Post by Gussy Gussy on Apr 1, 2010 19:37:12 GMT
Approved!
-JT
Account E-Mail: EDITED OUT!
Name: Gustav Messer
Nationality:
German
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
Gestapo, and also, to a lesser extent, SS
Character History:
- Write a brief Bio about your character’s background.
The Great War was over and the defeated men of Germany returned home and tried to restart a peaceful life. And in their attempt, Mr. and Mrs. Erik Messer gave birth to a child, and named her Emma. She was the apple of her parents’ eyes, and they poured every once of their love and joy over her. Which was a shame for their older child, Gustav. Gustav’s best parental relationship was with his father, who outright ignored the son he bore before the war, while his mother heaped abuse upon his shoulders which stemmed from his helplessness and hunger as a toddler during the war when supplies were low and stress was high. But postwar would be different, Sweet Emma would be the child they raised right, in a new, rebuilt Germany.
But the improved Germany did not come soon enough, and instead came the Great Depression, and with it poverty and hunger once again. This time, without a war to go fight, Father Messer took to the road, physically abandoning his family and Mother Messer took to the bottle, abandoning them mentally. So Gustav became the provider for the family, and even Precious Emma when she became old enough to be useful. Luckily Gustav was able to snatch his father’s old job, as an assembler of cars at the Opel plant.
Messer was not a very good machinist, but what he was good at was pinning the blame on someone else whenever something went wrong. So he kept his job and it’s steady income, but it was not enough for Gustav. He wanted something that challenged him while also taking his mind off of the depression around him. He found this in auto racing. While Opel was one of Europe’s largest vehicle manufacturers, they were more into trucks and large cars when small, speedy sport models. This plus the fact that their foreign connections went against the nationalist fever in Germany at the time, meant that Opel’s racing team was a small endeavor, too small to even be considered the underdog. This turned out to be a benefit, for it made it easier for Gustav to insert himself, although as a simple grease monkey, another job he was not cut out for.
Gustav’s venture into the Grand Prix was rocky, the Opel Mitzi. when not retiring because of mechanic trouble or accident, always ended up at the back of the pack. Although, it wasn’t any better for any of the other teams, the championship was dominated by the Italians, a silly, eccentric people Gustav quickly learned to despise, and curse in their own language. If he couldn’t drive, Gustav would at least enjoy traveling to other countries, learning their languages, and learning to hate their cultures.
As the Boy Messer globe trotted with the Grand Prix, the Messer women did all they could to survive in a changing Germany. The money Gustav sent home would have helped, if Mother Messer didn’t drink it all away. Angelic Emma had to work her fingers to the born at a sweatshop just to pay for food and clothing for the two of them. But, when Gustav returned home during the off-season, he was furious. It was supposed to be Germany’s shining moment, and his family lived in their own filth. Years of abuse fueled rage finally exploded through him, and he smashed all his mother’s bottles and herself into a million pieces, before taking Pure Emma from the hellish home and bringing her along for the next racing circuit.
That year, Gustav could feel that it would be his year. The Fuehrer had offered an award for construction of a German car to be built to finally beat the Italians in the Grand Prix. Although the money was mostly split between Mercedes-Benz and Auto Union, the big German fish in the race, Gustav’s team receive a small amount, which rejuvenated their spirit. Personally, the year was also looking up, after a few of the Opel racers were arrested for allegedly conspiring with foreign governments, Gustav finally got his chance to get behind the wheel in an actual race. Although the first Scandinavian races was once again controlled by the Italians, Mercedes, the team everyone in Germany, even Gustav, was rooting for, soon took the lead. And Gustav and Opel was slowly getting better too, just finishing the race was a triumph for them and it seemed like everything was finally in his favor. Then came the Estonian Grand Prix.
Although the race itself was uneventful, Mercedes won it, but afterwards a driver from Norway who had engine trouble and had to retire in the middle of the race, began to complain that Gustav had sabotaged his ride. Although it was true, Gustav defended his honor by challenging the rude Norwegian to a midnight race through the countryside. Both were men of honor, so they both showed up, with their crews, and Innocent Emma, watching on the sidelines. Gustav got an early lead, but the Norwegian’s car was faster on the straightway and soon overtook the German. This time he was the one who cheated, by loosing the Opel Mitzi’s lug nuts before the race. Unfortunately, they gave way just as it passed the crowd of onlookers, causing Gustav to barrel down onto the crowd, who was mostly able bodied men, who could easy evade the runaway car with little injury, except for Young Emma, who was trampled into the ground and lost her life instantly. Wreaked with guilt and trauma, Gustav swore that he would never race again, as the ambulance took him away.
Not that he had any choice, his own injuries were so severe that the Berlin doctors did not think he could ever leave the hospital, but as the months went by the wounds healed and scars faded, and with them the old hotheaded, messy Gustav. The new, calculating Gustav spent his leisure time reading approved, and like the rest of Germany, he fell in love with the Nazi way. So when he was finally released, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. Waffen-SS to bring glory and triumph to Germany and the Fuehrer. But the first time he tried out he failed the physical test, the pain from his wounds was still fresh. So the next time he tried he doped up on his medication, which masked the pain well enough that this time he passed, for the Allgemeine-SS, at least, which wasn‘t as much as a combative unit then a stepping stone to something better, like the Gestapo....
Military Rank:
Kriminalinspektor
((Wikipedia said that’s 1st Lt.))
Writing Sample:
As he finished the cup of brown water the café owner called coffee Gustav Messer relaxed as he watched the chaos around him. Besides himself, the only other person not in a French police uniform was that café owner, who was hiding behind his bar, trying to keep out of the policemen’s way as they rushed around the restaurant, giving orders and receiving them. When his mug was empty, Messer stood up, grabbed his heavy leather jacket with the swastika armband and slipped it over his black pinstriped suit. He then walked over to the Frenchman who looked like as if he held the most authority.
“Geht was hier weiter?What is going on here? Gustav did not face the gray haired policeman, but kept his eyes on the picture window that opened into the street. The Frenchman, on the other hand, turned to face the Gestapo agent,
“Was wir wissen, ist das von Ihren Patrouillen wurde angegriffen, getötet, und sein genommenes Gewehr. Dann wurde ein anderes Deutsch geschnippelt, als er das Gebiet geprüft hat.” “What we know is that one of your patrols was attacked, killed, and his rifle taken. Then another German was sniped from the window when he inspected the area.” His German was weak and hesitant, and it didn’t take a detective to tell that he hurriedly learned it to keep his job during the occupation. Gustav tried to picture the scene as the Frenchman continued, “Wir wurden daran nicht geschossen, während wir gereinigt haben, und haben das Gebiet umgeben. Er hat keine Chance der Flucht so wir sind jetzt warten auf einige Soldaten gehabt, die Wohnung zu stürmen” We were not shot at while we cleared and surrounded the area. He has no chance of escape so we are now waiting for some soldiers to storm the apartment“
Messer took a moment to think, then asked, “Machen Sie kennen die Identität des Mannes?” Do you know the man’s identity?”
“Nein,” replied the policeman, “Nicht genau aber wir haben gefunden, dass einer die Wohnungen von Martin DuPont gemietet wurde, der vom Gestapo gewollt wird, deswegen Sie wurden gerufen. Seine Wohnung ist auf dem zweiten Stock, nach links” “Not exactly, but we found that one of the apartments was rented by Martin DuPont, who is wanted by the Gestapo, which is why you were called. His apartment is on the second floor, left side.”
“In Ordnung, gehe ich in.” ”Alright, I’m going in” and the Frenchman followed as Gustav grabbed his fedora from the hat rack and placed it lightly on his head to complete his outfit. ”Wenn ich nicht draußen in fünf Minuten bin, steigen Sie ein Leichensack aus. Wenn ich nicht draußen durch zehn bin, steigen Sie ein anderer einer aus” If I'm not out in five minutes, get out a body bag. If I'm not out by ten, get out another one.” He instructed the Frenchman as he picked out a double barrel shotgun from a rack of rifles and other guns the police had organized. Then, without even a word to acknowledge the other policemen, he stepped out, into the hot zone.
The café was in the middle of a Y-intersection and looked down the street where DuPont’s apartment and the murders were. From the café on one end to the roadblock on the other, the street was deserted, aside from the dead German, victim #2, in the middle of the street and the breathing one that slowly got closer to his stiff comrade. It was obvious which apartment building Martin DuPont lived in, victim #1 was sticking halfway in the open door. With a careful inspection of the body, Gustav noticed that the corpse still had his full ammo belt he still had. Which meant that Dupont only had what was already in the loaded clip, minus two rounds for the Germans. But that didn’t relieve Messer any as he stepped over the body and into the dark ground floor hallway. He shouldered the shotgun now but he had nothing to aim at. Nothing moved but his careful, precise march towards the stairs. Gustav listened for any sound other then his own breaths and footsteps, but all was silent as he climbed to the second floor. “Seine Wohnung ist auf dem zweiten Stock, nach links” the policeman had said, and there was the door the Gestapo man was looking for. Without checking if it was locked, or asking for DuPont to come out quietly, Gustav kicked down the door and rushed in, shotgun first.
A woman and her young child she was holding under a table screamed at him like he was the devil himself. ”Zweiter Stock, Tür nach links, ist das Fenster verlassen” “Second floor, door to the left, the window's left” was the only thing Gustav muttered, and before he could apologize, he felt the hard prick of a rifle barrel in the small of his back.
“Drop it, Gestapo!” a Frenchman’s voice shouted behind him.
Gustav did what he was told and then kept his hands up as the civilians ran into their bathroom. “Es gibt keinen Ausweg für Sie” “There is no way out for you” He told the man he assumed was Martin DuPont.
“Speak English! Unless your bum ass knows French!” shouted the maniac.
“Of couse not, do I look like an animal?” Gustav lied and got stock-whipped in the back of the head. Martin then grabbed the shotgun from the floor and ordered the German into his apartment on the other side of the hall. Gustav was finally able to see his assaulter’s face. He had seen pictures of Martin DuPont back at Headquarters, and this pug-nosed green-eyed Frenchie was not him. It was his brother, Pierre.
Pierre led his prisoner into the middle of his brother’s small apartment, which looked even smaller with everything piled up right in front of the door for cover for his last stand. He forced Gustav onto his knees and stood behind him, the rifle at the ready incase the Gestapo agent tried anything. But for Messer it was a time for words, not action
“I’m guessing from this murderous stunt you already know the Gestapo wants to talk with you and your brother about the sort of things you two have been writing.”
“Yeah, and we know what you mean by ‘talk’”
“The Gestapo fits it’s actions to the situations, had you just come in, we could have been quite civilized. Four men would not have had to die today, I am assuming your brother is here with you, of course, you could never do anything without him holding your hand along the way .”
Pierre frowned, but tried to keep his anger in, “You forgot yourself in that assessment” Before Gustav could respond, there was a flush and the bathroom door opened, and the real Martin DuPont walked out and froze when he saw the German kneeling in the middle of the floor.
“Le bons frère de nouvelles,” Pierre exclaimed and handed the rifle to Martin, leaving the shotgun to watch over Gustav, who was using the distraction to slowly move his hand into his trouser pocket. “nous avons un autre fusil, et un otage” “Good news brother, we have another gun, and a hostage”
“Non,” replied Martin after thinking about it for a few minutes, “un Gestapo de respiration est quelqu'un pense aux façons pour vous tuer, le prenez hors dans le couloir et utilise son propre fusil” No, a breathing Gestapo is someone thinking about ways to kill you, take him out into the hallway and use his own shotgun
”Cela sera assez dur sans ceux-ci” ”That’s going to be pretty hard without these. Gustav laughed, to the shock of the Frenchmen. Quickly he showed his clenched his hand to Pierre, revealing the shotgun shells that had been in his pocket. The confused Frenchman frowned and broke open the shotgun to check it. Gustav quickly used the moment to stand up and toss the shells towards Martin, distracting him as well, long enough that the Gestapo agent grabbed the shotgun, punched Pierre in the throat, and as the younger brother fell, fired a barrel of shot into Martin.
“You shouldn’t have trusted me” Gustav told the Frenchman who was lying on his back at the German’s feet.
“Well, it’s like they say, a dead man’s the only one you can trust” Pierre replied.
Gustav eyed the barely breathing Martin as he shook and cradled himself in the corner. He wasn’t going to leap for that rifle anytime soon, so Messer turned the shotgun towards Pierre and smiled,
“Well, look’s like you’re the most trustworthy person here.”
And then the shotgun was empty.
-JT
Account E-Mail: EDITED OUT!
Name: Gustav Messer
Nationality:
German
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
Gestapo, and also, to a lesser extent, SS
Character History:
- Write a brief Bio about your character’s background.
The Great War was over and the defeated men of Germany returned home and tried to restart a peaceful life. And in their attempt, Mr. and Mrs. Erik Messer gave birth to a child, and named her Emma. She was the apple of her parents’ eyes, and they poured every once of their love and joy over her. Which was a shame for their older child, Gustav. Gustav’s best parental relationship was with his father, who outright ignored the son he bore before the war, while his mother heaped abuse upon his shoulders which stemmed from his helplessness and hunger as a toddler during the war when supplies were low and stress was high. But postwar would be different, Sweet Emma would be the child they raised right, in a new, rebuilt Germany.
But the improved Germany did not come soon enough, and instead came the Great Depression, and with it poverty and hunger once again. This time, without a war to go fight, Father Messer took to the road, physically abandoning his family and Mother Messer took to the bottle, abandoning them mentally. So Gustav became the provider for the family, and even Precious Emma when she became old enough to be useful. Luckily Gustav was able to snatch his father’s old job, as an assembler of cars at the Opel plant.
Messer was not a very good machinist, but what he was good at was pinning the blame on someone else whenever something went wrong. So he kept his job and it’s steady income, but it was not enough for Gustav. He wanted something that challenged him while also taking his mind off of the depression around him. He found this in auto racing. While Opel was one of Europe’s largest vehicle manufacturers, they were more into trucks and large cars when small, speedy sport models. This plus the fact that their foreign connections went against the nationalist fever in Germany at the time, meant that Opel’s racing team was a small endeavor, too small to even be considered the underdog. This turned out to be a benefit, for it made it easier for Gustav to insert himself, although as a simple grease monkey, another job he was not cut out for.
Gustav’s venture into the Grand Prix was rocky, the Opel Mitzi. when not retiring because of mechanic trouble or accident, always ended up at the back of the pack. Although, it wasn’t any better for any of the other teams, the championship was dominated by the Italians, a silly, eccentric people Gustav quickly learned to despise, and curse in their own language. If he couldn’t drive, Gustav would at least enjoy traveling to other countries, learning their languages, and learning to hate their cultures.
As the Boy Messer globe trotted with the Grand Prix, the Messer women did all they could to survive in a changing Germany. The money Gustav sent home would have helped, if Mother Messer didn’t drink it all away. Angelic Emma had to work her fingers to the born at a sweatshop just to pay for food and clothing for the two of them. But, when Gustav returned home during the off-season, he was furious. It was supposed to be Germany’s shining moment, and his family lived in their own filth. Years of abuse fueled rage finally exploded through him, and he smashed all his mother’s bottles and herself into a million pieces, before taking Pure Emma from the hellish home and bringing her along for the next racing circuit.
That year, Gustav could feel that it would be his year. The Fuehrer had offered an award for construction of a German car to be built to finally beat the Italians in the Grand Prix. Although the money was mostly split between Mercedes-Benz and Auto Union, the big German fish in the race, Gustav’s team receive a small amount, which rejuvenated their spirit. Personally, the year was also looking up, after a few of the Opel racers were arrested for allegedly conspiring with foreign governments, Gustav finally got his chance to get behind the wheel in an actual race. Although the first Scandinavian races was once again controlled by the Italians, Mercedes, the team everyone in Germany, even Gustav, was rooting for, soon took the lead. And Gustav and Opel was slowly getting better too, just finishing the race was a triumph for them and it seemed like everything was finally in his favor. Then came the Estonian Grand Prix.
Although the race itself was uneventful, Mercedes won it, but afterwards a driver from Norway who had engine trouble and had to retire in the middle of the race, began to complain that Gustav had sabotaged his ride. Although it was true, Gustav defended his honor by challenging the rude Norwegian to a midnight race through the countryside. Both were men of honor, so they both showed up, with their crews, and Innocent Emma, watching on the sidelines. Gustav got an early lead, but the Norwegian’s car was faster on the straightway and soon overtook the German. This time he was the one who cheated, by loosing the Opel Mitzi’s lug nuts before the race. Unfortunately, they gave way just as it passed the crowd of onlookers, causing Gustav to barrel down onto the crowd, who was mostly able bodied men, who could easy evade the runaway car with little injury, except for Young Emma, who was trampled into the ground and lost her life instantly. Wreaked with guilt and trauma, Gustav swore that he would never race again, as the ambulance took him away.
Not that he had any choice, his own injuries were so severe that the Berlin doctors did not think he could ever leave the hospital, but as the months went by the wounds healed and scars faded, and with them the old hotheaded, messy Gustav. The new, calculating Gustav spent his leisure time reading approved, and like the rest of Germany, he fell in love with the Nazi way. So when he was finally released, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. Waffen-SS to bring glory and triumph to Germany and the Fuehrer. But the first time he tried out he failed the physical test, the pain from his wounds was still fresh. So the next time he tried he doped up on his medication, which masked the pain well enough that this time he passed, for the Allgemeine-SS, at least, which wasn‘t as much as a combative unit then a stepping stone to something better, like the Gestapo....
Military Rank:
Kriminalinspektor
((Wikipedia said that’s 1st Lt.))
Writing Sample:
As he finished the cup of brown water the café owner called coffee Gustav Messer relaxed as he watched the chaos around him. Besides himself, the only other person not in a French police uniform was that café owner, who was hiding behind his bar, trying to keep out of the policemen’s way as they rushed around the restaurant, giving orders and receiving them. When his mug was empty, Messer stood up, grabbed his heavy leather jacket with the swastika armband and slipped it over his black pinstriped suit. He then walked over to the Frenchman who looked like as if he held the most authority.
“Geht was hier weiter?What is going on here? Gustav did not face the gray haired policeman, but kept his eyes on the picture window that opened into the street. The Frenchman, on the other hand, turned to face the Gestapo agent,
“Was wir wissen, ist das von Ihren Patrouillen wurde angegriffen, getötet, und sein genommenes Gewehr. Dann wurde ein anderes Deutsch geschnippelt, als er das Gebiet geprüft hat.” “What we know is that one of your patrols was attacked, killed, and his rifle taken. Then another German was sniped from the window when he inspected the area.” His German was weak and hesitant, and it didn’t take a detective to tell that he hurriedly learned it to keep his job during the occupation. Gustav tried to picture the scene as the Frenchman continued, “Wir wurden daran nicht geschossen, während wir gereinigt haben, und haben das Gebiet umgeben. Er hat keine Chance der Flucht so wir sind jetzt warten auf einige Soldaten gehabt, die Wohnung zu stürmen” We were not shot at while we cleared and surrounded the area. He has no chance of escape so we are now waiting for some soldiers to storm the apartment“
Messer took a moment to think, then asked, “Machen Sie kennen die Identität des Mannes?” Do you know the man’s identity?”
“Nein,” replied the policeman, “Nicht genau aber wir haben gefunden, dass einer die Wohnungen von Martin DuPont gemietet wurde, der vom Gestapo gewollt wird, deswegen Sie wurden gerufen. Seine Wohnung ist auf dem zweiten Stock, nach links” “Not exactly, but we found that one of the apartments was rented by Martin DuPont, who is wanted by the Gestapo, which is why you were called. His apartment is on the second floor, left side.”
“In Ordnung, gehe ich in.” ”Alright, I’m going in” and the Frenchman followed as Gustav grabbed his fedora from the hat rack and placed it lightly on his head to complete his outfit. ”Wenn ich nicht draußen in fünf Minuten bin, steigen Sie ein Leichensack aus. Wenn ich nicht draußen durch zehn bin, steigen Sie ein anderer einer aus” If I'm not out in five minutes, get out a body bag. If I'm not out by ten, get out another one.” He instructed the Frenchman as he picked out a double barrel shotgun from a rack of rifles and other guns the police had organized. Then, without even a word to acknowledge the other policemen, he stepped out, into the hot zone.
The café was in the middle of a Y-intersection and looked down the street where DuPont’s apartment and the murders were. From the café on one end to the roadblock on the other, the street was deserted, aside from the dead German, victim #2, in the middle of the street and the breathing one that slowly got closer to his stiff comrade. It was obvious which apartment building Martin DuPont lived in, victim #1 was sticking halfway in the open door. With a careful inspection of the body, Gustav noticed that the corpse still had his full ammo belt he still had. Which meant that Dupont only had what was already in the loaded clip, minus two rounds for the Germans. But that didn’t relieve Messer any as he stepped over the body and into the dark ground floor hallway. He shouldered the shotgun now but he had nothing to aim at. Nothing moved but his careful, precise march towards the stairs. Gustav listened for any sound other then his own breaths and footsteps, but all was silent as he climbed to the second floor. “Seine Wohnung ist auf dem zweiten Stock, nach links” the policeman had said, and there was the door the Gestapo man was looking for. Without checking if it was locked, or asking for DuPont to come out quietly, Gustav kicked down the door and rushed in, shotgun first.
A woman and her young child she was holding under a table screamed at him like he was the devil himself. ”Zweiter Stock, Tür nach links, ist das Fenster verlassen” “Second floor, door to the left, the window's left” was the only thing Gustav muttered, and before he could apologize, he felt the hard prick of a rifle barrel in the small of his back.
“Drop it, Gestapo!” a Frenchman’s voice shouted behind him.
Gustav did what he was told and then kept his hands up as the civilians ran into their bathroom. “Es gibt keinen Ausweg für Sie” “There is no way out for you” He told the man he assumed was Martin DuPont.
“Speak English! Unless your bum ass knows French!” shouted the maniac.
“Of couse not, do I look like an animal?” Gustav lied and got stock-whipped in the back of the head. Martin then grabbed the shotgun from the floor and ordered the German into his apartment on the other side of the hall. Gustav was finally able to see his assaulter’s face. He had seen pictures of Martin DuPont back at Headquarters, and this pug-nosed green-eyed Frenchie was not him. It was his brother, Pierre.
Pierre led his prisoner into the middle of his brother’s small apartment, which looked even smaller with everything piled up right in front of the door for cover for his last stand. He forced Gustav onto his knees and stood behind him, the rifle at the ready incase the Gestapo agent tried anything. But for Messer it was a time for words, not action
“I’m guessing from this murderous stunt you already know the Gestapo wants to talk with you and your brother about the sort of things you two have been writing.”
“Yeah, and we know what you mean by ‘talk’”
“The Gestapo fits it’s actions to the situations, had you just come in, we could have been quite civilized. Four men would not have had to die today, I am assuming your brother is here with you, of course, you could never do anything without him holding your hand along the way .”
Pierre frowned, but tried to keep his anger in, “You forgot yourself in that assessment” Before Gustav could respond, there was a flush and the bathroom door opened, and the real Martin DuPont walked out and froze when he saw the German kneeling in the middle of the floor.
“Le bons frère de nouvelles,” Pierre exclaimed and handed the rifle to Martin, leaving the shotgun to watch over Gustav, who was using the distraction to slowly move his hand into his trouser pocket. “nous avons un autre fusil, et un otage” “Good news brother, we have another gun, and a hostage”
“Non,” replied Martin after thinking about it for a few minutes, “un Gestapo de respiration est quelqu'un pense aux façons pour vous tuer, le prenez hors dans le couloir et utilise son propre fusil” No, a breathing Gestapo is someone thinking about ways to kill you, take him out into the hallway and use his own shotgun
”Cela sera assez dur sans ceux-ci” ”That’s going to be pretty hard without these. Gustav laughed, to the shock of the Frenchmen. Quickly he showed his clenched his hand to Pierre, revealing the shotgun shells that had been in his pocket. The confused Frenchman frowned and broke open the shotgun to check it. Gustav quickly used the moment to stand up and toss the shells towards Martin, distracting him as well, long enough that the Gestapo agent grabbed the shotgun, punched Pierre in the throat, and as the younger brother fell, fired a barrel of shot into Martin.
“You shouldn’t have trusted me” Gustav told the Frenchman who was lying on his back at the German’s feet.
“Well, it’s like they say, a dead man’s the only one you can trust” Pierre replied.
Gustav eyed the barely breathing Martin as he shook and cradled himself in the corner. He wasn’t going to leap for that rifle anytime soon, so Messer turned the shotgun towards Pierre and smiled,
“Well, look’s like you’re the most trustworthy person here.”
And then the shotgun was empty.