In Sheep's Clothing [Blanchefleur]

[Otto Wolff]

Current Time: August 1942, around 15:00
Setting: A small French town in occupied France. A narrow street with different businesses and workshops of local craftsmen. It's not too crowded, but a some locals are walking here and there, some of them heading home before the storm strikes.
Weather: The day has been fairly warm, but clouds have started gathering up on the sky ominously and a slight breeze has started picking up speed, making the temperature drop very sharply. It looks like a thunderstorm might be on it's way.


The old cobblestone-covered streets and the lovely masonry of the white buildings did little to please Otto Wolff. The Gestapo officer had taken a liking to large cities and more specifically, large German cities. The buildings back home did not have this strange dreamy and warm quality to them, something that the French seemed obviously obsessed with. With German architecture everything held a specific function and the decorations of the buildings had a much more stoic quality to them. What many others would have called a charming little French town, was nothing more but a sorry little backwater village to Otto.

The tall man had stopped in front of a small shop to talk with one of the locals. Of course, right now he was not known as Otto Wolff. Currently he introduced himself as a somewhat wealthy merchant from Norway. He was dressed in a simple grey suit and a darker light jacket that made him look adequately professional and successful. He naturally held a great grudge against Germany for occupying his beautiful homeland and he tried to keep his thoughts a secret, travelling in occupied lands as he was. This did not stop him from griping about the situation of his country, when the situation so permitted. It was a great tool for finding an empathetic ear and loosening some tongues, which was exactly why Otto was here in the first place.

Numerous reports of the locals aiding the French resistance and hiding Jews had been coming in from this particular area and since Otto was fluent in Norwegian and could handle having conversations in French, he had found himself in occupied France. It had been a commission that had made the man grit his teeth. He would have much rather stayed in München attending to his other duties. But since someone with knowledge in these particular languages and in finding partisans was needed, the choices had been quite limited. His other option would have been to go work for the Gestapo office in Oslo, Norway and frankly, making the choice had not been too difficult. Once this was done and over with, he could return back to Germany and resume his regular duties there.

He still seemed like a strange choice for someone who was supposed to successfully make friends with others. The tall man had an somewhat intimidating quality to him; his dark hair was slowly thinning and his eyes appeared almost black. The broad-shouldered man carried himself with confidence and pride, which of course could have just meant that he was like any other rich businessman. He did not usually smile, but during his stay in France he had been doing that quite a lot. It wasn't always a pleasant smile, though. Otto's lips usually had the tendency to curl into an almost predatory smirk and that was when people would start hesitating around him. He really did try hard, though, but he knew he wasn't too well suited for such undercover work in the first place. His mannerisms were much more effective in the Gestapo interrogation rooms.

Otto, or as he was now known, Rolf Alsvik, had struck up quite a fruitful conversation with one of the locals. The older, gray-haired man was very interested in hearing the Norwegian's thoughts concerning the occupation of his home country. In return, the local man complained about the occupation, lowering his voice each time to call the Germans slimy bastards. Otto much agreed to his sentiments and in an enthusiastic manner exclaimed that something should be done about the Germans. Rolf Alsvik had quite a bit of wealth due to being a merchant, doing business with both the French and Germans, and might be able to assist the locals in creating some troubles for the occupying forces. If he only knew who to contact about it! Were there not partisans somewhere around the area?

"Je serais heureux si je pourrais avoir quelque vengeance sur eux," Otto said, his low voice pleasant and smooth. Even if the man seemed intimidating, he had the habit of always speaking in a calm and relaxingly husky tone of voice. It worked to overcome some of the doubts the locals had about him. He spoke French with an accent, but in a manner that was difficult to pinpoint. Maybe it was some kind of curious Scandinavian accent?

"Ah oui, j'ai entendu de certaines personnes qui pourraient faire qui arrivent," the old, gray-haired French man said with a sly smirk, obviously feeling very important over having some inside information. Otto was feeling victorious already. Even if he did not get the names of these people, the old man would find himself in the local Gestapo station soon enough. He had already admitted knowing some of the local saboteurs and that was more than enough for the Gestapo officer. Otto's dark eyes stared at the older man and he smiled again, urging the man to continue.


Translations:

"Je serais heureux si je pourrais avoir quelque vengeance sur eux."
"It would bring me much joy to have some kind of a revenge on them."

"Ah oui, j'ai entendu de certaines personnes qui pourraient faire qui arrivent."
"Oh yes, I have heard about some people who could make that happen."

[Blanchefleur Paget]

Why did France have no finer wine? Simple — the Germans had all the wine. Wine most divine, it caused the drinking members of the populace to seethe with envy and regret, and fondly recall the days when quality drinks were as free as the people. Dear Monsieur Hitler should have stuck to his damned schnapps — what did the wine ever do to his people?! It was not the fault of the alcohol that the Germans had a tendency to be kicked back to where they belonged. It was the fault of the Germans themselves, a truth too simple for the simple-minded Germans to grasp.

Blanchefleur sighed, leaning against one of the local merchants' stalls. In one wrinkled hand, there was a bottle of white wine — and not the best white wine either. It was far too dry a wine, dirty as the bottom of a mud-splattered foot, and the short Frenchwoman was tempted to throw it aside, slaking her thirst instead with a cold glass of water. What blasphemy it was — instead of enjoying a refreshing bottle of wine, one that was the pride of France, sweet and cool as the ice upon the Alps, Blanchefleur was reduced to this! It was shameful, a sign of how the French had merely tucked in their tails. It was worthy of vengeance, even!

Vengeance!

Oh, au diable avec vous. [Trans.: Oh, to hell with it.]

"Pfft."

What was the point of crying vengeance, the point of stewing over something, when there was nothing to serve as an outlet? An outlet that, unless a town's worth of Germans came marching like geese through, was not there? The dry wine was tossed, landing in a basket of various waste — a place where it could be dirty as the local garbage. Dirty as the Germans, who had mostly cleared out a day before, save for some mighty-tighty bastard who was of some ridiculous amount of importance. People had said the idiot was from the Gestapo, the German police force — now didn't that fact make the man all the more annoying to have around —

". . .Bonjooour. . . ." [Trans.: ". . .Hellooo. . . ."]

Now who was that fetching sir, talking to Monsieur Vasser? He looked to be of an older age — perhaps Blanchefleur would have seen him in a different time, but under similar circumstances? The old woman could not say. All that she did know was that he had quite a peculiar, yet familiar accent — something from the northern countries, but not from the British Isles. His hushed tone was quite peculiar as well, for Monsieur Vasser was of a rebellious nature, and on the side of the Resistance. Perhaps it was best to walk in on the conversation.

"Monsieur Vasser!" the woman yipped, casually walking up to the aging Frenchman and the mysterious stranger. "Monsieur, comment faites-vous ? En causant avec les étrangers, sont maintenant nous ? De tels commérages — vous iriez tout à fait au groupe de tricot local. Et juste qui est ce charmeur ici ?" [Trans.: Monsieur, how are you doing? Chatting with the foreigners, now are we? Such a gossip — you'd fit perfectly with the local knitting group. And just who is this charmer here?]

[Otto Wolff]

Just as it seemed that the gray-haired man was ready to go on and reveal more about the resistance in the area, a cheerful female voice interrupted the conversation. Otto turned his head sharply to regard the newcomer, the venomous words almost finding their way out of his mouth. Reminding himself that he was supposed to be a sympathetic and a somewhat friendly merchant, Otto held his tongue in check, but only barely. He was too used to strict German code of behavior and only a few people would have even dreamed of interrupting the serious Kriminalkommissar when he was busy with his work.

The man's eyes came upon an elderly woman, it was somewhat difficult to determine her age. She was small in size and had a strange air to her; something that made the alarms go off inside Otto's head. She seemed... spunky, determined. It didn't matter if her hair had already turned grey, but her broken nose and sharp eyes told Otto that the woman could have been nothing but trouble. He certainly did not wish for an interruption now that the old man had been ready to spill the beans on the local resistance.

That wasn't the thing that was bothering Otto most, though. He had a good memory when it came to names and faces and even though many years had passed since the Great War, Otto knew there was something... If he only could put his finger on it. The man arched an eyebrow slightly, trying to conjure up an image of this woman in her younger years.

Still, reminding himself that discretion was needed, Otto managed to smile at the woman quickly. The older French man seemed to know the woman and he greeted her warmly, obviously pleased that she had joined in on their discussion. "Ah, oui. Permettez-moi de vous présenter cet homme parfait, entièrement de la Norvège, non moins! Il est ... uh ..." the older man glanced at the tall, broad-shouldered man.

"Rolf Alsvik, madame. Et effectivement, comme ce monsieur parfait vous a déjà dit, je suis un négociant de la Norvège et une visite des villes différentes sur ma voie à Paris," the dark-haired man introduced himself, throwing in a pleasant, yet somehow cautious smile. His voice was as smooth and civil as his mannerisms. The man's nose had also been broken at least once perviously and it had been left just slightly crooked after the incident. All this time, Otto's memory had been searching for the appropriate image and his dark eyes scanned over the woman's face, when suddenly something clicked. He could only remember her first name, Hèlène, but he certainly remembered the woman now. She had been an constant drinking partner to the Germans during the Great War, always one to make new friends and tell amusing stories.

Otto himself had not been even thirty at the time, but he certainly had not forgotten the story regarding the woman. Apparently the drunken woman had stolen a motorbike, driven it through a patrol of Germans and, with her actions, caused the whole group fall to the Allies. What had happened to the woman after that, Otto did not know, but he was now sure that he had identified the woman correctly. His whole being itched to grab the woman and take her down to the local police station personally, but this would of course jeopardize his whole mission here. He could only hope that the woman would not remember Otto, but she had been so drunk most of the time, so how could she?

The elder man, Monsieur Vasser, beamed with happiness when he could introduce such an exotic new acquaintance to someone else. "Et c'était certainement pas bavardent nous parlions de," the old man exclaimed with a sly wink.

Otto cleared his throat and extended his hand to the woman, trying his best to still act out his role accordingly. "Je suis désolé tout à fait de mon français, je crains que ce soit un peu rouillé. Je ne crois pas que j'ai tout à fait attrapé votre nom, madame?" Otto asked as he towered over the small woman, only barely managing to keep himself in check.


Translations:

"Ah, oui. Permettez-moi de vous présenter cet homme parfait, entièrement de la Norvège, non moins! Il est ... uh ..."
"Ah, yes. Allow me to introduce to you this fine man, all the way from Norway, no less! He is... uh..."

"Rolf Alsvik, madame. Et effectivement, comme ce monsieur parfait vous a déjà dit, je suis un négociant de la Norvège et une visite des villes différentes sur ma voie à Paris."
"Rolf Alsvik, madame. And indeed, as this fine gentleman already told you, I'm a merchant from Norway and visiting various towns on my way to Paris."

"Et c'était certainement pas bavardent nous parlions de."
"And it was certainly not gossip we were talking about."

"Je suis désolé tout à fait de mon français, je crains que ce soit un peu rouillé. Je ne crois pas que j'ai tout à fait attrapé votre nom, madame?"
"I'm quite sorry about my French, I fear it is a bit rusty. I don't believe I caught your name, madame?"

[Blanchefleur Paget]

A brief flash of emotion in the man's eyes? Emotion that, according to Blanchefleur's trusty gut, was of a negative air. It could have been that the foreigner was annoyed with being interrupted — but there was always the chance of something else. The old Frenchwoman would have to keep on her toes, lest she find her goose cooked by this not-so-innocent-looking man. Hadn't Blanchefleur also seen his face before, now that she was closer and could see his details better? Those eyes of his were suspicious — not many people had such dark irises.

"Rolf Alsvik, madame. Et effectivement, comme ce monsieur parfait vous a déjà dit, je suis un négociant de la Norvège et une visite des villes différentes sur ma voie à Paris," said the stranger. He went the extra mile by giving a courteous — but reserved — smile, causing Blanchefleur to mentally raise her eyebrows. Now why did it seem like he was going on guard? Rolf Alsvik didn't seem to be a man of an introverted nature — the Norwegian had been quite chatty a minute before. The sly wink from Monsieur Vasser only confirmed Blanchefleur's suspicions that the pair had been conversing about something.

Her name, in response to Monsieur Alsvik's question of her identity? "Hélène Pomeroy," Blanchefleur automatically replied, grinning and accepting Rolf's hand with a vigourous shake. The Monsieur Vasser raised his eyebrows, surprised by the woman's answer — since when did she use that name? Vasser hadn't heard Blanchefleur refer to herself as "Hélène" before. Then again, he had never learned if Blanchefleur was the woman's full name, or if it was her name at all — maybe it was a middle name. People could be strange like that.

"Monsieur Alsvik, je m'excuse si j'ai interrompu sur votre conversation. Je peux être un tel moulin à paroles par moments et moi et le Monsieur sommes sur de tels bons termes, nous ne pouvons pas nous empêcher de dire bonjour l'un à l'autre. Dites-moi, je n'ai pas interrompu quelque chose d'important, maintenant a je, les messieurs ?" [Translation: "Monsieur Alsvik, I apologize if I interrupted on your conversation. I can be such a chatterbox at times, and I and the Monsieur are on such good terms, we cannot help but say hello to each other. Tell me, I didn't interrupt something important, now did I, gentlemen?"]

"Pas du tout, Blan — " [Translation: "Not at all, Blan — "]

"Hélène. S'il vous plaît, Monsieur, appelez-moi par ce nom. L'autre n'était pas qu'un surnom simple pour moi — il est impoli d'utiliser quelque chose de si informel quand il faut être formel." [Translation: "Hélène. Please, Monsieur, call me by that name. The other was but a simple nickname for myself — it's rude to use something so informal when one must be formal."]

"Oh, eh. . .d'accord, Hélène," said Monsieur Vasser, a little surprised by the correction. "Bien, comme j'étais sur le point de dire, Hélène, ce jeune homme est tout à fait le sympathisant de notre situation. Il est, eh. . .quel serait un bon terme pour utiliser ? Je suis sûr que vous pouvez deviner, Hélène. . . ." [Translation: "Oh, eh. . .all right, Hélène." // "Well, as I was about to say, Hélène, this young man is quite the sympathizer of our situation. He is, eh. . .what would be a good term to use? I'm sure you can guess, Hélène. . . ."]

The woman's honey-coloured eyes narrowed. "Je vois. . ." said the old woman, shifting her gaze back onto Monsieur Alsvik, but this time, with suspicion. "Un petit sang pour la Norvège, Monsieur Alsvik ?" [Translation: "I see. . . ." // "A little blood for Norway, Monsieur Alsvik?"]

[Otto Wolff]

The situation which had seemed so promising just seconds ago, was quickly changing from bad to worse. The old man, who now had been identified as Monsieur Vasser, had seemed very proud of his affiliations to the local resistance and would have surely told Otto everything he wanted to know about them. Then, this gray-haired old woman had suddenly decided to waltz in and ruin a perfectly good conversation! Otto could already picture locking up the woman in a dreary cage somewhere in the confines of a dark Gestapo prison, but such a thing was just not possible at the moment.

Making an effort to remain as polite as possible, Otto flashed a small smile at the woman as they shook hands. In a curious twist of events, Monsieur Vasser was about to address the woman by another name, but "Hélène" was quick to interrupt him. Even the old man Vasser himself seemed surprised of the interruption, but the woman just explained that he didn't want to be too informal. Still, Otto could see that the woman had a much sharper mind than old man Vasser and the seeds of suspicion had already been sown. If this Hélène remembered Otto's true identity, the whole plan could fall apart in seconds. Standing good 190 centimeters tall and carrying a weapon, Otto felt quite confident of his own safety and was mostly worried of just having all his work going to waste. Still, there was no way of knowing if she would remember him or not, so Otto decided to just act out his role accordingly, at least for the moment.

Vasser went on to explain how the Norwegian was sympathetic to the situation of the French and the woman narrowed her eyes at the remark. "Un petit sang pour la Norvège, Monsieur Alsvik?" she asked and Otto pretended that he did not quite understand what the woman could have possibly meant. He raised his dark eyebrows and flashed a confused smile at her. "Sang? Oh, oui.. Je devine, si vous devez le mettre cette voie," the man said awkwardly, as if the mere mention of blood made him feel squeamish. Even though Norway had put up a good fight against the Germans, it was very much possible that the man himself had little knowledge of actual combat. The Norwegian was quite athletically build and obviously took good care of himself, but that did not mean that he was actually a fighter himself. People stayed in good condition just by doing work at a farm and it didn't mean that they were anything near to a warrior.

"Madame Pomeroy, je dois avouer que quand il vient pour combattre, je n'ai pas beaucoup d'expérience avec cela. Mais nous trouvons nos pays dans les situations semblables. Ma patrie a été reprise par les allemands aussi vous est arrivé. Il y a de certains gens en Norvège qui se défendent et ..." the Norwegian merchant seemed to hesitate and he quickly glanced at Monsieur Vasser, as if he was not quite sure if he should go on.

Monsieur Vasser nodded with a smile. "Oh, il est tout à fait bien de révéler votre point de vue autour d'elle, n'inquiéter pas," he assured and with slight hesitation, the tall man nodded and let the gaze of his dark eyes fall on the older woman again. What a treat it would be if he could catch the troublesome woman among the other rabble and accuse them both of being partisans! Otto tugged the lapel of his jacket nervously, feeling like a rather talented actor. "Bien, comme j'ai dit, je ne suis pas pour lutter contre moi, mais je peux fournir d'autres moyens d'assistance. Comme il arrive, j'ai quelques fonds que je pourrais acheminer dans les buts plus utiles, j'ai seulement besoin à... Comment le dit-on ? Trouvez des voies nécessaires de canaliser ces ressources, oui ? J'ai reçu l'impression que Monsieur Vasser ici pourrait connaître quelqu'un qui pourrait m'aider avec cela. Peut-être vous avez un peu de connaissance du sujet aussi, madame?"


Translations:

"Sang? Oh, oui.. Je devine, si vous devez le mettre cette voie."
"Blood? Oh, yes.. I guess, if you must put it that way."

"Madame Pomeroy, je dois avouer que quand il vient pour combattre, je n'ai pas beaucoup d'expérience avec cela..."
"Madame Pomeroy, I must confess that when it comes to battle, I do not have much experience with it. But we find our countries in similar situations. My homeland has been taken over by the Germans just as has happened to you. There are certain people in Norway who are fighting back and..."

"Oh, il est tout à fait bien de révéler votre point de vue autour d'elle, n'inquiéter pas."
"Oh, it's quite all right to reveal your point of view around her, don't worry."

"Bien, comme j'ai dit, je ne suis pas pour lutter contre moi, mais je peux fournir d'autres moyens d'assistance..."
"Well, as I said, I'm not for fighting myself, but I can provide other means of assistance. As it happens, I have some funds I could funnel into more useful purposes, I only need to... How does one say it? Find proper ways to channel these resources, yes? I got the impression that Monsieur Vasser here might know someone who could help me with it. Maybe you have some knowledge of the subject also, madame?"

[Blanchefleur Paget]

What ho? The man tugged at his lapel — an even more suspicious sign. Gears were turning in the little woman's head, and the vague memory of a night at a tavern came to mind. There had been a soldier that she had met, on the German side and quite the ladies' man, who always tugged at his lapel when a pretty girl returned his gestures. He and the Norwegian seemed to fit together somehow — unhappily, Blanchefleur couldn't make the connection to then and now. She stroked her chin, half-thinking, half-listening, nodding as Monsieur Alsvik was urged to explain himself.

"Vous jouez avec le feu, Monsieur Alsvik," said Blanchefleur, "mais je ne peux pas m'empêcher d'applaudir votre nerf. Vous espérez être un homme d'une richesse — sans doute vous avez joué la partie de la voie en haut l'ordre picotant. Il est tout à fait étonnant quelle sorte de gens affluent à votre compagnie, Monsieur Vasser." [Translation: "You play with fire, Monsieur Alsvik." // "But I can't help but applaud your nerve. You look to be a man of some wealth — no doubt you've gambled part of the way up the pecking order. It's quite amazing what kind of people flock to your company, Monsieur Vasser."]

"Bien, j'étais toujours bon en présence d'autres," said Vasser, chuckling sheepishly as he smiled the same way. Blanchefleur seemed to ignore him, walking forward — she might have been an alcoholic, but the Frenchwoman still had a nose for trouble. Getting as close to the man as personal space would allow, the woman tilted her head back, rising until she stood on mere tip-toes. That look in the man's was one-of-a-kind — alert like the guard dog's, sharp like the hawk's, dark as a pool of water at night. What went on in the mind of this one-of-a-kind man, with whom Blanchefleur had to stand on her tip-toes so she could see him better? Was Monsieur Rolf Alsvik the true name of this man? [Translation: "Well, I always was good in the presence of others."]

"Vos yeux sont très sombres," remarked the old woman. "Tout à fait la rareté jusqu'ici le nord — ou donc j'ai entendu. Avez-vous été nés là, Monsieur Alsvik ?" [Translation: "Your eyes are very dark." // "Quite the rarity so far north — or so I heard. Were you born there, Monsieur Alsvik?"]

"Vous avez l'air d'un des fascistes, Hélène," commented Vasser. "Que ses yeux concernent-ils n'importe quoi ?" [Translation: "You sound like one of the fascists, Hélène." // "What do his eyes have to do with anything?"]

"Rien d'importance, Monsieur," said Blanchefleur. "Une pure observation, pas n'importe quoi pour être aux petits soins. Ai-je raison, Monsieur Alsvik ?" [Translation: "Nothing of importance, Monsieur." // "A mere observation, not anything to fuss over. Am I right, Monsieur Alsvik?"]

[Otto Wolff]

The gray-haired woman Hélène, or whatever her actual name was, regarded Otto with, what could only be, growing suspicion. She didn't seem to be fully listening to the Norwegian's explanation and Otto wondered if the woman might still remember him after all these years. Certainly she must have been far too intoxicated to remember anything of those drunken nights at the tavern. Having suffered from problems with alcohol himself, Otto well knew that consuming enough drinks could make one's memory quite hazy indeed. And from what Otto remembered, Hélène had been practically drinking like a sponge!

Still, Otto had been one to partake in the fun in his younger days, always eyeing the ladies and if a piano was available, playing cheerful tunes to charm the members of the opposite gender. One might have not believed it now from his serious attitude, but back then he had been quite eager to take part in any merrymaking. He had also been particular to taking part in fights; not starting them, but finishing them as efficiently as possible.

Telling Otto, or Rolf as he currently was known, that he was playing with fire but that she admired such an gutsy act, the older woman moved closer to the tall foreigner. She stopped right in front of the dark-haired man and peered carefully into his eyes, having to raise up to her toes to see the man better. For the briefest moment Otto felt the desire to take a step back, but he realized that it would have only made him seem more suspicious. Instead, the man craned his neck and brought his face closer to Héléne's in a somewhat arrogant manner.

The man stared Hélène straight back into her honey-coloured eyes, not blinking even once. His dark eyes bored into hers, studying the woman carefully. Oh, indeed. This female could spell a lot of trouble for Otto. She might have been old, but there was that dangerous twinkle of intelligence and slyness in her eyes, something that Otto certainly did not like in a peasant. The common people were supposed to be uneducated, happy with their mundane little lives and easy to control. Much like cattle, actually. This woman was obviously anything but those things.

Finally breaking off from the penetrating stare, Otto straightened his back and flashed the woman a small, crooked smile when she commented the man on his eyes, saying that they were quite dark and asking if Rolf had been actually born all the way up in the north. Monsieur Vasser scolded the woman gently, telling her that she was acting like a fascist, asking about eye colour and whatnot. Hélène acted as if he had only an innocent interest in the subject. "Une pure observation, pas n'importe quoi pour être aux petits soins. Ai-je raison, Monsieur Alsvik?"

Obviously the question did not bother the tall foreign man, for he only shrugged at her. "Mes yeux vous mécontentent, la madame? Mon dieu. J'ai peur qui est une chose j'ai peu de contrôle. Mais effectivement, je suis né en Norvège, Bergen, être plus exact. J'ai mené la plupart de ma vie à Oslo, cependant Mais ne vous inquiétez pas, je ne suis pas offensé par votre question. On m'a demandé la même chose auparavant. Je devine les gens sauf que chacun là regarderait en haut plus de Scandinave, mais c'est tout à fait une faute commune de faire. Il y a beaucoup de personnes avec les cheveux sombres et les yeux et tous sont très norvégiens, je peux vous assurer," the man said in an almost patronizing tone.

Running a hand over his chin, the man seemed to hesitate again. "Mais... Je peux vous voir ne vous fier pas à moi et je ne peux pas vous blâmer. Avec les Nazis partout, il n'y a aucune paix n'importe où, maintenant y a-il ? Je dois reconnaître qu'il y a quelque chose que je n'ai pas abordé encore concernant mon désir d'aider, car je suis tout à fait embarrassé pour l'admettre. Vous voyez, je suis en activité dans les parties de machine et je suis forcé à aussi m'occuper des allemands. Le problème avec eux est qu'ils sont désireux tout à fait de contrôler les prix et les marchés eux-mêmes. Cela me provoque au fait de devoir de leur vendre mes produits aux prix ridicules," the man's brow wrinkled with annoyance.

"Ainsi comme vous pouvez voir, j'ai vraiment des raisons un peu intéressées derrière tout cela, bien que je sois aussi un grand patriote, il n'y a aucune question à propos de cela. Pardonnez-moi pour ne pas l'admettre tout de suite," the man shook his head, as if embarrassed. Inside Otto was beaming with pleasure over coming up with this such a feasible explanation and he settled into looking appropriately guilty over his confession.


Translations:

"Mes yeux vous mécontentent, la madame? Mon dieu..."
"My eyes displease you, madame? Oh dear. I'm afraid that is a thing I have little control over. But indeed, I was born in Norway, Bergen, to be more exact. I have lived most of my life in Oslo, though. But do not worry, I'm not offended by your question. I have been asked the same thing before. I guess people except that everyone up there would look more Scandinavian, but that is quite a common mistake to make. There are many people with dark hair and eyes and all of them are very Norwegian, I can assure you."

"Mais... Je peux vous voir ne vous fier pas à moi et je ne peux pas vous blâmer..."
"But... I can see you do not trust me and I cannot blame you. With the Nazis everywhere, there is no peace anywhere, now is there? I must admit that there is something I have not brought up yet regarding my desire to help, for I am quite embarrassed to admit it. You see, I deal in machine parts and I am forced to also deal with the Germans. The problem with them is that they are quite eager to control the prices and the markets themselves. This causes me to having to sell my products to them at ridiculous prizes."

"Ainsi comme vous pouvez voir, j'ai vraiment des raisons un peu intéressées derrière tout cela, bien que je sois aussi un grand patriote, il n'y a aucune question à propos de cela..."
"So, as you can see, I do have somewhat selfish reasons behind all of this, although I am also a great patriot, there is no question about it. Forgive me for not admitting it straight away."

[Blanchefleur Paget]

"Mes yeux vous mécontentent, la madame? Mon dieu. J'ai peur qui est une chose j'ai peu de contrôle —"

"Je n'ai jamais dit qu'ils m'ont mécontenté, Monsieur Alsvik," said Blanchefleur with sudden sharpness, not liking the man's tone, before letting the Norwegian continue. [Translation: "I never said they displeased me, Monsieur Alsvik."]

" — Mais effectivement, je suis né en Norvège, Bergen, être plus exact. J'ai mené la plupart de ma vie à Oslo, cependant Mais ne vous inquiétez pas, je ne suis pas offensé par votre question. On m'a demandé la même chose auparavant. Je devine les gens sauf que chacun là regarderait en haut plus de Scandinave, mais c'est tout à fait une faute commune de faire. Il y a beaucoup de personnes avec les cheveux sombres et les yeux et tous sont très norvégiens, je peux vous assurer."

"Mhm-hmmmm. . ." murmured Blanchefleur, stroking her wrinkled chin. Monsieur Vasser sighed tiredly, giving the little woman a look — she had no need to interrogate the passers-by as if she were a Nazi. Then again, what if she was? Perhaps Monsieur Alsvik had unknowingly caught the attention of some German agent, cleverly disguised as an innocent old woman. Turncoat Frenchmen were, after all, the reason France was occupied — they had practically presented the country on a silver platter to the Nazi foe. The old man felt his own eyes narrow at the thought.

Monsieur Vasser went to open his mouth, but Monsieur Alsvik interrupted him. Blanchefleur nodded along at the Norwegian's continuing explanation — ridiculous prices equaled a little payback, eh? Not to mention the man called himself a patriot. A kindred spirit for Blanchefleur — why did that seem to stir the memories in the far corners of her mind?

Perhaps it was time to try something. An old trick she had learned from her mother, from the times of Blanchefleur's childhood, when she still ran across the sandy shores of the Mediterranean. Events, people and places could be recalled better if something was associated with them — whether it be a colour, a shape, a scent or even a sound. The trick could work a second way as well, for if one seemed as suspicious as the Monsieur Alsvik, they might react unexpectedly to a certain trigger. Blanchefleur just had to think of something that would get Alsvik to twitch, to blink unexpectedly — something that would make him slip up, like a foot on a bar of soap. . . .

Ce visage, thought Blanchefleur. Je commencerai avec le visage. Ses yeux. . .and ce sourire satisfait, aussi! Mon Dieu, qu'est-ce qui est avec ce sourire satisfait ? [Translation: The face. // I'll start with the face. His eyes. . .and that smirk, too! My God, what is with that smirk?]

"C'est tout à fait le plan que vous avez, Monsieur," said the woman, raising a thin eyebrow. "Votre esprit est très pointu. Je peux le voir dans ces yeux votres — ils me rappellent quelque chose. . .la ruse. Comme un des renards qui courent autour de la campagne. . .ou peut-être même un loup. Un loup de la Norvège, heheh. Ou un renard." [Translation: "That's quite the scheme you have, Monsieur." // "Your mind is very sharp. I can see it in those eyes of yours — they remind me of something...cunning. Like one of the foxes that run around the countryside...or maybe even a wolf. A wolf from Norway, heheh. Or a fox."]

[Otto Wolff]

A strange tension seemed to have suddenly developed between the three people and even the wind tugged more sharply at their clothes now. Otto had not noticed it at first, but even Monsieur Vasser's attitude seemed to have changed and he was not sure what had caused it. From what Otto himself could gather, he had not made any mistakes that should have caused the old man to grow suspicious. Maybe he was now infected by Hélène's possible suspicions, too?

Oh, how he wanted to curse out loud. Everything had been going so perfectly until this silly old goose had decided to walk into the conversation! He wanted to leave France as soon as possible, there was little here for him and he longed to be back in Germany. If this Hélène caused for Otto to fail in what he was trying to achieve here, who knows how much longer Otto might have to say in this sorry excuse for a country?

Realizing that his frustration and anger might soon be much more difficult to hide, Otto forced himself to calm down. Letting one's personal emotions to ruin a task was nothing short of idiotic. Clearing his mind the best he could and allowing himself to sigh inwardly, Otto glanced once again at the petite woman.

She had still not grown tired of looking at the Norwegian thoughtfully, but Otto reminded himself of the importance of maintaining his role. Raising an eyebrow quizzically back at her, he listened as the woman spoke again, still commenting the man's dark eyes as if the matter had some special importance. "Je peux le voir dans ces yeux votres — ils me rappellent quelque chose. . .la ruse. Comme un des renards qui courent autour de la campagne. . .ou peut-être même un loup. Un loup de la Norvège, heheh. Ou un renard."

What was this talk about foxes and wolves? Why would she mention something like that so unexpectedly? A fox. A wolf. A wolf from Norway. Or maybe it was a subtle hint and what she actually meant was something more like... Wolff from Germany? The man narrowed his eyes slightly, wondering if the woman had somehow realized his true identity. She could not of course know that Otto worked in the Secret State Police of Germany, but realizing that he was actually a German would be quite enough to ruin things for him.

The dark-haired man became painfully aware of the fact that he had been left quite wordless for a moment. Even Monsieur Vasser was now staring at Rolf Alsvik, wondering what had overcome the Norwegian. Otto tried to quickly disguise his thoughts and acted as if he had only been overcome by pure puzzlement over the woman's strange choice of words.

"Un loup? Un renard? Mais sont tous les deux des animaux non considérés comme étant traître ? Nous appelons des exclus en Norvège par ce nom. Une mauvaise personne est un "varg", un loup, si vous pouvez. Un loup et un renard peuvent être élégants effectivement, mais ils sont aussi considérés l'être tout à fait perfide. Oh pas, je ne me comparerais à autre animal, chère madame," the man said, his low voice smooth and pleasantly husky. In a manner that had become very characteristic to Otto, the man tilted his head to the side and raised his chin, a small, crooked smirk playing on his lips again. Oh, there was a fox in here indeed, but Otto was not it. The fox was the woman and Otto was the hound that would catch her. It felt like a suitable metaphor for the situation; Otto loved the thrill of the chase when it came to either women or enemies of the Reich. And he never... never lost his quarry.

"Mais j'admets, je ne suis pas familier avec le folklore français et être tout à fait sincère, qui n'est pas que je dois ici discuter. Aucun offense signifié, chère madame. Je veux seulement savoir si vous ou Monsieur Vasser ici pourriez me diriger vers les gens justes."


Translations:

"Un loup? Un renard? Mais sont tous les deux des animaux non considérés comme étant traître? Nous appelons des exclus en Norvège par ce nom..."
"A wolf? A fox? But are both animals not considered as being traitorous? We call outcasts in Norway by that name. A bad person is a "varg", a wolf, if you may. A wolf and a fox may be smart indeed, but they are also considered quite treacherous beings. Oh no, I would rather compare myself to some other animal, dear madame."

"Mais j'admets, je ne suis pas familier avec le folklore français et être tout à fait sincère, qui n'est pas que je dois ici discuter.."
"But I admit, I'm not familiar with French folklore and to be quite frank, that is not what I'm here to discuss. No offence meant, dear madame. I only wish to know if either you or Monsieur Vasser here could direct me to the right people."

[Blanchefleur Paget]

A narrowing of the eyes upon the mention of the wolf? Now she was getting somewhere! That hard stare was a good sign she was on to something as well — the man looked like he had been trying to think of an answer. Ha! Typical of a secret-holder — thinking up sensible, answers, reacting to the smallest things that threatened to dig up what was supposed to be buried. If only Blanchefleur had some alcohol to loosen up the Norwegian's tongue. It might not be needed if he kept getting as irritated as he seemed to be.

"Il est drôle que vous mentionneriez des traîtres, Monsieur Alsvik," said Blanchefleur, after the man had finished his. . .comeback? Snap-back? Something of that nature — Blanchefleur cared little for putting a name to it, only noting that the answer had been similar to one or another. "Votre réponse me donne l'impression vous pensez aux pensées traitorious." [Translation: "It's funny that you would mention traitors, Monsieur Alsvik." // "Your answer gives me the impression you are thinking of thoughts traitorious.]

"Hélène!" cried the old man Vasser with distaste. It was obvious that the Monsieur Alsvik was a bit traitorious — he wanted to sell out the Germans, after all! Such a thing could have the Monsieur shot — was that what the old bat wanted?! "Quitterez-vous le jeu comme vous êtes un de ces cochons qui ont traversé ici plus tôt ? Vous allez conduire chacun dont vous vous rencontrez!" [Translation: "Will you quit acting like you're one of those swines that came through here earlier? You're going to drive everyone you meet off!]

Blanchefleur said nothing to the Monsieur Vasser. Instead, her eyes focused in on the man's face, and her mind's eye began removing a few of the features. Her memory, just for a moment, became less vague — taking away the wrinkled brow, the scowl, and keeping the sharp glint in the man's eyes, a familiar face was recalled. It came out too clouded to visualize properly. She'd have to take her trick further!

"Mais je m'excuse, monsieur," began Blanchefleur, her tone apologetic, giving a small bow with one arm over her stomach. "C'est très impoli de moi et je suis sûr que je pourrais vous diriger vers un bon ami mien, selon de ce quoi vous avez besoin. Je ne peux pas m'empêcher encore de vous penser comme un loup et votre sourire est très semblable à le loup, comme le grand mauvais loup d'une certaine histoire et je ne peux pas aider aussi, mais vous penser comme. . .Monsieur Loup." [Translation: "But I apologize, sir." // "It is very rude of me, and I'm sure I could direct you to a good friend of mine, depending on what you need. I can't help but still think of you as a wolf, and your grin is very wolf-like, like the big bad wolf of a certain story, and I can't also help but think of you as. . .Mister Wolf.]

[Otto Wolff]

The feelings of frustration and anger would just not let go of Otto. The woman pressed on and she would not stop talking about wolves and how much Rolf Alsvik reminded her of one. Otto was still wondering if the woman was on to him and only with tremendous effort did he manage to maintain his calm disposition. Hélène mentioned how interesting it was that the Norwegian should mention traitors out of the blue and Otto was slightly surprised when even Monsieur Vasser seemed taken back by the woman's observations.

The older man said that Hélène was acting like one of the "swines" that had just left the town and Otto felt a burning desire to smack the man in the face for calling Germans by such name. Still, he stayed his hand and directed his attention at the old woman again. She kept talking about wolves in the strangest manner, comparing Otto to a big bad wolf and some other nonsense. Either the woman had suddenly come to remember Otto's true identity or Otto had involuntarily reacted to the mention of wolves and the sharp-minded woman had noticed it.

Deciding that he would not let the woman question him like this, the dark-haired man raised up his chin and seemed more than just slightly offended by the woman's words, even when Hélène went on to apologize for them. Not even the Norwegian merchant Rolf Alsvik would listen to such insults without any reaction!

"J'ai seulement mentionné la nature traîtresse de loups parce que vous avez voulu révéler le sujet de loups. Comme j'ai dit, une telle comparaison est considérée tout à fait injurieux par les normes norvégiennes," the man said much more sharply than before, straightening out the lapels of his dark overcoat as he spoke and craning his neck, as if to release some tension from his muscles.

"Je n'ai pas le temps, ni énergie pour le jeu de mot compliqué, madame Renard," the man continued, sounding somewhat sarcastic as he compared the woman to a fox. In a way, it might have been perfectly understandable; in the Norwegian's mind, Hélène was most likely acting very strangely and he was, after all, placing himself in danger for the common good and had a fair reason for being somewhat cautious. "Vous pouvez m'aider ou vous ne pouvez pas. Il semble qu'il y ait une tempête sur la voie et je n'ai aucune patience pour jouer à n'importe quels jeux. Je n'ai pas accumulé ma richesse en jouant aux jeux spirituels dans les rues. Si vous doutez de moi, le sens libre de m'évaluer. Je peux même vous montrer mes papiers si vous voulez, mais pour l'instant vous m'avez apporté peu de raison de vous fier à vous," Otto glanced at his watch, pretending to appear anxious and busy. The dark clouds had started gathering up on the sky ominously and the air smelled of electricity and rain. A storm was on the way.

The whole situation seemed to rile up Monsieur Vasser somewhat and the man raised up his hands. The resistance, after all, needed all the help it could get and the old man was afraid that Hélène's antics had scared the possible assistance away. "Eh bien, je suis sûr que nous pouvons toujours le discuter, je suis sûr que la Madame Pomeroy n'a voulu dire rien de malade de ses mots."

Otto paused, as if to consider if these people were worth his trust. The man furrowed his eyebrows as he was thinking. Outwardly, it might have seemed as if Rolf Alsvik was wondering about the trustworthiness of these people, but in reality, Otto was really considering his options. He did not want to act too hastily. If Madame Pomeroy had realized Otto's true identity, she was only playing this game to buy some more time. She might have been only trying to make Otto nervous and make him reveal something that the man did not want to tell them.

If he continued talking to these people and Hélène had not identified him, he could get more out of them and have them arrested before the day was through. He would also jeopardize himself and give the woman more time to reach into her memory and to identify Otto as a German.

Then again, if he walked away now, it might be very difficult to hunt them both down and they might have enough time to warn the other members of the resistance that the Gestapo was on to them. Otto was torn between the two options and he felt himself hesitating over what to do.

His dark eyes settled once again on Madame Pomeroy as the first drops of rain started slowly falling on the cobblestones. He would certainly make it a personal crusade to get this particular woman locked up in some dreary Gestapo prison, of that he was certain.


Translations:

"J'ai seulement mentionné la nature traîtresse de loups parce que vous avez voulu révéler le sujet de loups..."
"I only mentioned the traitorous nature of wolves because you chose to bring out the subject of wolves. As I said, such a comparison is considered quite offensive by Norwegian standards."

"Je n'ai pas le temps, ni énergie pour le jeu de mot compliqué, madame Renard."
"I do not have the time nor the energy for elaborate word play, madame Fox."

"Vous pouvez m'aider ou vous ne pouvez pas. Il semble qu'il y ait une tempête sur la voie et je n'ai aucune patience pour jouer à n'importe quels jeux. .."
"Either you can help me or you can not. It looks like there is a storm on the way and I have no patience for playing any games. I did not accumulate my wealth by playing witty games on the streets. If you doubt me, feel free to test me. I can even show you my papers if you wish, but so far you have given me little reason to trust you."

"Eh bien, je suis sûr que nous pouvons toujours le discuter, je suis sûr que la Madame Pomeroy n'a voulu dire rien de malade de ses mots."
"Come now, I'm sure we can still discuss it, I'm sure that Madame Pomeroy meant nothing ill with her words."

[Blanchefleur Paget]

Games? Blanchefleur laughed! The Resistance always played games — games of the mind, games of will, games that were as dangerous as any gun or explosive. If the Norwegian was not looking for games, then he was not looking for the Resistance. A Resistance that, in the form of two French "peasants", was standing right in front of him. His time with the underground would come — but he'd have to get past Blanchefleur first.

"Ah, Monsieur Alsvik, vous me mal comprenez. . ." said the woman, holding her arms out in a gesture of apology, a friendly smile on her face. "Évidemment nous pouvons vous diriger vers les canaux convenables. Je m'assurais juste que vous saviez le mot de passe." [Translation: "Ah, Monsieur Alsvik, you misunderstand me. . ." // "Of course we may direct you to the proper channels. I was just making sure you knew the password."]

". . .Mot de passe?" asked Monsieur Vasser, his face a confused expression. [Translation: . . .Password?]

Blanchefleur looked at Vasser, nodding with a soft, quick, "Mhm-hmm". She smoothed her hair back, donning an air of professionalism, and turned to the Monsieur Alsvik. The woman explained, in a manner not unlike Monsieur Alsvik's, "Le jeu de mot est indispensable de cette branche à partir de tard. Les cochons crasseux doivent avoir mis quelque chose dans leur eau, comme ils pensent plus ces derniers temps. Cela, ou j'ai besoin de jeter un deuxième coup d'oeil à la population allemande et faire un autre comte des garçons de page naturels dans le pays. Je fais une digression, bien que; dites simplement à ces gens que vous êtes un loup et vous devez avoir leur attention extrême. Vasser, je m'excuse de ne pas le dire plus tôt; les affaires très confidentielles nous nous occupons." [Translation: "Word play is vital to this branch as of late. The filthy swines must have put something in their water, as they are thinking more lately. That, or I need to take a second look at Germany's population, and do another count of the inbred page boys in the country. I digress, though; simply tell these people you are a wolf, and you shall have their utmost attention. Vasser, I apologize for not saying this earlier; hush-hush business we are dealing with."]

"Je. . .vois. . . ." [Translation: "I. . .see. . . ."]

" — Dit l'homme aveugle," added Blanchefleur, finishing off Vasser's words with the old expression. With a wink and a smile-turned-grin, the woman pivoted, as if to move down the street and beckoning the men to follow — but only a few steps were taken before she paused. Her head turned slightly, so that she would only glance over her shoulder. Those yellow eyes of hers focused in on Monsieur Alsvik. [Translation: " — Said the blind man."]

"J'ai pensé juste à quelque chose," said Blanchefleur. "Nous pourrions vous donner un petit nom de code agréable, car quand vous travaillez avec nos 'amis'. Vous travaillez avec les machines et il y a la pensée de loups de nouveau. . .nous pourrions vous appeler le Loup Automatique, car les machines ont rendu tant de choses automatiques dans nos vies. Ou pour court, 'l'Auto-Loup'." [Translation: "I just thought of something." // "We could give you a nice little code name, for when you work with our 'friends'. You work with machines, and there's the thought of wolves again. . .we could call you the Automatic Wolf, for machines have made so many things automatic in our lives. Or for short, 'Auto-Wolf'."]

[Otto Wolff]

The old bat laughed and Otto stared at her with silent fury. She dared to laugh at his words! Otto's lips twisted slightly with displeasure, yet he forced himself to just silently observe the grey-haired old woman. There was a twinge of anger in the man's dark eyes, although it lasted only for the briefest moment. When Hélène saw fit to start apologizing for her behavior, the tall man raised up his chin in an arrogant manner, as if to acknowledge that apologies were indeed needed to mend the situation. It could have been just the Norwegian taking offence on being laughed at, so his reaction wasn't really too unsuitable for the situation. He seemed like a rather serious man, more accustomed to dealing with things much more directly instead of going around in circles and engaging in complicated word-play.

In reality, the insides of the tall German man were churning with anger. He wasn't used to being laughed at and the woman seemed to treat him as if he was some simple fool. If Otto had one characteristic far more dominant than any of his other ones, it was his pride. It was an aspect of him that could just as well spell his own doom one day, but it was also something that Otto was not ready to let go of. He wouldn't even have been able to. He imagined himself pressing the muzzle of a cold, black Luger against the old woman's temple and suddenly he managed to smile at the woman, as if he would have finally understood that Hélène meant no ill by laughing.

"Je m'assurais juste que vous saviez le mot de passe," the woman explained with a friendly smile and Monsieus Vasser acquired a puzzled expression. Even he wasn't sure of what the old woman was talking about. Hélène still went on, emphasizing the importance of wordplay when it came to dealing with the resistance. Apparently the Germans were getting too smart and such games were needed to uphold the secrecy and safety of resistance operations. The way in which the woman explained her actions seemed almost condescending to Otto and he managed to only nod very briefly, an air of irritation still clinging to the man.

Huge raindrops started slowly falling down on the street, leaving random dark splotches on the dust of the cobblestones. Hélène was already walking towards the other end of the street with sudden determination. Monsieur Vasser obviously had no idea where the woman was headed off to and neither had Otto. The men glanced at each other, looking quite puzzled, but Hélène suddenly pivoted around to regard the Norwegian once again. The woman was babbling on about code names, telling Rolf Alsvik that maybe he should be called 'l'Auto-Loup' for dealings with the resistance. Auto-wolf did sound a bit too much like... Otto Wolff. Oh, to hell with it, now he was just imagining things! Otto wasn't one to easily misjudge his opposition, but this old bat couldn't be quite that smart.

Otto felt that he had had enough of these silly games and the man scoffed as he slowly started striding towards the woman. "Pardonnez-moi, Madame. En haut le nord nous ne sommes pas utilisés à de tels jeux, nous sommes beaucoup plus directs dans toutes nos relations, j'ai peur." the dark-haired man said in a casual manner, although his voice had a slightly sharper edge to it now.

He was contemplating on arresting both the old woman and Monsieur Vasser right on the spot, although he realized that trying to arrest both of them alone might prove somewhat tricky. There was only one of him and he wasn't sure if pointing a gun at either one of them would be enough to stop the other one from escaping. These resistance people could be foolishly patriotic, "bravely" laying down their lives for other filth of their kind. If they were dead, they were no good to him. Monsieur Vasser might be easier to break than the old woman, however and Otto realized that he might have to disregard his personal vendetta against the old woman for now. He was here to work and not to chase after his own agendas, after all.

The man's dark eyes scanned over Monsieur Vasser for a second, studying the older man's weaknesses. Then the man's gaze shifted slowly back at Héléne. "Peut-être vous m'avez mal compris, chère madame. Le temps augmente et je rentrerais à la taverne, qui est où je peux être trouvé tout à fait facilement pour le reste de la semaine. Je n'ai vraiment aucun désir d'avoir aussi ... des connexions évidentes à ces gens. Il y a seulement ainsi de grands risques que je suis prêt à prendre. Je n'ai pas besoin de les rencontrer personnellement, juste un porte-parole fera. Peut-être vous-même, Madame?" the man said in his smooth voice, arching an dark eyebrow as he spoke.

The thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, obviously the storm would soon be upon them. Otto considered his options, he could not know if the woman would lead him into a trap. Otto did not want to surround himself with resistance fighters while he was on his own. Although he had all the confidence in his ability to defend himself when needed, there was no reason to get involved in a situation where the odds would be severely against him. He had been the boxing champion of his class in München and Oxford for many years in his youth and with his bulk and muscle could make for an formidable adversary. He was also carrying a Luger in a leather holster, hidden by his coat.

Still, he knew that the resistance had plenty of weapons and ample manpower, something he wasn't going to go up against all alone.

Deciding that if the woman would try to convince him to follow her somewhere, Otto would make sure he caught at least one of these criminals, getting to the other one later if need be. Maybe he could even shoot the other one in the leg to prevent escape? Then again, if the woman would agree to have someone contact him later on in the tavern, he could have them both caught by his underlings later and avoid using unnecessary violence. Otto actually hoped that the woman would just walk away for now, since he quite disliked doing things in such a brusque manner and much more preferred subtler methods.

A lightning streaked across the sky and thunder rumbled much more louder this time, although the full force of the storm and the rain were not yet properly upon them. Otto felt his muscles tensing as he readied himself to go for his weapon, awaiting for Hélène's answer.


Translations:

"Pardonnez-moi, Madame. En haut le nord nous ne sommes pas utilisés à de tels jeux, nous sommes beaucoup plus directs dans toutes nos relations, j'ai peur."
"Forgive me, Madame. Up north we are not used to such games, we are much more straightforward in all of our dealings, I'm afraid."

"Peut-être vous m'avez mal compris, chère madame..."
"Maybe you have misunderstood me, dear madame. The weather is getting worse and I would rather get back to the tavern, which is where I can be found quite easily for the rest of the week. I really have no desire to have too... obvious connections to these people. There are only so great risks I'm ready to take. I need not meet them personally, just a spokesperson will do. Maybe yourself, Madame?"

[Blanchefleur Paget]

And zing! Blanchefleur Paget had done it again. Her suspicions were confirmed by that arrogant chin-tilt, oh so reminiscent of a little German soldier. A soldier that, in Blanchefleur's memory, matched her in drunkenness, was absolutely hilarious when he tried to play the piano when not sober, and thought very highly of himself around the "inferior Frenchmen". The old bat was a French(wo)man, and now, she had irritated him just enough to slip up — he really should have watched his temper better. Idiot. She was "Madame Renard", indeed.

Wickedly grinning, she stretched her arms out wide, yellow eyes twinkling. Over the rain's roar, she became more wicked by nearly yelling, "Otto, mein Junge! Ez izt zo schon lange gewezen ich zah du, meinen kleinen jungen Hund! Bitte, bitte. . .kein Bedürfnis zur Maskerade hierre! Du zind in Gegenwart von Freunden!" [Translation: "Otto, my boy! It's been so long since I saw you, my little puppy! Please, please. . .no need to masquerade here! You're in the presence of friends!"]

"O-Otto?!" choked out Monsieur Vasser, shocked by Blanchefleur's display of near-flawless German, save for the definite French pronunciation. Even more shocking was when the woman went over and gave the man a hug — she looked more right than rain doing it, too! Just what was going on there?! "Hélène, qu'est-ce que ?!" [Translation: "Hélène, what the hell?!"]

"Oh Otto, du dummerre jungerre Hund," said Blanchefleur with a giggle. She called him a "puppy" due to the fact that his last name was wolf, and a wolf's young was called a pup — sometimes a cub. "Warum müzzen du zich verztellen? Errekannten du mich nicht an? Oder hat zu viel Zeit ging? Wirklich, Zchätzchen, vertrauen du mir genug nicht? Du mochten nie die klugen, du, mein kleinerre jungerre Hund von Wolff?" [Translation: "Oh Otto, you silly puppy." // "Why must you pretend? Did you not recognize me? Or has too much time passed? Really, sweetheart, do you not trust me enough? You never did like the smart ones, did you, my little Wolff puppy?"]

The Monsieur Vasser continued to gawk. Blanchefleur would let him gawk. She had found her prey out, and if Otto Wolff was smart, he'd leave or play along. If he tried the latter, the old bat would happily annoy and aggravate him until he lost his temper — it served him right for trying be smart with his elders. Where was the respect from the modern day's youth anymore?

[Otto Wolff]

The thunder rumbled ominously and Otto could have sworn that it was the lightning that caused for the old woman's eyes to glint so suddenly. As he soon found out, it wasn't the lightning, but a flash of recognition and Hélène abruptly started speaking in fluent German. The old woman spread her arms wide in an overly dramatic fashion, grinning madly as if something wonderful had just happened. "Otto, mein Junge! Ez izt zo schon lange gewezen ich zah du, meinen kleinen jungen Hund! Bitte, bitte. . .kein Bedürfnis zur Maskerade hierre! Du zind in Gegenwart von Freunden!" the woman clamored with delight.

Oh, hell. She had remembered him after all and all of Otto's great plans were now crumbling before his eyes. He had felt certain that the old woman wouldn't remember him. She would have surely managed to do that earlier during their lengthy discussion. Obviously Otto had been gravely mistaken and the mere thought of it irritated him more than he cared to admit.

The surprises did not end quite there, however. The gray-haired little woman made his way to Otto and gave him a great big hug, making the tall man flinch with surprise. Otto was far too bewildered to prevent her from doing so, nor could he find any words to say, either. The rain was falling slightly more heavily now, but Otto hardly noticed it. The only thing he could do was to stare at the daring old lady who had so defiantly embraced the surly Kriminalkommissar.

Hélëne laughed heartily, calling Otto her little Wolff puppy and wondering why Otto had been hiding his identity. She remarked that Otto had never liked the smart ones and the only answer the dark-haired man could manage for the moment was an irritated sneer. To an outsider Hélène's actions might have seemed genuinely friendly, but Otto knew better than that. She was mocking him, trying to rile him up. She was having a good time on Otto's expense and no doubt enjoyed it immensely.

The German was ready to lash out at her with angry words, but he bit his tongue and only glared at the woman. If he lost his nerve now, the woman would truly win their little mental blitzkrieg. "Ich werde ganz verletzt Sie erinnerten sich an mich eher nicht, mein lieber Füchsin," the man said, his voice a curious combination of a low purr and a growl."Alle jene wunderbaren Nächte gaben aus, trinkend, singend, spielend und Geschichten erzählend, und es nahm Sie die ganze Zeit, um mich anzuerkennen. Alter, zu Ihnen kommend? Oder ist es Alkohol? Ich bezweifle, dass Sie über die Gewohnheit irgendwie hinweggekommen sind."

Otto took a step back to get away from the small woman, his mind rapidly contemplating on what to do. If the cause had been lost, the options were slim, indeed, although Otto had hoped that he wouldn't have had to resort to any brusque methods. There was little chance of avoiding that now. "Diejenigen waren gute Zeiten, waren sie nicht? Ich hörte über Ihre kleine Eskapade mit dem Motorrad. Ich nehme an, dass Sie als ein Held danach praktisch gegrüßt worden sein müssen der, habe ich Recht?" the man tilted up his chin and arched an eyebrow. "Ich würde absolut lieben einzuholen, was im Laufe aller dieser Jahre geschehen ist, aber ich fürchte, dass ich mich um meine Aufgaben zuerst kümmern muss. Aber ich bin sicher, dass später wir die ganze Zeit in der Welt haben werden, um Nachrichten und Scherze auszutauschen."

During this curious exchange of words, Monsieur Vasser had been left staring at the old woman and the tall stranger, both of whom seemed quite oblivious both to his questions and the rain that was pouring down on all of them. "Un allemand? J'ai cru que vous étiez de la Norvège!" the man exclaimed, somewhat irritated for being so grossly ignored and lied to. Otto's gaze shifted to the old man and there was a glint of malice in his eyes as his hand nimbly went under his coat to pull out the Luger. Vasser might have not been able to notice the sudden movement of Otto's hand if it had not been for the flash of lightning that illuminated the now darkened street for but a brief moment. As the tall German man pulled out the pistol and maneuvered his hand to point the weapon at the old man, Monsieur Vasser grabbed the much larger man's hand to turn his aim away.

"Alter Narr!" Otto growled under his breath. Monsieur Vasser obviously thought he could match his strength and the German was more than ready to teach the old man a lesson. Otto yanked his arm away with a sharp and powerful tug and there was obviously nothing the old man could do to prevent it. The sudden move made Monsieur Vasser stumble precariously and Otto raised his foot, his shiny dark shoe connecting with the old man's stomach. There was a small crack and the gray-haired old man grasped his ribs, falling down and painfully hitting the cobblestones. All of this had taken only a few seconds to happen, although time seemed to move slower to the participants of the scuffle.

The thunder boomed louder this time and the rain was practically pouring down from the sky, creating multiple tiny rivers that rapidly ran down the street. Otto didn't even notice the cold water that had found it's way under the collar of his shirt and was now snaking down his back. Monsieur Vasser let out a pitiful vail over his cracked ribs, mumbling something in French, maybe telling the Frenchwoman to run.

Otto Wolff turned his attention to Héléne.


Translations:

"Ich werde ganz verletzt Sie erinnerten sich an mich eher nicht, mein lieber Füchsin."
"I'm quite offended you did not remember me sooner, my dear Füchsin."

"Alle jene wunderbaren Nächte gaben aus, trinkend, singend, spielend und Geschichten erzählend, und es nahm Sie die ganze Zeit, um mich anzuerkennen..."
"All those wonderful nights spent drinking, singing, playing and telling stories and it took you all this time to recognize me. Old age getting to you? Or is it alcohol? I doubt you've gotten over the habit, anyway."

"Diejenigen waren gute Zeiten, waren sie nicht...?"
"Those were good times, were they not? I heard about your little escapade with the motorcycle. I assume you must have been practically hailed as a hero after that one, am I right?"

"Ich würde absolut lieben einzuholen, was im Laufe aller dieser Jahre geschehen ist, aber ich fürchte, dass ich mich um meine Aufgaben zuerst kümmern muss..."
"I would absolutely love to catch up with what has happened over all these years, but I fear I must attend to my duties, first. But I'm sure that afterwards we will have all the time in the world to exchange news and pleasantries."

"Un allemand ? J'ai cru que vous étiez de la Norvège!"
"A German? I thought you were from Norway!"

"Alter Narr!"
"Old fool!"