made her way out into the morning. It was quite cold, and wet. She decided that since she'd be back later in this direction, anyway, she would stop off then at the bakery nearby for her bread. Meanwhile, she rushed her way a reasonable distance to her first appointment of the morning.
( MORE ) |
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| The Gray Knight and the Cracked Pawn |
[Jan. 16th, 2008|06:16 pm] |
Who: Hans , Eric, Marie-Pierre
When: Evening , December
Where: Le Passant
Summary: Hans is troubled ,an American Eric is met, Hansierre have another bathroom moment, Hans gets drunk and escorted home by Marie-Pierre.
Complete
Rating: PG-13 / some descriptions of gore / Drunk Nazi / bad French jokes
Hans sat at his customary table, working his way through a bottle of wine alone. The chessboard was set out in front of him - and he had sent a message to Marie-Pierre through Bernat, but he was not sure the Occitan would get the note in time and show. Hans picked up the knight on the dark side of the board that faced him, and turned it over in his hand. The chess pieces were starting to show some signs of their age, losing their varnish. This particularly knight was fading in color to a gray shade. It reminded him somehow of Marie-Pierre. He set the knight in the center of the board, and wondered what piece would represent himself if this were an actual representation of their lives. Certainly no bishop - but perhaps a rook? The rigid ability to only travel in straight lines - but possessing one hidden strength, the castle that could save the entire game if played right. Hans thought perhaps he gave himself too much credit, and considered the pawns.
But to which side would he belong? Unable to choose, he picked up the bottle instead and poured himself another glass. If he kept this up, he would be quite drunk by the time Marie-Pierre did arrive ( if he was going to). Hans would certainly be the loser of any games played tonight. As an afterthought, he picked up a dark pawn that had a crack down the head through which was visible a bit of lighter wood inside. This was fitting enough. He set it down by the graying knight in the center of the board. |
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[Jan. 16th, 2008|01:20 pm] |
Who: Duclos and an NPC connexion he has; subsequently open, if someone wants to tag in randomly; I really don't mind either way.
When: Mid-afternoon
Where: the Champs-Elysées
Summary: Duclos acquires information, and also lunch.
Completion depends on the fancy of the readers, dear hearts. The cheese can stand alone, or you can toddle in as your whimsy takes you.
Rating: PG, simply because I don't like rating things G if they're not Disney productions or something
( with the roar of cars, the lulling of the cafe bars, the sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine ) |
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| Tsk tsk tsk |
[Jan. 15th, 2008|11:30 pm] |
Who: Gretchen and Hans
When: Night, slightly after curfew
Where: The streets of Paris
Summary: Gretchen pushes her luck with curfew and runs into someone quite unexpected.
Complete/Incomplete: Incomplete
Rating: PG
It was late -- too late. In the time that it'd taken Gretchen to make her way back to the street on which she lived, the sidewalks had all but emptied. Not another soul shared her hurried, albeit limping, steps as the curfew bells chimed in the distance, and she cursed under her breath at her own absentmindedness, at the curb upon which she'd broken the heel of her shoe earlier in the night, and -- above all else -- the bloody curfew in the first place.
She'd merely been trying to enjoy a few drinks after work with a few friends she'd made in the neighbourhood. They had left early, but the music had been too good for her to follow just yet. Now she was paying the price for it, paranoid, looking over her shoulder at every turn in hopes that she could make it back home before anyone saw her.
The beaten-up little shop came into view at the end of the block as she turned a corner, all the lights in the rooms above off except for the one in her room, which Madame Clarisse always left on for her. A smile crept up the sides of her mouth briefly as she quickened her steps.
It appeared as if she was in the clear, but the unmistakable staccato steps of someone on patrol suddenly echoed down the street not far behind her. |
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| The Meeting at the Passant, The Doctor Returns To the Table |
[Jan. 15th, 2008|05:22 am] |
Who: Dr. Carre, Herr Duclos, and Herr Varner
When: Continuing on the night at the cafe, December 1940, After Dark.
Where: The table at The Passant
Rating: PG-13, so far.
Status: Still incomplete/continuing. See previous post HERE.
EDIT: Thread completed.
Dr. Carre emerged from the lady's lounge after several long minutes. She'd brought her bag, and combed through her hair. She'd rinsed her face, and put on a bit of fresh lip stick, and even a little powder. She carried it, but had not used it in quite some time. She'd also, of course, taken care of the naggingly chilled bladder.
She came out just in time to see Herr Varner being just a bit on the animated side, something quite rare she had a feeling. His hands were flapping like those of an Italian telling a rousing tale.
"Gentlemen..." She said, arriving at the table, by way of warning.
Hans stilled his hands, and tried to pretend he had just been brushing something off the table- despite the fact that the gesture had nothing at all to do with that. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
Dr. Carre gave him a smile. It was of the comforting, understanding sort. He was beginning to strike her as a bit beyond socially shy. |
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| Handyman |
[Jan. 14th, 2008|09:30 pm] |
Who: Marie-Pierre and Hans
When: evening, a few days after this
Where: M-P's Super Sekrit Apartment, aka the duck nest.
Summary: Hans is handy.
Complete.
Rating: PG-13, some m/m kissage.
After work, Hans had changed and collected a few things to take with him over to Marie-Pierre's secret apartment. He didn't have work in the morning, and was hoping that he could therefore spend some quality time with his Kase. That, and to fix the stove before Nadal - because if there was going to be a holiday involving fire, it was best to have everything in working order.
Hans knocked on the door of the apartment, wearing overalls under his coat. He carried his toolkit, and had a bag slung over his shoulder. He'd taken care not to be followed, but he still glanced carefully down the street as he waited for Marie-Pierre to let him in. |
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| Doctor Morgan Marie Michaud-Carre |
[Jan. 12th, 2008|12:08 pm] |
Who: Dr. Morgan Marie Michaud-Carre
When: December, 1940, with evening approaching.
Where: Paris
Summary: Introduction of character, who is currently looking for somewhere to hole up, as she's not going to make it home. Incomplete/Looking for a Thread.
Rating: PG, so far.
EDIT: Completed in ensuing Post on the 14th-15th of January, 2008. Please refer there for the rest.
Doctor Carre walked into the small, cramped entry hall of the old brick townhouse, and could fairly smell the sickness in the place upon crossing the threshold. Her simple black dress made not a sound moving over her bare legs. She'd not thought of missing stockings, though, in quite some time. She had a few left, but had put them away on a shelf along with her dresses when her husband died. The black bag she carried was unusually light. It was getting harder and harder to stock up on medicines.
( More: )
(Edit OOC: Please forgive me for not switching out my PB during the posting in play. I'm still getting the hang of this. It should be Nicole Kidman, not Dawn displayed.) |
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| This is fact not fiction, for the first time in years |
[Jan. 11th, 2008|08:16 pm] |
Who: Marie-Pierre and Hans which surprises no one.
When: Evening after this.
Where: M-P's Super Sekrit Apartment.
Summary: A Discussion. About Things.
Complete.
Rating: PG-13, with m/m kissin'.
Marie-Pierre was drunker than he had allowed himself to be in a very long time. He had, he reasoned, been doing an excellent job of running off at the mouth like a schoolboy or an idiot (assuming the concepts non-redundant) while sober as a judge; he may as well unearth that bottle of brandy he had been saving and give himself an excuse for it, no?
He and his brandy were sprawled on the only chair in the flat (it was very small - an efficiency, at best - and as he was the only one who was ever there, what need of more than one chair?), his feet propped on the grate of the coal-stove, pretending to himself that he was reading a several-weeks-old copy of Le Temps, that he was not watching out the window for a visitor he was still not certain he wanted. |
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| Getting Our Nazi On |
[Jan. 11th, 2008|01:11 am] |
Who: Hans and Marie-Pierre
When: Monday following this
Where: Headquarters , in a bathroom
Summary: An awkwardly unexpected meeting
Complete
Rating: PG13 (we swear!)
The newly promoted Sturmbannfuhrer-SS sat at his desk, focused on the tasks in front of him. Working brought some odd bit of comfort to his troubled mind, though had he stopped to read and consider any of the papers he processed - he might find himself with even more troubles. He tried not to think too much about what he had to do - he followed his orders efficiently to give his superiors little reason to look closely at him.
Hans glanced up at the clock, noting he had been working long enough to take a break. He stretched, got up from his desk, and walked the short distance down the hall and into the men's room. |
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| Light delivery |
[Jan. 10th, 2008|03:30 pm] |
Who: Marie and Genevieve
When: Mid-afternoon, before the cafe opens.
Where: Le Passant
Summary: Marie comes to discuss business
Status: Complete
Rating: PG-13
After the morning rush died down, Marie put on her hat and coat and left her granddaughter in charge of the Bakery. Walking to the marketplace to purchase flour was Marie's first errand of the day. Unfortunately, by the time she arrived, there was no flour to be had. Marie resolved to try again on the next market day, but for now circumstances could not be helped. She would visit some of her regular customers and give them the bad news - bread deliveries this week would be light. If every customer who ordered in quantity would agree to take a few less loaves, the flour might last until more could be purchased. One of her most loyal and favorite customers was the cafe, Le Passant. Marie had been delivering their bread for many years. Marie had a fondness for the d'Este family, though most of them were gone now -as gone as Rene.
Her heart heavy, Marie knocked on the door of Le Passant. It was not yet open for business, but she knew Genevieve would be up and preparing for the day. Poor girl has enough troubles, Marie thought, hating to bring more to her doorstep. She shifted from foot to foot while waiting for the young woman to answer. |
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| tombant dans des gouttières, riant comme des fous |
[Jan. 9th, 2008|12:41 am] |
Who: Hans and Marie-Pierre
When: The Saturday following this, at 1:07 pm
Where: The streets of Paris
Summary: A highly individual tour of the city
Complete
Rating: PG13 by default, I suppose
Varner hadn't seemed half-bad for a Nazi, thought Duclos with unabashed hypocrisy. He showed the potential to actually keep a personality under the uniform somewhere, for one - a blessed little rarity; but he seemed to still possess enough of the good old German tin-soldier to be worth a ribbing. Yes - Marie-Pierre could amuse himself with him fairly well.
His watch read 1:05 when he arrived at the café for their scheduled meeting. Ninety seconds was quite early enough. |
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| Suspicious Business |
[Jan. 8th, 2008|08:01 pm] |
Who: Reinhardt, Any SS men.
Where: Versailles Palace, East Wing, SS Briefing Room #5
When: 2300 hours.
What: Stossel has his suspicions about a certain business, and is calling a task force together.
Status: In progress
Rating: PG13
Oberstgruppenfuhrer-SS Stossel sat at a desk in a dimly-lit briefing room, perusing some papers from his Wehrmacht attache. It appears that his initial impressions of the place were wrong. However...It might do good to become a regular customer of this "Passant" establishment. 'Well,' he thought, 'we can find out soon.'
He set the brief down and stood up. "No use in sitting around like this." Stossel stretched and walked over to the projector mounted in the back of the room, picking up slides and feeding them into the slide-drum on the top. "Un...Zwei...Drei..." the Oberstgruppenfuhrer muttered to himself as he prepared the projector.
Once the feed was complete, he stood back and switched the power on, bathing the back wall in the black-and-white symbol of the Reich. "Much better." Stossel chuckled, squinting a bit at the sudden brightness of the projector's bulb. "At least it worked this time." |
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| Making moves |
[Jan. 7th, 2008|01:22 am] |
Who: Hans and Marie-Pierre, occasional Gene, a Dreaded Etouffee
When: mid December, evening
Where: Le Passant
Summary: a chess game
Complete/Incomplete: Complete
Rating: PG13
Hans settled at his customary table, taking off his coat and hat. The day was cold, and he had walked back to his apartment before coming here - unlike most times when he came directly from headquarters. He had with him a small satchel, from which he took a checkered board. Grunting a bit as he noticed a few fresh scratches in the wood, he set it down on the table and started drawing chess pieces from his bag. The pieces were hand carved, as was the board - though obviously it had seen better days. He'd been itching to have a good game of chess for months now, and he was hoping to attract a worthy opponent by setting up the board in the cafe.
By some good grace, he did not have to work in the morning, so he had a fair amount of time to wait. Hans was nothing if not a patient man. |
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