Sweet Innocence [Addie!]

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

Country: France - Town of Bontecou.
Current Time: 11:24am
Weather Conditions: Sunny, warm.


Driving along a winding narrow dirt road, Peter’s buttocks tensed against the hardened seat it was cradled in, as every uneven notch along the roadway had his body springing from out of the seat involuntarily, bouncing about within the cabin like a loose piece of change in someone’s pocket. The suspension on the truck was zilch, so every nook and cranny on the winding road ahead, was felt from the buttocks upwards uncomfortably; Peter’s face grimaced at the sickening feeling that had begun to sink into his stomach, churning, he’d been suffering in the tin-can of the cabin for at least two hours and it’s effects were slowly showing.

Attempting to multi-task, Peter ruffled at what seemed to be a half-open A3 size map, elegantly detailed with numerous towns names, villages and cities - all of them obtaining spiralling red or blue lines for roadways, embankments, rivers and cross-country roads, which were significantly harder to see on the map. “Bloody thing…” he grumbled to himself stiffly, trying to watch the road ahead at the same time, mudded fields either side of the road, with short wooden fences skirting the roadside it’s self, but no life-stock littered the mudded greenery however - perhaps it was to keep people alike himself going straight, rather than off the road.

Pulling at the rugged piece of map laid bare upon the passenger seat, Peter continued to try and observe his whereabouts, leaning over briefly to try and see the faint line of the dirt-road he was meant to be on. Supposedly, it lead straight into a small village known as Bontecou, Town of Bontecou to be precise, but the name of the town on the map was half smudged by dirt from a second-lieutenant who requested to see his field map, after one of his associate medical assistants were so kind to mention him having one. Now the map it’s self had mudded fingerprints from the inexperienced junior officer and even a long crease running through the map it’s self, that almost made it seem like there was one big road that lead straight into Munich, Germany from Normandy. God-forbid another officer got their hands on his map, they’d probably think the road existed.

Sitting up straight, after allocating his position on the map, he calmly followed the country-lane into the respective direction, once an old-man in his automobile overtook impatiently and drove off ahead of his truck, subliminally taking the lead. It was a blessing in disguise really; As Peter soon found himself roaming into a small town, a few wandering eyes following him as he parted through the slim crowd littering the street, the massive emblem of the red-cross painted upon the sides and top of the truck was quite hard to miss.

Parking up alongside the tiny sidewalk, Peter sat quietly for a moment and bit his lower lip. The town didn’t seem too big to adventure on foot, he was only looking for a household now, plus, his buttocks had gone numb somewhat. Hunkering the heavy door open, Peter dropped down from out of the cabin to his truck and nervously watched as a few townspeople observed him from afar. “Great, bet they’re expecting freebies” he mumbled softly, feeling a little guilty if he didn’t give them something. A few nosy children had already plucked up enough courage to get a little closer to his truck, touching it and springing away quickly, as if it were a game.

Reaching back into the cabin briefly, he grabbed his helmet and almost reached for his rifle, that was tucked down the side of the driver’s seat and in-between the gear-stick, but thought otherwise as he merely dragged the map over from the passenger seat, to conceal and cover it. Leaning back out of the cabin, he slammed the door shut and hastily locked it with a jingle from his keys, before facing the curious crowd again. “Um… Hello… Could, someone, anyone, point me into the right direction of a household called…” pausing for a moment, he nipped two fingers into his breast pocket and slipped out a small parchment of paper to read off “Pier-- The Pierpont Household?” the small crowd merely stifled a questionable look amongst them, but one young lady did approach slowly, after hearing Pierpont being mentioned.

“Oui, vous suivez simplement cette route”[/I] she said softly, but Peter perked a brow and looked to where she was pointing. “Oh… Oh!” he stammered out, just realising what she was trying to tell him. “Thank You” he politely said afterwards, shedding a brief smile, before trotting off hurriedly to the direction he was pointed off too, attempting to try and hold his helmet, whilst he slipped the piece of paper back into his inside pocket.

After five minutes or so, Peter eventually found what seemed to be a large household with a hanging sign from the small front-yard reading off; ‘Pierponts’. Making his way through the nicely painted front-gate, he approached up towards the door and stood there for yet another moment, as if he was preparing himself mentally. “Do hope they know English” he muttered to himself, as he reached out to pull at the brass knocker, tapping it against the door a few times, before stepping away. “… Otherwise, we’re going to have ourselves a long hand-chat” he quietly muttered afterwards, glancing between the nearby window and the door again, awaiting for it to be answered. He wasn’t quite sure if they knew to expect him or not, but he knew he didn’t travel all that way for nothing -- he was here to check up on the young girl, Adelheid.


Translations:[/b]
Oui, vous suivez simplement cette route.
- Yes, you simply follow that road.

[Heidi]

Madame Pierpont was grateful to get out of the house. Ever since the Adelheid girl had been thrust into her care, a friend of hers in the Allied military having asked her to watch over the child while some paperwork was done, she had had no time to herself. The girl, despite having impeccable manners and being more quiet then a mouse, was a handful. She had recently displayed a rebellious nature that the military folk described as "unsettling". Not only had the girl been caught hanging around a medical bay, but she had attempted to run away afterwards as well. Some were saying it was evidence enough she was a spy for the Germans.

"ADELHEEEEEIIIIIID!" Madame Pierpont screeched, lips pursed as the knocking on the door ceased. "ADELHEID, ERHALTEN SIE UNTEN HIER! STELLEN SIE SICHER, DASS SIE ANNEHMBAR SIND!"

The sound of small feet running across the floor above her reached the woman's ears. She smiled, wringing her hands together, her husband Gautier striding into the room. He, too, had heard the knock, and being the only one being remotely good at speaking English, was to act as the interpreter.

"Gautier, font ce rapide," said the woman, patting down her curly, brown-red hair on one side of her head. "Je ne veux pas être en retard pour notre promenade avec Lilian. Vous savez elle irritable obtient quand n'importe qui est en retard. En outre, Adelheid a besoin de nouvelles chaussures. Elle des bottes misérable-regardent simplement."

"Oui, chére," said Monsieur Pierpont, carefully hiding his exasperation from his wife. Walking over to the door, he opened it, giving the Medical Apprentice a polite smile.

"Euh, Monsieur Branigan, oui?...'ow polite eet is to zee you? Me and my wife, she is named Léa...we are verrrrry pleased to meet you."

"Bonjour, Monsieur Branigan," the middle-aged woman said happily, a great smile adorning her face. Gautier flashed her a quick smile himself, then turned back to Branigan.

"Zho, you vill be vatching ze vittle one, oui? Merci for zat, Monsieur. Me and my wife, we 'ave not been able to go out for ourselves. Ze military is quite generous for azking you to come. Now zhen, to meet ze vittle one - Léa?"

Léa immediately obliged, and turned to the staircase again. "ADELHEID!" she shrieked again. "Beendigtes Trödeln, Sie dummes Mädchen! UNTEN HIER GEKOMMEN!"

The sound of pounding feet could be heard again, and within minutes, a young girl appeared at the top of the staircase. Dressed in the beige blouse and simple white skirt two soldiers had bought for her, she paused, her mouth beginning to form a word, but stopping when her dark eyes spotted Monsieur Branigan. She shrank back a little, shyly looking at the small group of people below, and Léa tsked. Such a flightly child - too flighty, actually.

"I apologize for ze vittle one's shyness, Monsieur," said Gautier, having turned to look at Adelheid as she appeared at the top of the staircase. "Léa and me 'ave been vorking on zat."

+++++++++++++++++++++

Translations:

GET DOWN HERE! MAKE SURE YOU ARE DECENT!

Gautier, make this quick.

I do not want to be late for our outing with Lilian. You KNOW how irritable she gets when anyone is late. Besides, Adelheid needs new shoes. Her boots are simply wretched-looking.

Yes, dear.

Quit dawdling, you silly girl! COME DOWN HERE!

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

Bouncing ever so slightly against the balls of his heels, Peter patiently waited upon their doorstep, his left foot dangling from the edge of the step a little, priding himself against the gravel pathway at the same time. He didn’t want to seem rude and present himself full heartedly upon their doorstep, he was no postman or milkman; Just a mild mannered medic, who had quite a lousy shot with the rifle he was proposed with during his time in the Rangers - now the third armoured division. Thankfully, he rarely done any shooting, the last time he’d witnessed a proper means of battle, was when he ended up dragging Captain Matherson from out of the battlefield, by the blooded fabric of his tunic. Shortly after the incident, the Rangers came under new command and their company was broken down into different details, Peter being abruptly moved to begin with.

(This actually happened, by the way)

Shouting emerged from behind the confines of the door and a weak smile praised Peter’s lips, as better memories engulfed his mind for a while; His dear mother regularly did attempt to talk through walls to him, she was never one for climbing the stairs. Abruptly, Peter’s daydreams befell to the back of his mind, as a gentleman stood at the doorway and questioned at him for being ’Mr Branigan’. “Yes…” he just about managed to say, before he gawked a stare as the gentleman began to speak some more within his thick foreign accent. Peter was actually English and grew up in England, so he was quite used to a whole remedy of accents, understanding them. Living in America and serving amongst the Americans for the best years of his life however, did take it’s toll on him and Peter barely understood the bilingual tongue talking to him.

Stepping onto the doorstep more properly, Peter’s eyes averted between the two parents lingering by the doorway, a patter of noise from above catching everyone’s attention every so often. “Well it’s a pleasure to meet you too and…” glancing to the female as she pleasantly obliged with a hello herself, Peter was going to return the greeting, but found himself cut off as the gentleman began to speak again and the woman busily turned to the staircase in the process of calling out for someone again.

Looking to the gentleman, Peter tried his damned hardest to catch what the man was saying, as his fingers clutched against the grain of his helmet ruggedly out of frustration of trying to catch each word spoken. “Wait…” he slipped out once the gentleman had finished speaking, squinting a little as the woman cried out up the staircase once again, almost deafening him in one ear. “I… I wasn’t sent to --” but Peter found himself cut short of a breath, as their attention diverted to the staircase where the little one stood shyly atop of the stairs. It seemed the young girl was - flourishing? From what he’d already witnessed.

Looking to the gentleman again as he spoke, Peter miffed a look and laughed nervously, not quite knowing what was happening, as he attempted to pick up his previous sentence again. “Look - Monsieur, I was not sent to look after your step-daughter. I was sent to check up on her and her living qualities being here” he started, but quickly continued so he wasn’t interrupted again “I’m not here to baby-sit your step-daughter, just provide what I can to help improve your quality of life during this hard period. Particularly Adelheid” he lisped out softly towards the end, looking up towards the young girl with a vague smile, before he faced the parental beings before him again, hoping they understood what he was telling them.

Peter was only on a road-trip through France towards an allocated base he was now situated at, with orders to check up several candidates along the way. He had supplies and all manner of equipment within his truck, if they needed the help. What was being asked off him, well, he hadn’t a clue where they got that idea from!?

[Heidi]

"But Monsieur," the man began, a quizzical look on his face, "ze military...zhey zaid you would be coming to do the babyzit, oui? Zhey must 'ave made a mistake...I 'ave ze telegram right 'ere, Monsieur Branigan!"

The man dug around in his pocket for a minute, mumbling something incoherent to himself in French. Finally, his worn hand wrapped around a piece of crinkled paper, and Gautier unfolded it, showing it to Branigan.

Even though it had been written down in a haste, the note read, as interpreted from the telegram:

Sending in personnel to check the German girl, stop. You and the Miss Pierpont will be temporarily relieved of duties, stop. You are to spend no more then two and a half hours out, stop. Please show this to the soldier sent if there are any concerns, stop.

"Zee? A simple mistake, Monsieur Branigan. Please forgive me if zhis is inconvenient, but please understand, my wife, she izzzz a social butterfly - "

"GAUTIER! Dépêchez-vous vers le haut!"

Gautier winced, and turned to his wife. "Je suis désolé, chéri, mais notre ami était confus pour un instant. Je fais des excuses."

"Moins de présentation d'excuses, plus parlant. Je veux sortir avant que Lillian tourne aigre sur moi!" snapped Madame Pierpont in return, crossing her arms. Gautier sighed, nodding, and turned back to Peter.

"Monsieur Branigan, I vish I could speak more with you, but my wife, she is...how do you say, disposé pour aller? Adelheid is a very sweet child, she will be of no bother. Venez, le chéri, nous a laissés vont!"

Gautier's wife nodded with a grunt. She moved towards the door, nodding with a smile towards Peter, and took her husband's arm in hers. Then, the pair happily marched out the door and down the pathway, talking quietly and sweetly to each other in French.

"Seien du, Adelheid gut!" was the last thing Madame Pierpont said, and then, the two were gone. It was now just Adelheid and Peter.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Translations:

GAUTIER! Hurry up!

I am sorry, darling, but our friend was confused for a moment. I apologize.

Less apologizing, more talking. I want to get out before Lillian turns sour on me!

...willing to go?

Come, darling, let us go!

Be good, Adelheid!

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

OOC: Sorry, I used Again a lot in my previous post. As I’ve said in a PM to you, I’m incredibly tired, yet I feel the urge to type.


Biting at his lower lip, Peter stood awkwardly quiet after he’d spoken, watching as the gentleman spluttered out worriedly about the matter, before continuing to attempt to try and find the telegram sent to him. Peter’s eyes drifted across the room shiftily during the moment of silence, as the man dug into his pockets, a brief smile crossing his lips to the woman who stood precariously nearby, causing Peter to shudder a little uncomfortably with the whole situation.

Snapping his attention back to the Frenchman who produced a piece of paper, his fingers nimbly took the crimpled message and smoothed the folded corners out as he read the written message quickly. “Yes - there must be a mistake” Peter repeated after the Frenchman who spoke, worriedly looking over the brief message again, trying to fathom out how he’d been given this duty. “I’m not a soldier, these duties must be for someone else, I was purely sent for --” but then Peter’s breath died out sharply, as he noticed the Frenchwoman become impatient, almost snarling at the poor gentleman who began to tread carefully.

Shaking his head slowly, Peter pushed the note back into the Frenchman’s hands and watched as the two of them exchanged a few words in French. Eventually, the gentleman spoke to Peter again and he could only smile weakly, as he was pretty much brushed aside. “But…” he faintly said, to no avail he was heard, as the two soon enough scooped into one another’s arms, causing Peter’s body to shift aside in the doorway as they quickly made their leave - Peter’s lips coiling in a smirk as he stood there, not quite knowing how a simple check up had turned into a few hours of babysitting. “Bloody fantastic” he grumbled to himself, as he watched the two parents wander off down the path.

Sighing heavily, he swung his helmet into both of his hands, having caused his left wrist to ache a little, where he’d been carrying it for the past ten minutes, an aching reminder of the day’s current unfolding events. Soon enough, his aching wrist wasn’t the only reminder of the day’s events, as the young girl caught wind of his attention again - his eyes slithering up the staircase to look at her. “I guess it’s just me and you then” he said softly, stepping into the house casually, whilst he pushed the hardened frame of his helmet against the wooden surface of the door to pride shut behind-himself.

Quietly, Peter looked around himself and became quickly acquainted with his surroundings, his eyes making note of important utensils in the room; Primarily things that could be used for a whole variety of situations. It was just a habit Peter had picked up, being able to use your surroundings to your advantage, as he recalled a memory it had paid off for - using doorframes for splints and sealing a multitude of open wounds with gunpowder and an old woman’s igniter from her stove. Yep, Peter was quite resourceful and it was one thing he learnt to be good at, particularly with the Germans being a classic jack in the box nowadays.

Walking into what seemed to be a living area, Peter calmly placed his helmet onto one of the coffee tables by the wall and glanced to the staircase in doing so. “So, Adelheid” he said confidentially, hoping to earn the young girl’s trust a little quicker by displaying his knowledge of knowing who she was; “Feel like coming down and talking to me?” he questioned soon after, looking up towards the banister for the staircase, not quite being able to see her from his position in the living room, but could just about make out her legs through the wooden bars.

Smiling to himself a little, Peter waited patiently for her to come down or respond to him, whilst he began to unbutton the top of his field tunic, figuring he may as well get a little comfortable for the duration of his stay. His lower back downwards was still aching him from the arduous journey in the tin-can he was travelling in; Which reminded him, he best drive his truck around at some point, now he’d be staying longer.

[Heidi]

OOC - Really? I didn't notice the use of the word "again". Hope Peter has a German-to-English dictionary. ;D As for the urge to type, that is what we writers call a "muse", and it has a bad habit of not shutting up until you type until your brain is fried.

++++++++++++++++++++

From her hiding spot up on the staircase, Adelheid watched as the three adults talked. Then, Herr and Fräu Pierpont promptly left, just as they said they had. Adelheid could not help but panic slightly, though, for the soldier was someone she had not seen before. The girl had assumed that Onkel Mac or Onkel Stephen would be coming to see her, but no, it was a stranger this time...

"So, Adelheid, feel like coming down and talking to me?"

Although the girl's head was barely visible as she hid around the corner at the staircase's top, there was still enough of her face showing for one to see a confused look. The man...was speaking the language Onkel Stephen did. Even though Herr Pierpont knew that language, he had not yet taught Adelheid enough for her to remember. Besides, it was confusing to remember what that language's German equivalent was, in a lot of cases - they didn't even have a "Sie" and "du" system!

Moving out a few centimetres, Adelheid swallowed hard. Eventually finding her voice, she called shyly, shakily down to the newcomer, "Ummm…ich, sind Herr Soldat traurig, aber konnten Sie das bitte wieder sagen? Ich spreche Deutsches."

Adelheid knew from experience she had to be careful. Back at the soldier place, there had been a lot of people who had looked at her funny when she spoke German. A few had even seemed mad. It was infrequent, but it did happen, and Adelheid hated making people mad. The girl was still trying to make up for running away before!

"...Herr Soldat?" the girl called out again, a little more cautiously then before. Hopefully, he was nice, like Onkel Mac and Onkel Stephen...

++++++++++++++++++

Translations:

Ummm...I am sorry, Mister Soldier, but could you please say that again? I speak German.

...Mister Soldier?

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

OOC: The Muse. I get that often, just at the wrong times (It’s basically 3am here).


After unbuttoning the top of his tunic a little, Peter soon found himself fiddling with his cuffs, unbuttoning them in session to one another, before he began to roll them back a few folds, whilst he awaited the shy girl’s response from above. As Peter neatly folded back his left sleeve to elbow length, the distinctive German tongue echoed between the walls and he almost fell to the ground out of sheer instinct - it was common sense to every man who’d been on the front long enough, you became sensitized and programmed to react to things almost instantly and automatically; The German speaking tongue being one of the trigger points, just like mortar or artillery fire incoming.

Thankfully, Peter didn’t make it as far enough to take a dive, as his merely dipped a fraction and his head snapped to the general direction of where it was being spoken, the staircase. The accent was far from rugged or rough, but sweet, perhaps nervous and soft. It was Adelheid. Upon the report he was given, her nationality was classified as British, yet she was speaking German? Perhaps it was a typo on behalf of someone back at base or maybe, she was British? Somehow, remarkably? It didn’t seem like it…

Licking his dry lips, Peter regained his posture, feeling a little silly for reacting so silly - although, it was the silly behaviour that got him this far. After straightening out his sleeve, Peter inhaled a quick breath, calming his racing heart from the small fright and decided he best approach the stairs. He didn’t quite catch all of what she said, having been a little distracted and too on-guard, but he heard enough and knew fully well she wasn’t about to approach a stranger without some reasoning of trust between them.

Stepping over to the bottom of the staircase, Peter looked up towards the young girl, barely visible as she hung back from around the corner at the top of the stairs. Peter could only smile, having not seen such a young face in a long time, he’d been surrounded by men and woman, predominately in bad shape, for weeks. It was calming to see the war hadn’t stopped the young one’s from making it; They had it the hardest and Peter understood that. “Ich sagte, möchten Sie hier unten kommen und mit mir sprechen?” Peter said as best he could in German, having studied it at school back in England and served alongside the German medical corps in Belgium during Dunkirk - recovering and helping the wounded Tommies left behind. Controversial and a risk to take, but the Nazis were in high spirits after claiming Paris, tending to the wounded wasn’t really their cup of tea.

Taking a moment to think about the words in German, Peter hesitantly strung up his next sentence. “Ich bin an der Unterhaltung des Deutsches sehr rostig” he said slowly, as if reading the words out one by one on a piece of paper. A brief smile pausing at his lips, hoping he spoke the words correctly, knowing how silly it would seem if he said something completely out of the ordinary to her.

Gazing up the staircase, he waited patiently once again, looking a little concerned for her. Peter didn’t like being in the situation anymore than she did, but he was sure they could be good friends for the small time they had together, perhaps he could find out if she needed anything? He did have a whole manner of materials in his truck. Peter only wished to help, but he also understood if she remained well away from him. He’d heard many stories of soldiers doing some of the most horrific things to children and woman - the only problem being, Peter saw all the worse outcomes in people. It was his job, to fix them. A job that only paid in gratification - if you was lucky.


Translations:[/b]

Ich sagte, möchten Sie hier unten kommen und mit mir sprechen?
- I said, would you like to come down here and speak to me?

Ich bin an der Unterhaltung des Deutsches sehr rostig
- I'm very rusty at talking German

[Heidi]

OOC - I can see that. -points to forum time- Don't worry, the muse shuts up...eventually. J.K. Rowling often said she woke up in the middle of the night, and wrote ideas down on a notepad...I think.

+++++++++++++++++++++++


So this man was the same. He had reacted much like how the other soldiers had when she spoke - they had flinched. As he did such, she did the same, pulling back around the corner for a few seconds; Adelheid did not wish to tempt his wrath. On her travels, she had seen the worst of both Nazis and...the not-Nazis, whose proper name escaped her. The Pierponts were not here to protect her if something happened.

As the child's face dared to peek out once more, she saw the man coming over to the staircase. Her hand flew to the pocket where she kept her slingshot, and she gave a little, "Eeep!" Adelheid pulled back, hiding herself behind the corner, pinning herself against the wall as her heart raced.

The footsteps stopped, the angry stomping she expected never coming. A few tense seconds went by, feeling like an eternity to the German child.

Then, he spoke.

“Ich sagte, möchten Sie hier unten kommen und mit mir sprechen?”

It was...German. Her mother tongue. He spoke it, not as well as Onkel Mac, but still well enough. The girl slid over to the corner, and her head turned, inching out so that her black eyes could see what the soldier was doing.

“Ich bin an der Unterhaltung des Deutsches sehr rostig.”

Her suspicions were confirmed. He wasn't as fluent as Onkel Mac was. The man could still communicate with her, though, and that was all that mattered. Taking a deep breath, the girl slowly turned herself around, and soon, half of her upper torso could be seen. A hand placed itself on the corner for support, so Adelheid could lean out, instead of stepping out into the open.

"Das ist...fein. Ich spreche Deutsches, ich kann...ummmmm...Hilfe?" said the child slowly, still using a shy tone. Adelheid blushed slightly, then pulled back a few centimetres, just in case her reply was unwanted.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Translations:

That is...fine. I speak German, I can...ummmmm...help?

[✚ Peter T. Brannigan]

Leaning against the lower banister to the staircase gently, Peter shifted his head to the side a little, trying to allure a look up the staircase to the young girl who was cowering behind a nearby wall. He could just about make out half of her face and body, enough to judge her height and age, but not really anything of great importance was displayed by the young shy girl. Perhaps one good quality she should teach herself to keep; Throwing caution to the wind never did hurt anyone.

As the young girl leant out from behind the tall confines of the wall, Peter broke a gentle smile and looked to her quietly as she spoke back to him, still sounding quite nervous about the whole ordeal. Watching as she slinked back a little after speaking, Peter nodded to himself and momentarily looked down to admire the staircase whilst he thought of his response in German - a language he hadn’t attempted to try and speak for many years, neither did he keep any German dictionaries or even dare think about practicing the language during his own time. The Americans, alike the British, were highly suspicious about German spies and Peter didn’t fancy his chances with being caught talking German to himself.

After a moment’s thought of what he was to say, Peter strafed his gaze back up the staircase and tapped his hand against the banister a couple of times in idleness. “Ja. Ich bin - Sie sicher, konnte mir helfen, mein Deutsch zu verbose” Peter spoke softly once again, a brief pause within his sentence as he had to think of the equivalent German words to be used. Inhaling another breath, he continued to speak, “Sie kommen herunter, wenn Sie bereit sind, und wenn Sie tun, wird es ein wenig etwas geben, auf Sie an der Unterseite von der Treppe wartend” he spoke again in German, but a little more better than before, as most of the words came back to his memory - thankfully.

Sliding a hand into one of his chest pockets, Peter pulled out a bar of American chocolate and smiled to himself as he extended his arm out through between the wooden bars of the banister to place the chocolate bar upon the third last step of the staircase. It’s silver foil and light brown wrapping made it quite obvious on the staircase, now it was just up to Adelheid to come and get it, if she planned on coming downstairs.

Letting out a light sigh, Peter stepped down from leaning against the banister and quietly walked away from the staircase, back into the living area. Fiddling his fingers into an inside pocket this time, he pulled out what seemed to be a few pieces of folded paper and unfolded them to reveal them as being letters, with a photograph tucked in the middle of them. Glancing to the nearby sofa, he took a seat and comfortably leant back, letting out an appeasing breath of air from his lungs, as he folded his left leg up to hang against his right knee. Looking to the photograph and letters between his fingers, he silently looked over them, glancing to the staircase in between, wondering if he’d have any company or whether the young girl would simply remain at distance.


Translations:[/b]

Ja. Ich bin - Sie sicher, konnte mir helfen, mein Deutsch zu verbessern.
- Yes. I am sure -- You, could help me improve my German.

Sie kommen herunter, wenn Sie bereit sind, und wenn Sie tun, wird es ein wenig etwas geben, auf Sie an der Unterseite von der Treppe wartend.
- You come down when you are ready and when you do, there will be a little something waiting for you at the bottom of the staircase.

[Heidi]

So far, the newcomer seemed casual, completely relaxed around the girl. That was a good thing. Adelheid continued to watch from the safety of the staircase's top, sloe-black eyes watching the man with less fear then before.

The man spoke, saying that she could help him. Adelheid weakly nodded, the motion just barely visible from where she was on the stairs. He then added that there would be something for her at the bottom of the stairs, but only when she was ready to come down. This perked the German child's interest.

A few minutes went by, and Adelheid just stood there, waiting for a bomb to go off or some other unpleasant thing to happen. Such a thing never came, though, and all the soldier did was go over to the nearby sofa, sitting down on it with a happy sigh. After that, there was silence once more, and Adelheid inched out again, curious.

The girl suddenly turned, and the sounds of shoe-covered feet running around on the floor above could be heard. Five minutes and a couple of door-openings later, the child returned to where she had been, a grey plush horse held tightly to her chest. Swallowing hard, Adelheid paused, then put one foot down on the stair in front of her.

Nothing happened.

The girl moved her other foot onto the stair.

Nothing happened.

Waiting a few moments, Adelheid crouched, then placed a shaky foot on the next stair down. Freezing like a rabbit under cover, she waited for something to happen, then leaned down. Taking the plush horse, "Silber", in both hands, she tossed him gently down the stairs. The toy tumbled, bobbing head over limp heels, and landed on the chocolate, taking the treat along with it to the second-last stair.

The chocolate did not explode, nor did it set itself on fire, or anything of the sort. Her caution fading ever-so-slightly, Adelheid proceeded down the staircase to where her toy had landed, her footfalls as quiet as she could make them.

[Daniel Brennan]

Mod Post

Wow, old thread.

CP:
Peter Brannigan: 10CP

Addie Power! 9CP


~Dan