In the City of Lights - Part III [Blanche]

[Otto Wolff]

Country: Paris, France
Area/Setting: A small street with a few shops and a cafeteria
Current Time: 14:40, late August of 1942
Weather Conditions: A pleasantly warm day, white clouds on the sky, it looks to be a beautiful weather for the rest of the day


The warm August sun had enticed the Parisians to spend the day outside and the streets of the old, elegant city were bustling with people. Outwardly everything appeared to be almost normal, but the patrols of soldiers, the fresh road signs written in German and the Nazi flags flying in the gentle afternoon breeze made it quite clear that something was amiss. The occupational forces had made life increasingly difficult for the French and they had to endure curfews, strict censorship and food rationing, with many French workers even involuntary drafted into the service of the German war machine. Some people did better than others, at least if they were willing and lucky enough to have some German contacts who might make their lives somewhat easier.

On one of the more quieter side-streets, tables and chairs had been set outside Le Lièvre, a small family-owned cafeteria made popular by it's delicious Mille-feuilles. The young blonde waitress was busy cleaning up the tables and asking the various customers if they would like their tea and coffee cups filled again. Overall the scene seemed quite idyllic and peaceful, almost as if things were back to normal in Paris again, but this was of course a mere illusion. The supplies being rationed, not every cafeteria could even offer it's customers real coffee and they had been reduced to serving ersatz coffee instead. Still, in some places it was possible to enjoy the taste of proper coffee, even if it came with a rather steep price.

Otto Wolff had already emptied his own cup of real coffee and he had set the white porcelain cup back on the coffee saucer. The man was wearing a neat and, no doubt, very expensive charcoal suit. The suit jacket had been left open to reveal a fine suit vest of matching colour, complete with the chain of a golden pocket watch dangling from the breast pocket. Otto's black hair was neatly combed back and the man had a pair of small, metallic half-moon shaped glasses perched upon his nose. His dark eyes skipped casually from one line of Le Figaro to another as he reclined languidly back on his seat, enjoying the warm day and the pleasant atmosphere of the small French cafe. He had not been given chance for such relaxation for a good while and it didn't hurt to enjoy oneself just slightly, even if he was on duty.

Though the man was seemingly fixed on reading the newspaper, his gaze sometimes shifted towards another table, occupied by two middle-aged men. They were discussing something in low voices and at times, they seemed to disagree over something and the taller one of the men had to calm down his companion to prevent him from shouting things that one might consider dangerous to say in Nazi occupied France. What they were saying was mostly left a mystery to Otto, but it was really not that important. He knew they were here to meet someone and that someone was most likely the biggest fish of the lot. Otto only had to sit back and observe the situation to see who their resistance contact was, there would be a proper time and place for more decisive actions later. Right now he would use this chance to enjoy the beautiful day with a cup of coffee.

Otto lowered his newspaper down as the young platinum-haired waitress, most likely no older than seventeen or eighteen years old, stopped nervously next to the man's table and smiled, nodding at his empty coffee cup. "Voudriez-vous avoir de l'autre café, monsieur?" the girl asked in a melodious voice and a slow smile crept up to Otto's lips as he admired the shapely doe-eyed girl. "Oui, s'il vous plaît, ce serait très joli," Otto's voice was smooth and thick, and his eyes never strayed away from the girl. The young waitress blushed under the older man's unwavering gaze and she curtsied quickly, grabbing the empty cup from the table and hurrying back inside Le Lièvre to fulfill the new orders. Otto smirked and raised his eyebrows, adjusting his glasses and returning his eyes back to the newspaper. He had never liked France and did not really have much respect for the French people themselves, but Paris was not so bad. It felt like a proper, educated city and Otto actually was happy to have the opportunity of doing some work in Paris for a change. He had already had more than his share of those sorry backwater villages and found it more enjoyable to monitor resistance activities here in Paris. Being back in a proper city made Otto's previously sour mood somewhat better and he had decided to enjoy his day, even if he had to stalk these resistance people for the time being. The tall man gave a quiet sigh and raised his newspaper up properly, returning back to a news segment recounting the situation in Vichy.


Translations:

"Voudriez-vous avoir de l'autre café, monsieur?"
"Can I bring you some more coffee, sir?"

"Oui, s'il vous plaît, ce serait très joli."
"Yes, please, that would be very lovely."

[Blanchefleur Paget]

"Car les pauvres épargnent . . . une pièce pour les pauvres . . . . " [Translation: "For the poor . . . spare a coin for the poor . . . ."]

Whilst those who still saw better days sipped their coffee — ersatz or otherwise — and sampled whatever delicious goods were still available in the shops, a group of beggars stood at the edge of the street. Their clothes in tatters, stained with filth and faded from overuse, huddled and sullen as they stood together, a few of them held out chipped mugs, gently shaking them in offering for a spare coin. They were penniless — whether before the war or after its beginning — and were mostly ignored by those passing by, who probably saw them as a mere annoyance. Annoying enough that, if someone became irritated enough, a Nazi soldier would happily come along and drag them off to the nearest jail cell for being a public nuisance.

Among this troop of hapless fellows, this rag-tag bunch of misfits down on their luck, there was a blind old woman. A blind old woman, only a few inches over five feet, and with a patchwork, dirty quilt thrown over her old shoulders. Her grey hair tangled, down to her shoulders and with dirt in those tangles, she noticed not as it brushed her face, covering her features like a threadbare veil. A dingy wrap around her eyes hid her cataract-ridden irises from the world, and she too had a mug — a few pieces of spare change were at the bottom, thanks to the kindness of others better off. Kindness that had been attracted by her cries, her calls for money, with a voice cracked and wizened, perfectly befitting someone who was so pitiful.

"Bon monsieur . . . " began the old woman again, sticking her mug in front of a gentleman walking by. "Bon monsieur . . . seriez-vous gentils jamais si pour épargner des vieilles pièces de femme pour un repas . . . ?" [Translation: "Good sir . . . . " // "Good sir . . . would you ever be so kind as to spare an old woman coins for a meal?"]

The gentleman huffed, as if offended by the beggar's simple question. He stepped around the woman's outstretched hand, smartly marching off to his business as if he were a soldier. The woman's head turned, her ears following him as he went off, as if waiting for him to turn around and come back. When a few moments passed, and he did not do so, the old beggar resumed facing the air in front of her, weakly shaking that mug of hers, waiting for just another coin.

"Une pièce pour les pauvres . . . . " [Translation: "Spare a coin for the poor . . . . "]

[Otto Wolff]

The sounds of people chatting and the occasional shout from a trader in the nearest market square seemed muffled to Otto. His ears were strained to hear one particular discussion only. Even though his gaze appeared to be fixed on the newspaper in front of him, he would sometimes casually glance towards one particular table to see if the situation had changed, but so far nothing of interest was happening. He groaned low under his breath. It was an enjoyable day of course, but he was beginning to doubt if the Resistance contact was ever going to show up. He well couldn't stay at the cafeteria for hours to an end reading the same old newspaper without starting to appear somewhat suspicious. He was already contemplating if he should soon start acting as if he was waiting for someone, maybe appearing sufficiently bored, accompanied with the occasional glance at his watch. Well, he might do that if nothing happened in the next fifteen minutes - so far the small French troupe in the other table seemed quite content on arguing over something, anyway.

His attention was diverted for a moment when he spotted the pretty young waitress approaching his table, carrying several cups and plates on a metal tray. Otto lowered his newspaper and gave the young woman a half-hearted smile when she set the fresh cup of coffee on the table. "Merci, ma chérie," Otto said in a low voice and the young female seemed quite baffled again, not quite sure of how to properly respond. She blushed in her confusion and her eyes skipped away from the man as if she was trying to find something to say. Suddenly a displeased frown appeared on her youthful face and Otto followed her gaze to see just what had caused such a sudden change in the girl's mood. A rag-tag band of beggars was making it's way down the street, stopping to ask for donations from a French man. The man quickly averted the group of ragged individuals and slowly but inevitably, they continued their way towards Le Lièvre. "Je comprends que ces gens vous ont donné le problème auparavant, Mademoiselle ?" Otto voiced his thoughts out aloud and the young woman nodded, her chin quivering slightly due to both nervousness and agitation. "Oui, monsieur, mais ne s'inquiètent pas. Je leur dirai de partir," the young waitress answered, her previously soft voice now strangely high-strung. She seemed like a timid young woman and Otto was not sure if she actually had the determination to drive the beggars off.

Otto's dark eyes glanced briefly over the other clients of the cafeteria and he sighed quietly. It wouldn't very like him to leave a young, lovely female in trouble - he had been taught to be far more gentlemanly and chivalrous than that. Although he realized that drawing attention to oneself might not have been very wise under the current circumstances, he figured that his authoritarian and imposing appearance would be more than enough to scare the beggars away without much trouble. The man folded up his newspaper and set it down on the round table, getting up from his seat in a slow and distinguished manner. In truth, his wounded side was still giving him some trouble and he was still careful not to make any sudden movements. "S'il vous plaît, Mademoiselle. Permettez-moi," the man offered and the petite waitress stepped aside after a brief spot of hesitation.

The tall, dark-haired man tucked slightly at the lapel of his jacket as his eyes settled on the group of filthy beggars, the sight making the man almost sneer with disgust. He raised his chin up, regarding the scroungers in a severe manner, as if expecting that his harsh glare alone would be enough to drive these unwanted vagrants away. 'Je suggère que vous avancez tout de suite et ne harcelez pas les clients de cet établissement. Rien ne sera offert pour vous ici. Soyez le mieux sur votre voie avant que je demandent à la police ici de vous occuper de vous., the man commanded arrogantly in his curiously accented French. He emphasized his words with an haughty tilt of his chin, followed by even more severe scowling.


Translations:

"Merci, ma chérie."
"Thank you, my dear."

"Je comprends que ces gens vous ont donné le problème auparavant, Mademoiselle ?"
"I gather these people have given you trouble before, miss?"

"Oui, monsieur, mais ne s'inquiètent pas. Je leur dirai de partir."
"Yes, sir, but do not worry. I will tell them away."

"S'il vous plaît, Mademoiselle. Permettez-moi."
"Please, miss. Allow me."

'Je suggère que vous avancez tout de suite et ne harcelez pas les clients de cet établissement...'
"I suggest you move along right away and do not pester the clients of this establishment. Nothing will be offered for you here. Best be on your way before I call the police here to deal with you."

[Blanchefleur Paget]

"Je suggère que vous avancez tout de suite et ne harcelez pas les clients de cet établissement. Rien ne sera offert pour vous ici. Soyez le mieux sur votre voie avant que je demandent à la police ici de vous occuper de vous."

The beggars had all huddled together as the intimidating man approached. Upon their faces was genuine fear; many of them had been forced onto the streets by the Nazis and their Gestapo — any mention of the word "police" was bound to frighten them. Like crops in a drought, the gaggle shrunk under the man's blistering glare, inching back slightly at his intimidating presence. The blind old woman, however, seemed bolder than her fellows, slowly reaching out her open hand.

"S'il vous plaît, monsieur," she croaked, "nous sommes tous très affamés et fatigués. Nous n'avons rien pour nous nourrir avec et aucune famille pour aller à. Nous ne pensons pas à mal à un monsieur parfait comme vous — nous avons l'intention seulement de nous nourrir. S'il vous plaît, épargnez une pièce, juste pour une pauvre vieille femme qui ne peut pas voir ses propres mains devant elle ?" [Translation: "Please, sir." // "We are all very hungry and tired. We have nothing to feed ourselves with, and no family to go to. We mean no harm to a fine gentleman such as yourself — we mean only to feed ourselves. Please, spare a coin, just for a poor old woman who cannot see her own hands in front of her?"]

The others murmured in agreement. Agreement to their predicament, to the poor old one's plea, who was one of many who were the worst off. It was a miracle she had not died already — Paris was being run on the tighest of policies, with curfews and rationing left and right. Everyone fought for what they could, the underground of Paris rife with the desparate, and who would expect a frail, sightless, elderly woman to be able to feed herself every night while on the streets? She had survived somehow — how much longer she would, nobody could tell.

"S'il vous plaît, mon bon monsieur," implored the old one again, "ayez la clémence. S'il vous plaît, ayez la clémence sur une vieille femme mourante de faim. Si vous étiez je, vous ne seriez pas reconnaissants pour même la moindre partie de morceau de pièce, si cela a signifié que vous pourriez recevoir une terrine de soupe pour remplir un abdomen affamé ? Oh s'il vous plaît, monsieur — juste un petit peu de l'argent ? Juste un peu, s'il vous plaît ?" [Translation: "Please, good sir." // "Have mercy. Please, have mercy on a starving old woman. If you were I, would you not be grateful for even the least bit of coin, if that meant you could get a bowl of soup to fill a hungry belly? Oh please, sir — just a little bit of money? Just a little, please?"]

Following her example, the other beggars began to reach out their hands again as well, murmuring things similar to the old woman's request.

[Otto Wolff]

If Otto could have chosen what to do, he would have had the local police barge in, arrest the entire pitiful troupe of beggars and have them put behind lock and key for good. He did not hold much appreciation towards the French people generally and naturally he disliked French beggars even more. They were wasting his precious time and making him stand out from the crowd all too clearly, making Otto regret his bright idea of trying to help the young waitress with her unpleasant task. Even the ominous man's harshest glare wasn't enough to scare the group of beggars away and Otto wasn't really a man who would easily raise his voice. He would have to come up with some other ways of getting rid of this unwanted lot.

Swallowing his irritation, Otto allowed for the old, frail woman to speak her mind. She had hardly anything interesting to say, only complaining about her sorry state of life, a story she most likely gave to anyone who stopped long enough to hear it. She even dared to ask that Otto would put himself in her place and the man could only scoff at the mere thought. Of course he was better off than this sorry old bat - he had been born to a fine family, had studied and worked hard all of his life and been a loyal member of the National Socialist party, making sure that the future generations could enjoy their lives in a stronger, prouder Germany. He had not waited around for things to happen, he had forged his own fate and made the right choices. That was why he was here in an expensive suit and she was here, blind as a bat, begging for scraps to get through the day.

By now all of the beggars felt courageous enough to extend their hands towards Otto once again, the carefully constructed speech of the old woman having strengthened their resolution. The tall, dark-haired man tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes slowly. "Très bien. Je ne demanderai pas la police si chacun part en ce moment. Je donnerai de l'argent à cette femme seulement et ensuite vous pouvez le partager l'un entre l'autre ... ailleurs," Otto emphasized the last word accordingly, his dark eyes boring into the beggars behind the blind old woman. As it was clear that there were no other choices and they could either take this chance or stick around until the police would be there to drag them off, the other beggars slowly backed off, leaving the small old woman alone with the grim businessman.

Otto's eyes followed the ragtag group as it slowly moved away from the small cafe and the tall man's eyes did not leave them until they had conveniently disappeared behind the corner of the building at the other end of the street. The man slowly returned his attention to the blind old beggar, feeling at least slightly more content now that most of the group was away. Of course, it was hard to say if there was any honour among beggars and if the others really could trust on the old woman to share whatever alms she would receive. Maybe, her being nearly blind, they could at least assume that she would not be getting very far on her own. But was she even truly as blind as she wanted to appear or was it all just a part of her act..? Otto did not really care one way or the other and although he did not actually relish in other people's suffering, he found it very difficult to feel any sympathy for these beggars, either. If a German would have found oneself in a similar predicament, Otto's thoughts might have been more benevolent. "Je vous ferai connaître que je n'ai aucune intention de vous donner n'importe quoi du tout," Otto's voice was thick with resentment. "Il n'est pas à la hauteur de moi pour soutenir les gens comme vous, n'est-ce pas ?" The question was merely a rhetorical one, not really meant to be answered at all. "Maintenant, je suggère que vous partez avant que je dois vous enlever de la présence de ces bons gens français moi-même," the man's words came in a low, dangerous voice and his dark eyes locked on the poor old bat.


Translations:

"Très bien. Je ne demanderai..."
"Very well. I will not call for the police if everyone leaves right now. I will give money to this woman only and then you can share it between each other... elsewhere."

"Je vous ferai connaître que je n'ai aucune intention de vous donner n'importe quoi du tout."
"I will have you know that I have no intention of giving you anything at all."

"Il n'est pas à la hauteur de moi pour soutenir les gens comme vous, n'est-ce pas ?"
"It is not up to me to support people like you, now is it?"

"Maintenant, je suggère que vous partez avant que je dois vous enlever de la présence de ces bons gens français moi-même."
"Now, I suggest you leave before I have to remove you from the presence of these good French people myself."

[Blanchefleur Paget]

How cruel could the world be? Very cruel indeed. The man practically snarled at the poverty-stricken gaggle, demanding that they leave in that authoritative, no-nonsense tone of voice that a copper would be used to donning. To the beggars, it was too familiar a sound — and despite having no knowledge of the man's true identity, it was enough to put them at unease. They backed off, leaving the woman to the mercy of the irritated stranger. His mercy, or quite possibly, his evident wrath — he didn't seem to be the one to be afraid of anything.

This old woman, however, was no ordinary old woman. Despite her apparent weakness, her frailty and her inability to keep herself afloat in such harsh times, there was a sharp mind behind those cloth-hidden eyes. Knowledge was power, and she had plenty of it — plenty more than what the man had, in her opinion. If he wanted to be so cruel, so arrogant, so snappy and so full of spit and vinegar, she'd match him in return. Cunningly would she do it, too — none of this "bristling biggot" business that the gentleman before her believed she so rightly deserved.

Gently lifting her head, the woman sighed, saying quietly, "Non, vous ne me devez rien. Non, vous ne me devez rien. Je ne suis pas qu'une vieille femme, en essayant de trouver des façons de survivre dans cette guerre. Je n'ai aucun besoin de harceler des gentilshommes parfaits comme vous — peut-être une église m'épargnerait à proximité un repas chaud. Peut-être un endroit agréable, chaud pour dormir aussi." [Translation: "No, you owe me nothing. I am but an old woman, trying to find ways to survive in this war. I have no need to pester fine gentlemen such as yourself — perhaps a church nearby would spare me a hot meal. Maybe a nice, warm place to sleep as well."]

Her head tilted downwards, and her nose wrinkled. From behind the fabric tied around her head, one could swear she was glaring at the man before her.

"Mais la marque mes mots, vous dégoûtant le cochon allemand," she growled low and dangerously, "c'étant un tel loup ne vous recevra nulle part vite. Vous n'êtes à Berlin plus, le garçon riche — c'est mon territoire." [Translation: "But mark my words, you disgusting German pig." // "That being such a wolf will get you nowhere fast. You're not in Berlin anymore, rich boy — this is my territory."]

She suddenly leaned back, a sad smile adorning her face again. With another sigh, she raspingly said, "Mais c'est quelque chose que vous ne devriez pas vous concerner avec, est cela, mon cher ?" [Translation: "But that is something you shouldn't concern yourself with, is it, my dear?"]

[Otto Wolff]

The old woman still lingered near Otto and the man was getting quite frustrated with the entire scene. He had more important things to do than to deal with vagrants and his previously rather enjoyable moment had been now mercilessly shattered by the appearance of the beggars. Hoping that the old woman would feel more easily intimidated now that she had been left on her own, Otto towered over the small woman and squinted his dark eyes into a foreboding scowl. The woman sighed quietly, appearing very small and weak in front of the man in an expensive suit. She was talking quietly, wondering whether the church nearby would provide her with food and shelter for the day, but after she was done saying this, her demeanor changed very quickly and her feeble voice was now a low, hateful growl.

"Mais la marque mes mots, vous dégoûtant le cochon allemand, c'étant un tel loup ne vous recevra nulle part vite. Vous n'êtes à Berlin plus, le garçon riche — c'est mon territoire," the woman said and Otto felt the blood stop cold in his veins for a moment out of pure surprise. Even if he would have not recognized the suddenly guttural voice of the old woman, he knew that there was only one old bat who would have used such words against Otto. He had ran into her earlier outside Paris and had ended up with some rather nasty scars on his side and arm, also losing his Luger to the crafty old fox. The woman had even gone as far as sending an obscene note to Otto afterwards and the memories made the muscles on Otto's neck tighten involuntarily. She had a lot of nerve walking up to him like this, but he was in a situation where he could not outright attack her, either. His current task would be ruined and personal vendettas were not worth this fine catch. The weight of the small Walther PPK hidden under his suit jacket felt more inviting now and he wanted nothing more than take out the gun and point it at the old bat... but he also knew full well he could not do that - not here, not right now.

Otto let his expression of irritation and anger pass, although it seemed to take some effort. The woman must have noticed that Otto was in a situation where he could not reveal his true identity, but she must have then also realized that the moment she would try and compromise the Kriminalkommissar's identity, she would become a free target. The scar on Otto's side felt painful now, as if the woman's presence had made the wound flare up again. Knowing that the woman was in Paris would give him some edge over her, but the advantage worked both ways. This was not the time for losing ones nerves and Otto's expression become cold and impassive once again. "C'est votre territoire, est cela maintenant .. ? Priez me disent alors, pourquoi vous devez vous cacher dans un tel déguisement, mon cher renard ?" the man asked in a low, quiet voice, not really allowing the woman any time to answer. "Oh, mais je vraiment n'ai pas besoin d'une réponse à cette question, fais maintenant je ? Être conformément à la règle allemande vous fait se sentir impuissant et effrayant, c'est pourquoi vous devez vous cacher. C'est tout à fait intelligible. Il doit vraiment piquer, en voyant les drapeaux du Reich Allemand décorant votre chère vieille ville," Otto arched his eyebrow slowly, full well knowing how offensive and arrogant his words were. "Seulement .. c'est notre ville maintenant, n'est-ce pas?"


Translations:

"C'est votre territoire, est cela maintenant..? "
"This is your territory, is it now..? Pray tell me then why you must hide under such a disguise, my dear fox?"

"Oh, mais je vraiment n'ai pas besoin d'une réponse à cette question, fais maintenant je?"
"Oh, but I do not really need an answer to that question, now do I? Being under German rule makes you feel powerless and fearful, this is why you must hide. It's perfectly understandable. It must really sting, seeing the flags of the German Reich decorating your dear old city."

"Seulement .. c'est notre ville maintenant, n'est-ce pas?"
"Only.. it is our city now, isn't it?"

[Blanchefleur Paget]

Oh, so that was how it was going to be? Then that was how it was going to be, indeed. Calmly, Blanchefleur informed her little friend, "Vos tentatives de compenser pour quelque chose sont aussi risible que celui d'oie mars ridicule de profiter vos amis en utilisant. Tu n'es rien, mais un bon marché de mon imiter la tactique, celui qui a le cerveau d'un sandwich au fromage. Vous n'avez même pas assez de valeur pour moi de plaisanter au sujet de votre mère." Besides, what made him think she wanted to be in this swastika-clad, overrated dump? The only reason she had come here was on orders from her side! [Translation: "Your attempts at compensating for something are as laughable as that ridiculous goose's march your friends enjoy using. You're nothing but a cheap mimic of my tactics, he who has the brain of a cheese sandwich. You don't even have enough value for me to crack a joke about your mother."]

"Mais bien sûr, Monsieur Le-Cerveau-de-Bœuf doit toujours avoir un tour dans son sac," continued Blanchefleur. "Si je me souviens bien, n'était pas moi, c'est que, juste un peu de temps avant, vous coups de pied si fort dans les couilles de votre visage ridé comme vous le feriez aspirée un citron? Oh, oui, il a été. Et pourtant, vous êtes ici, pensant que vous avez la haute main, quand vous ne pouvez pas supporter l'idée qu'une petite vieille botté le cul désolé." She grinned a wicked fox's grin, her yellow eyes twinkling maliciously. If her spiteful words didn't get a rise out of him then, Blanchefleur still had plenty of tricks up her own sleeve. She knew he wouldn't be stupid enough to act out in public, but a man's pride was always his weak spot, and if she got him mad enough, logic would go out the window. [Translation: "But of course, Mister Ox-Brains always has to have a trick up his sleeve." // "If I recall correctly, wasn't it me that, just a short while before, kicked you so hard in the bollocks your face puckered like you'd sucked back a lime? Oh, yes it was. And yet, here you are, thinking you have the upper hand, when you can't bear to think that a little old woman kicked your sorry ass."]

"Tu savez, je trouve cela un peu pathétique vous flirter avec des femmes plus jeunes," added Blanchefleur, looking over at the waitress Otto had been talking to. To add insult to injury, she had used the tu pronoun, suggested a sort of equality, an informal friendship, between the two. That would probably annoy the Wolff puppy further. "Tout le monde te trouve trop ridée?" [Translation: "You know, I find it kind of pathetic you're flirting with younger women." // "Everyone else find you too wrinkly?"]

[Otto Wolff]

The old fox still had teeth as sharp as needles, no matter her age, and Otto listened to her insults with an even face, his stature rigid, one eyebrow hooking only momentarily when the old crone suggested that Otto was, in fact, mimicking her tactics and doing a poor job at it, no less. The German's eyes tracked each movement, gesture and expression of the woman, while beneath his serene mask something dark and calculating lurked and the man weighed his options. It was true, he held a deep personal grudge against the woman and would have enjoyed nothing more than brutally connecting the heel of his expensive shoe with the old crow's blabbering mouth, yet... he was keeping a low profile and kicking an old woman in the face certainly would bring that illusion tumbling down effectively enough. For the moment he felt as if he was being circled by an annoying, small dog with a very high-pitched bark and it took Otto surprising amounts of his willpower to remain outwardly impassive.

The man merely lifted his chin up and looked down on the pitiful little hag as she went on, spouting her insults and, not very surprisingly, soon reminding Otto of the incident that had seen him getting quite sorely kicked in his nether regions and, as if that hadn't been enough, getting shot on top of that, too. Otto had gravely underestimated the resources of the old woman, but he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. It would have been only proper to return the pain she had caused him and even though he wished to retain his cover identity, he wouldn't do so at the cost of his own life. The metallic weight of the Walther PPK against his side reassured him of his more extreme options, but he wasn't going to go to such lengths... at least not unless he was forced to.

The woman went on, referring to Otto's discussion with the charming young waitress and the tall man cast a brief look towards the waitress, who by now was cleaning up some of the empty tables, all the while glancing towards Otto and the old beggar. Otto absorbed her insulting words with a rather stoic expression, although a brief glint of irritation visited his eyes upon the woman's continuous insolence. The man stood tall and proud in his place, waiting until the crone had finished, but then a small, amused smile crept upon his lips. "De tels mots intoxicants de vous, mon cher. Sans doute vous me troublez avec une personne que vous une fois connaissiez, mais je vous assure, cette personne part depuis longtemps," Otto commented, his voice low and dark, treacherous as a snake slithering among tall grass. And it was true, for he had been a different man once - prone to spouts of blind anger, caught in his drinking, often raising his hand against his wife and son - but those days were gone, he had put them behind him. He might have lost his family before the realization had properly struck him, but he would not allow himself to lose grip of his temper again. He was in control of himself and his actions now, yet this crafty old fox thought she could coax an uncontrolled reaction out of him with her cheap insults. The man's eyebrows knitted together momentarily and he shook his head.

"Dans toute l'honnêteté, j'ai trouvé votre aboiement pitoyable le plus amusant. Il montre seulement comment bas vous êtes prêts à couler, comment vous a vraiment irrités doit être. Oh, je ne réclame pas que je n'ai pas été surpris par la mesure de vos capacités sur notre plus première réunion, c'était le plus inattendu. Mais vous aussi, mon cher vieux renard, avez déjà fait une erreur grave," Otto's head tilted down slightly and his dark eyes narrowed as his next words came in the form of an ominous growl. "Vous devriez avoir pris la meilleure visée de soin, Madam Renard. Je ne suis pas le seul de ma sorte ici et quel que soit le trou dans lequel vous vous cachez, nous le trouverons et vous arracherons. Naturellement je regrette le fait que dans le processus beaucoup de bonnes personnes françaises innocentes souffriront. Mais ce n'était pas toujours les gens communs payant le prix du... actes exécutés par de tels gens que vous?"

The man stood straighter once again, allowing the old woman a cold smile. "Si vous pensez au fait de retirer un fusil ou un tel non-sens, je le conseil vous pensez deux fois. Vous serez tués avant que votre doigt touche la gâchette. Comme j'ai dit, je ne suis pas le seul loup dans le milieu de ces agneaux français simples. Pour le saké de vieux temps, vous avez votre chance de courir à pas précipités le long maintenant, car je demanderai la police ensuite. S'ils vous attrapent, je vous ferai recueillir quelqu'un du cabane local et ensuite... Bien, nous aurons tout le temps dans le monde à la réminiscence les jours vieux, n'allons pas maintenant faire nous?" Otto ran a few fingers down the lapel of his suit jacket, staring down at the old woman and feeling quite self-satisfied as he already imagined two SS-guards dragging the wretched old hag into an interrogation room while she could only spout her silly obscenities at the cold, deaf walls.


Translations:

"De tels mots intoxicants de vous, mon cher..."
"Such poisonous words from you, my dear. No doubt you are confusing me with a person you once knew, but I assure you, that person is long gone."

"Dans toute l'honnêteté, j'ai trouvé votre aboiement pitoyable le plus amusant..."
"In all honesty, I found your pitiful barking most amusing. It only shows how low you are ready to sink, how truly irritated you must be. Oh, I do not claim I was not surprised by the extent of your capabilities upon our earlier meeting, it was most unexpected. But you too, my dear old fox, have already made a grave error."

"Vous devriez avoir pris la meilleure visée de soin, Madam Renard..."
"You should have taken better care aiming, Madam Fox. I am not the only one of my kind around here and whatever hole you hide yourself in, we shall find it and dig you out. Naturally I regret the fact that in the process many good innocent French people will suffer. But hasn't it always been the common folk paying the price of the... heroics performed by such people as yourself?"

"Si vous pensez au fait de retirer un fusil ou un tel non-sens, je le conseil vous pensez deux fois..."
"If you are thinking about pulling out a gun or any such nonsense, I advice you think twice. You shall be shot dead before your finger touches the trigger. As I said, I'm not the only wolf in the middle of these simple French lambs. For old times sake, you have your chance to scurry along now, for I will call for the police next. Should they catch you, I'll have someone collect you from the local brig and then... Well, we will have all the time in the world to reminiscence on the old days, now won't we?"

[Blanchefleur Paget]

"De tels mots intoxicants de vous, mon cher. Sans doute vous me troublez avec une personne que vous une fois connaissiez, mais je vous assure, cette personne part depuis longtemps."

"Non, il n'est tout simplement essayer d'être intelligent." [Translation: "No, he's just trying to be clever."]

"Dans toute l'honnêteté, j'ai trouvé votre aboiement pitoyable le plus amusant. Il montre seulement comment bas vous êtes prêts à couler, comment vous a vraiment irrités doit être. Oh, je ne réclame pas que je n'ai pas été surpris par la mesure de vos capacités sur notre plus première réunion, c'était le plus inattendu. Mais vous aussi, mon cher vieux renard, avez déjà fait une erreur grave."

"Et ce qui pourrait être que, chiot?" [Translation: "And what might that be, puppy?"]

"Vous devriez avoir pris la meilleure visée de soin, Madam Renard. Je ne suis pas le seul de ma sorte ici et quel que soit le trou dans lequel vous vous cachez, nous le trouverons et vous arracherons. Naturellement je regrette le fait que dans le processus beaucoup de bonnes personnes françaises innocentes souffriront. Mais ce n'était pas toujours les gens communs payant le prix du . . . actes exécutés par de tels gens que vous?"

Blanchefleur barely suppressed a snort. "Pensez-vous que je me soucie de ce qui se passe à une agriculteurs remous ou quelques gourmands de la ville de matières grasses?" she said coldly. "Tant que vous faites glisser votre auto sur désolé de mon pays, je suis heureux. Je ne m'inquiète pas si je perds un oeil, je ne m'inquiète pas si vous arracher ma rate, je ne m'inquiète pas si vous allez brûler un village sanglante. Salauds a pris la dernière goutte de bon vin en France, et que tout ce que je suis ici. En outre, il devenait ennuyeux sans Allemands à coup autour. Votre accents son si mignon quand vous cri." [Translation: "Do you think I care about what happens to a few backwater farmers or some fat city gluttons?" // "As long as you drag your sorry self out of my country, I'm happy. I don't care if I lose an eye, I don't care if you rip out my spleen, I don't care if you go and burn down a bloody village. You bastards took every last drop of good wine in France, and that's all I'm here for. Besides, it was getting boring without any Germans to kick around. Your accents sound so cute when you squeal."]

Was she afraid? No, not in the slightest, and not too sympathetic with anyone else's suffering. The two men who had been speaking had entered the coffee shop as she spoke, attention finally off them with the old fox's entrance. As Blanchefleur had her barely-audible showdown with Herr Wolff, the two of them scooted behind the front counter, entering the door that led to the kitchen. There was some shuffling and a few pots banging, but nothing too loud to catch anyone's attention. Blanchefleur knew about them, but made no move to let her puppy get an idea of what was going on. Her blindfolded eyes followed the man as he stood upward, harsh and piercing despite being covered. She could not see his smile, but could feel it, and countered with a similar smile of her own. Herr Wolff had learned far too much from her, even if he denied it.

"Si vous pensez au fait de retirer un fusil ou un tel non-sens, je le conseil vous pensez deux fois. Vous serez tués avant que votre doigt touche la gâchette. Comme j'ai dit, je ne suis pas le seul loup dans le milieu de ces agneaux français simples. Pour le saké de vieux temps, vous avez votre chance de courir à pas précipités le long maintenant, car je demanderai la police ensuite. S'ils vous attrapent, je vous ferai recueillir quelqu'un du cabane local et ensuite . . . . Bien, nous aurons tout le temps dans le monde à la réminiscence les jours vieux, n'allons pas maintenant faire nous?"

"Peut-être, chiot Wolff, peut-être," said Blanchefleur. "Mais c'est peut-être vous qui devrait se précipitent, retour à la fille peu que vous divertissant. Vous les jeunes ne savent rien de la souffrance, le devoir, ou toute autre chose de la merde, vous dites que vous savez tant de choses au sujet de. J'ai été à ce plus longtemps que vous, vous désolé ivre, ne pense pas que vous êtes si intelligent. Vous êtes juste un chiot qui sera castré un jour, si elle n'est pas fouettée si vous calmer. Par ailleurs, la mention d'un pistolet ciments encore l'idée que vous compenser pour quelque chose." [Translation: "Perhaps, Wolff puppy, perhaps." // "But perhaps it is you who should scurry, back to the little wench you were entertaining. You youth know nothing about suffering, duty, or any else of the crap you say you know so much about. I've been at this longer than you, you sorry drunk; don't think you're so smart. You're just a puppy who'll be neutered one day, if not whipped should you settle down. Besides, the mention of a gun further cements the idea you're compensating for something."]

[Otto Wolff]

It was just hopelessly senseless to assume that the old crone should listen to any words of reason and Otto had to exhale deeply in order to maintain his calm composure. Dealing with the old woman was just as enjoyable as nailing one's toes to a wooden floorboard and no less painful - at least mentally. He shouldn't have bothered in the first place and had Otto had the choice, he would have arrested the wrinkly little badger on the spot, letting her rot in the cold and uncomfortable confines of the local prison for a good while before even addressing her, but as it happened, the circumstances demanded otherwise.

Otto merely shook his head and glanced briefly upwards to express his amused frustration when the woman kept attacking him with her poisonous arguments. He had to admit, he was quite surprised when she claimed that she held no interest in safeguarding the well-being of her fellow compatriots and that she was after the Germans only because she felt they had stolen all the good wine. The tall man hooked an eyebrow at her, appearing quite incredulous over her words, attempting to spot the sarcasm in her already biting tone, yet he could not discern any. Surely the woman wasn't going through all this trouble and obvious danger just in order to secure some wine? A hopeless drunk as she might have always been, battling against the German army and the Gestapo seemed far too drastic measures to guard one's drinking habits. "Vin... Vraiment, Madam Renard?" Otto questioned in a low and mirthful voice. "Il semble vraiment que vous n'avez pas changé beaucoup."

When the old crone called Otto a drunk, something flared within the man's eyes - an angry glint that quickly vanished and which was left unseen by the old woman - and the man's muscles contracted momentarily. Otto's past kept always haunting him and such mentions of his past faux pas by this insolent Frenchwoman would have not been left unpunished, had the situation been any different. He forced the feeling to pass and although the skin on the corner of his right eye twitched slightly, his voice was as cool and detached as before. "Oh, est cela vous, vraiment, qui a lutté dans les tranchées de la Grande guerre, maintenant ? Je suis tout à fait sûr les seuls efforts que vous faisiez jamais pour votre pays a concerné le boire ample." Otto still carried the scars the war had left upon him and hearing this silly old bat belittle his efforts was nothing short of insulting and ridiculous. Still, he had no time for arguing over the what's and not's, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling somewhat anxious to end the discussion. "Vous pouvez continuer à me faire jaillir vos insultes, mais les mots seuls n'accompliront rien. Votre temps s'épuise, Madam Renard. Appréciez votre course à pied dénuée de sens et feintise pendant que vous pouvez toujours," Otto wished in a low, smooth voice, taking a step away from the beggar before turning around and witnessing the table that had been now left empty.

The man sighed, fixing the lapel of his jacket and realizing how the old woman had kept him talking far too long, causing him to lose sight of his quarry. Still, it was no use crying over spilled milk and he refused to demonstrate even the smallest amount of irritation in front of the crummy old bat. He merely stood in his place for a while before moving back towards his table and taking a seat, only to notice how his coffee had by now turned disgustingly cold. Otto's dark eyes surveyed his surroundings from under his eyebrows and for a moment the man seemed nothing short of murderous over all the added misfortunes and irritations that seemed to be following one after another. The expression passed as quickly as it had appeared, yet the dark, ominous figure of the suited man still suddenly seemed unfitting in the middle of the beautiful and warm scenery, spreading shadows and spitefulness around himself as vengeful thoughts brewed within.


Translations:

"Vin... Vraiment, Madam Renard? Il semble vraiment que vous n'avez pas changé beaucoup."
"Wine... Really, Madam Fox? It truly seems you have not changed very much."

"Oh, est cela vous, vraiment, qui a lutté dans les tranchées de la Grande guerre, maintenant..?"
"Oh, is it you, truly, who fought in the trenches of the Great War, now? I'm quite certain the only efforts you ever did for your country had to do with ample drinking."

"Vous pouvez continuer à me faire jaillir vos insultes, mais les mots seuls n'accompliront rien..."
"You can keep spouting your insults at me, but words alone will not achieve anything. Your time is running out, Madam Fox. Enjoy your meaningless running and hiding while you still can."