Opera

[hansvonspekle]

"Stop Aprilscherze mit mir Hans! Nun, was zeigen, werden wir auch wieder?" Heidi giggled as they walked down the cobblestone street. Heidi was wearing a spectacular mint-colered dress, and Feldweble Hans Von Spekle was wearing his grey-green wool Whermacht uniform and a overseas cap cocked slightly atop his blond hair.

"It's called Ode an die Freude. Es ist ein sehr schönes Stück, mit einem Orchester und alles. Musste ich einige Strings zu erhalten diese Karten." He said as they saw the grand opera house at the end of the street. It was glorious, with lights and gates and a huge crowd of people crowded around it.

It was a bit chilly out and they could see a slight outline of there breath. It was about six 'o clock, and it dusk was quickly approaching. "Kommt, lasst uns eilen, die Show beginnt in fünfundvierzig Minuten und abends ist fast hier."

Hans and Heidi got into the line, joking and laughing like young lovers often do. When it was there turn, he approached the booth. "Resorvations für Spekle?" Hans asked the man in the booth. " Ja, in der Tür und dem siebten Platz in der dreizehnten Zeile, Sir. "

As Hans walked in, he scanned the vast audince. He noticed a couple more men in uniform, most of them SS, around. They took there seats and Hans said "Bleiben Sie hier, Ich werde mir einige Getränke." "Ein Glas Wein, bitte, lieber Hans." Heidi said.

Hans made his way over to the bar, stepping on a few toes on the way. When he arrived, he called over a waitor and ordered, then scanned the crowd again.

TRANSLATION
"Stop joking around with me Hans! Now, what show are we seeing again?

"It's called Ode to Joy. It's a real nice peice. It has and orchestra and everything. I had to pull some strings to get tickets."

"Come, lets hurry. The show starts in forty five minitues, and dusk will be here soon"

"Resorvations for Spekle?

"Yes, the seventh seat in the thirteenth row."

"Stay right here, i'm going to get us some drinks."

"A glass of wine please, Hans dear."

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: I'm drunk and I fancy a fight. This could get good.

Opera. It wasn’t really something Strumfelder enjoyed. To him it just seemed to be overweight Italian women mimicking cats in the process of being strangled. But his late wife, Cloris, had loved it, and he had bought two tickets for her birthday, both costing him an arm and a leg. He had been able to sell one for a fraction of its value, but the second stuck to him. Realising he needed to do something with his life rather than mindless bureaucracy, he had decided to make use of the ticket. Now he sat on a stool near a bar, drinking a small shot of Schnapps, his fifth that evening. His vision was slightly blurred now. How many more could he dare to down.

Cloris had always loved the opera, and this was bringing back some rather unwelcome memories. Strumfelder could just make out here face, her long blond hair, slowly blowing in the wind. And her laugh and smile. Her lovely smile. But that was before his dark days. His days of pain. When those Slavic bastards had destroyed his life, and so many others. Now, he wanted to destroy their race.

The dark patch over his eye suited his dark, officer uniform. It was a stark contrast to the burns and scaring that had been etched into his face during that fateful day. More worryingly, what would have happened to Wolfrick, if he had taken the brunt of the burning oil? Strumfelder had never seen the charged remains of Wolfram’s son. But nor had Strumfelder seen his own son, before he had died. And now he was in the ground, buried before Strumfelder had returned.

He slammed the small glass down on the bar, and tried to focus on the barman, who seemed to enjoy moving erratically from side to side, as did the whole theatre. Next to him he noticed a Wehrmacht man, standing very proud. He shouldn’t be proud. He wasn’t in the SS. He wasn’t one of the Führer’s elite. He was a petty soldier. He wasn’t killing Jews or Slavs, he was just killing Americans. Lazy bastard.

Strumfelder stepped down from his stool, but had difficulty as the floor swerved from side to side. He stumbled slightly, and swore under his breathe, before wandering up to the ‘Army Man’. He looked him up and down and was tempted to punch that face of his, if it would ever stop moving.

[hansvonspekle]

Hans drummed his fingers on the bar as he waited for his drink. He hated to leave his fiancee alone. Damn, shes not a child he thought to himself. She is alone all the time when Hans was on active duty.

As he waited a somewhat drunken SS officer that was sitting on the stool next to Hans arouse and walked too him. He stumbled and Hans could defiantly tell the man was drunk.

Damn the officer. The SS were fine fighters, but he had seen a them massacre countless Slavs, Jews, and other "impure" races. Hans was a lover of the Aryan race, but to him he didn't believe in slaughtering non-Aryan men, women, and children.

Hans had a small tour of duty in Russia, and there he had seen the SS gather up a collection of old men, women, children, and captured Soviet soldiers and lined them up, then shot a bullet through there heads and seen how many people they killed. Then they laughed about it and slaughtered or raped the remaining captives. The merciless bastard.

But Hans did not show his hate for the man and instead threw a polite "Hallo"

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

OOC: You must remember that Strumfelder is more than a little drunk here, so don’t take his actions too harshly.

Was this man flirting with him? That voice sounded more than luring… Was he a homosexual? There was no woman by his side, and his face looked like it was eying him up. Well, it would do if it would stop bloody moving! How dare he serve the Führer! He was probably a communist, Slavic Jew as well! The bastard!

Strumfelder couldn’t stand for this. A homosexual in his presence? He should be rotting in a deep bit with thousands of other state traitors. Maybe he was a Slav? He cheekbone looked higher than usual. He must have been sent to kill Strumfelder. Finish him off, so to speak. Well, this man wasn’t going to get the pleasure of the action. He would kill this bastard before he even drew a weapon.

The officer lashed out with his fist in a right hook, but he misjudged it and knocked several bottle and glasses from the bartop. They fell and shattered, but he didn’t care. He was protecting himself from this villainous man. Did the room just go quiet, or was that him? And why was everybody staring at him. He could explain later, but first he had to finish off his assailant.

The first blow had missed, but the second wouldn’t. Strumfelder simply lumbered forward like a charging bull, but he began to feel himself swaying to the right light a boat in high winds. He reached out for the bar to push himself up, but he just felt more objects, which seemed to be yet more liquor. Probably poisoned by the Slav in front of him. The bottles went flying to the floor. Strumfelder slowed down and tried to refocus on his target. Where was he? The whole scene began to spin in his head. Where was that homosexual?!

[hansvonspekle]

Hans stepped back in suprise as the drunken SS man threw a right hook at him. He missed by far, knocking down several glasses of liquer. Before Hans could get his mind straigt the officer charged tword him, once again missing. Alcohol and shattering glass flew everywhere, splashing on Hans' uniform and soaking the suprised bartenders tuxedo.

As soon as recovered from the initial shock, he figured that the officer had attacked him because- Hans had no damned idea. He reached for his knife, but he had left it at the house because he didn't suspect he would be attacked by a drunk SS bastard at the blasted opera.

Hans balled his fists and threw a right hook at the mans face, connecting with the bridge of his nose. Fists still clenched, he looked around to see the whole opera house staring at him.

[∬: Erhard Strumfelder]

Surprisingly, Strumfelder didn’t take to being hit too well, and yelled out as blood poured down his face. If this man wanted to fight back and draw blood, Strumfelder would really get harsh. He dived into his jacket, and fumbled for his weapon. Finally, he snatched it, and removed his long blade. It glinted in the bright light. Was that a women’s scream he just heard? He didn’t care. All that mattered now was killing this man.

Strumfelder lashed out forwards in a great arc, but over balanced and tilted forwards. He missed the Slavic traitor, but stumbled into another, well dressed man. The man looked at him with a face of astonishment, which suddenly began a lot paler. It was then Strumfelder realised his blade was caught or lodged, in the man’s torso. He pulled it out and there were screams, and people began to run from the area.

With the floor slightly clearer, he spotted his attacker, and launched himself forwards again, this time slower and more controlled. As he closed, he swept outwards, and he felt some resistance against the blades edge, as it caught on something. He hope it was the homosexuals chest.

[hansvonspekle]

"AAAGH!" Hans cried out as the drunken officer's knife tore open his arm. Hans quickly retaliated from the blow and struck back with his unwounded right arm.

The officer had pulled a knife from his uniform then mistakingly stabbed a man to death, then attacked Hans, this time finding his target.

The Grey-green wool sleeve of his tunic was slashed open, and warm trickles of blood dripped off his hand and onto the carpeted floor of the opera house. Hans almost chuckled as he thought that this was his first real wound since the invasion of Poland.

But then his mind snapped back to the present situation and he realized he had to arm himself against the drunk. He looked around, and the first thing he saw was a untouched shot glass lying on the bar. He picked it up and threw it at the officer's face.

Hans' wounded arm was starting to get to him. His tunic's sleeve was a sticky, wet blackish color and his hand was covered in blood. He slouched against the bar as he grew more pale.

[hansvonspekle]

Hans' head churned as more blood oozed out of the open wound, spilling onto the bar. His eyes were getting fuzzy, and his cap had fallen off, revealing his tangled blond hair. Damn, were did the table go?

Suddenly strong hands on his back pulled him up from the bar and stood him on his feet. Hans stumbled back, but another pair of hands caught him and put him back on his feet. One of the men was the bartender, and the other one looked like a black blob, which he assumed was a tuxedo.

Then a small mint-green blob ran and engulfed Hans. He weekly placed his hands around her. He smeared blood on the back of her petite dress as she led him to the door.

All the adrenaline that flowed through his body during combat was gone, and Hans stumbled as he got into a black car. He couldn't tell what kind it was. Hans layed his head against the car door and closed his eyes. He must of slipped into sleep because the next thing he remembered is stumbling into the doors of a hospital.

Hans slumped into a chair as his vision grew worse again. He closed his eyes once again and slipped into unconsciousness once again.

[Daniel Brennan]

Moderation Post

This was an... interesting thread.

CP:
Feldwebel von Speckle: 7CP

Strumfelder: 6CP


~Dan