The Teapot Gossips! [O]

[Hilda ("Hildy")]

Country: England
Current Time: 00:27 (Military Time) - 1941
Weather Conditions: Colder than normal for the summertime, but still moderate and with a very light breeze; skies are clear


The closed theatre was quiet. Hilda batted an eye open for the umpteenth time, shifting uncomfortably on the bed of a curtain. She was sore to the bone, tired as if the world had deemed her Atlas. Her journey had been long, and she still smelt of the sea and ship-bowels.

If there were rains in France, they wept over the quickly-rotting carcass of a safe haven. It was in 1941 that Hilda's illusions of avoiding the war were shattered; she had nearly been arrested. Twice. And people were being shipped off to God knew where, and she wasn't about to join them. She had hoofed it for the coastline, not looking back once, having no allegiance to one of three countries in her veins. Sneaking on hadn't been a problem — she'd even manage to survive on little to nothing for food, in order to hide.

Now that she was in Britain, however, she had no idea of what to do next. She knew she was emaciated, her ribs beginning to press tightly against her skin. Anything that remotely resembled food gave her wild visions; she had seen a broken teapot, and imagined that teapot gossiping, honey-sweetened tea pouring deliciously hot.

[Stephen Colly]

”Come backstage after.” those had been the words of the actor, George Randell, as he had swept past Stephen Colly at the curtain call. The two had met in France, and George had been wounded and had always been a comedian so had joined a theatre troupe when he had been discharged from the army. George was also a homosexual, like Stephen.

And so, Stephen had found himself in the darkened dressing room of George’s. They had been together since after the show had ended and no one had known they were there. They had heard people leaving, lights being turned off and doors slammed and they knew they were alone.

”Lets go and see the theatre, come on.” George had whispered and had stood up, pulling on a shirt. Stephen followed, pulling his army jacket on quickly and following George’s sandy coloured hair down the corridor, they sniggered as they kept bumping into things along the way. Finally, they found the theatre – it was dark and silent. George took a torch from a shelf in the wings and switched it on so a beam of light shown into the darkness of the wings. There were props and costumes of all sorts littered about and hung on rails. Carefully, George made his way to the light switch and switched the house lights on so the auditorium was lit up.

Stephen walked out onto the stage and looked out at the row upon row of empty seats. ”It is kind of creepy.” he turned to see George approaching. ”It is my home. I only went to France to get wounded. Theatre is what I love.” George smirked and went in to kiss Stephen on the lips. He kissed back, not noticing the girl curled up in the curtain on the opposite side of the stage.

[Hilda ("Hildy")]

The ragamuffin smacked her lips, rubbing at bleary eyes as she lifted her dirty head. So sensitive to noise was she, the thumping of footsteps and sniggers unaware had roused her from near-sleep. She froze upon seeing two shadows across from her, slowly turning her head to face them. They had not seen her, evidently, as they began — kissing?

Oхуеть. A homosexual liaison! In front of her! In her temporarily-abandoned theatre! Hilda could not help but stare. She had heard about such forbidden passions in overheard whispers, in novels and scandalous gossip, but she had never seen one. Was one of the men wearing Army clothing? Hilda squinted her eyes — he was! Her eyes became all owly, her mouth a little "o" of shock. Slowly she leaned forward, turning her right ear to listen better.

Maybe if I threaten 'em, they'll feed me!

Such a thought split her mouth into a devious and evil grin. The hallucinations of honey-sweetened tea were suddenly more real, and she could taste the hot, refreshing liquid on her lips. If there was anything Hilda was good at, it was making people squirm, and maybe getting them to do what she said. Homosexual lovers! Really, world really?

On the other hand, they might kill her.

[Stephen Colly]

Stephen smiled through the kisses. He wrapped his arms around George, stroking his hair, breathing in his body. They were alone, all alone in a theatre which seemed rather ironic. It was rather fun to be doing something illegal in a place where most, if not all, the people were homosexual anyway. Look at Oscar Wilde.

Stephen pulled away. ”Wasn’t that playwright, Oscar Wilde, like us?” he cocked his head to one side. ”Yes, yes he was.” George nodded smirking. But then his smile faded as he caught sight of the person behind them. His eyes widened. ”What?” Stephen felt his heart start to thump faster and faster as he turned around to see what George was staring at.

”Oh.” There was a girl who was sitting on the curtain, leaning forward as if she had been listening to their every word. Had she been there before? Oh dear.

”What the hell are you doing in here?!” George jumped into action after what felt like several seconds of complete silence. ”How did you get in here?” he glanced at Stephen and then back at the girl. ”Oh hell…” was all Stephen could say. Images flashed through his mind of prison.

[Hilda ("Hildy")]

Hilda's eyes widened. She spat something out, half-clenched, in mangled French (or German or Russian, it was hard to tell); the girl began to back up. All the grace and practise put into running away could not stop her from tripping — she gave a wail as she fell. Curtain wrapped around her heels, she ended up faceplanting off the stage, banging her eye and cheek off the ground. "Eck ... " she muttered as she tried to get up, kicking the curtain off her bare feet as she tried to stand. As expected, she was dizzy, and ended up falling into the chairs in the front row.

«Черт возьми черт возьми черт возьми!»

This was not her day. Thiiiiis was not her day. Or night, rather; day or night, it was going to suck hind tit, as the Americans said. Or was it the British? Hilda couldn't remember where she'd picked up the damn saying, just that she liked the sound of it. Of course, that wasn't going to help her if she was going to get caught!

Wait, wasn't I supposed to be blackmailing them?

[Stephen Colly]

The girl then proceeded to nearly kill herself by squalling and then falling off the stage into the front row of the stalls and bashing herself on the way down. George and Stephen looked at each other and then at the girl who was now in one of the chairs below, looking rather ill. Stephen realised suddenly how pale she was. She reminded him of the girl, Adelheid, who he had met a long time ago. But she was older than her, surely?

George jumped off the stage and came closer to her. ”Umm, English? Girl? English, you speak it?” he said slowly, trying to tell if she could understand what he was saying. Stephen followed and jumped down into the stalls as well, staying back a bit and biting his lip. Hopefully, she wouldn’t know what it was that they were doing; hopefully she would keep her mouth shut.

”I am tempted to leave her here.” George turned around and looked at Stephen now. ”Leave her here and go and get someone.”

”But then we would have to tell them why we were here.” Stephen muttered, glancing at the girl. ”I don’t trust her to keep her mouth shut. Though, have you noticed how pale and thin she is?”

”Could leave her here to die?” George suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

”That is a bit harsh.” Stephen said frowning slightly.

[Hilda ("Hildy")]

Hilda froze. Both men were bearing down on her, plotting something...in English! Damn it! She knew some English, but she could barely speak it, and her accent would be thick and mangled. What would they think of her? Would they assume she was some sort of German-Russian-French-sounding spy and execute her? Dramatic as the thought was, it wasn't far-fetched.

Now or never, Hildy!

«Feed me and I shall keep your affair a secret!» Hilda snapped, glaring at the two with a stinker of an eye. «I seek only food as a bribery, puny Englishmen! Feed me, or the world will know of your little patting time and nothing will stop me! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!»

The theatre echoed with her unnecessarily evil laughter. She gave the two an equally evil grin, but then realized that probably made her look mental. Okay, axe the evil laughter. You're not Herr Hitler, stop acting like you might be him. Your French already sounds terrible enough as it is; you sound like a European love child ... which you probably already are, but still! Carpe diem!

«I demand food!»

[Stephen Colly]

George almost leapt into the air as the girl suddenly came alive, shouting at them in rather inaudible words. But what she said rang true to both men or what they could make out at least. Food was all she wanted?

Stephen hurried closer to George, resting a hand on his shoulder. ”We better get her food, George. I don’t want to go to prison and nor do you I suspect.” he raised an eyebrow and glanced at the girl. ”As if anyone is going to believe her! She is only 13!” George said, chuckling slightly but Stephen could see he was worried too.

”Please, George. Let’s just give her what she wants.” pleaded Stephen, shifting his gaze back to the girl.

George nodded after a few seconds, as if realising that was the best thing to do. ”You stay with her.” he muttered and darted away quickly into the shadows. Stephen sat down a few seats away from the girl and ran a hand through his hair. There was a silence between the pair for a few seconds until he then looked over at her and said: ”What are you doing here anyway? Or umm…” he tried to think of the French vocabulary that he knew – ” qu'est-ce que tu fais ici?” he tried. She might be French, or at least understand a bit.

[Hilda ("Hildy")]

«I AM NOT THIRTEEEN!» the girl yelled, indignantly and with enough volume to rattle dust off the walls. «Do not let my shortness fool you; I am fifteen, at the very least! Almost old enough to join the army, if I were a man!»

The two men argued worriedly, back and forth in words Hilda barely kept up with. Still, she nodded and smiled, going along with them as if she knew every word. A plaque-infested smile was flashed, and the girl puffed out her chest.

«Now then, if we are to eat, I demand the most delicious and expensive thing from a pub that shall not kill my stomach. And a hot glass of milk. Especially a hot glass of milk. Now please!»

She clapped her hands twice, giving the pair an impatient look.

[Stephen Colly]

She was only 15? A few years younger than Stephen himself. Gosh, she looked younger. George had hurried away at the girl’s demands and Stephen had watched him run off, his heart slowing slightly. He felt a little bit more relaxed in an odd way. He felt the knife in his pocket and knew that he could use it if the girl carried on being so smart.

He watched the girl from where he sat, wondering what she was doing here. ” Donc, vous êtes quinze ans.” he said to her quietly, looking over at her. ” Je pourrais vous tuer, vous savez” he said to her, standing up and drawing his blade from his pocket, twirling it in his hands before putting it back in his pocket.

((I am so sorry it is short! My next post will be longer!))


TRANSLATIONS
So, you are fifteen
I could kill you, you know

[Hilda ("Hildy")]

«Oh sure, you could kill me,» Hilda remarked, «but then you'd have a body to deal with and an ugly stain on the floor. Really, all I want is food, and I thought the best way to get it was to scare the shit out of you two, a little bit.»

She assumed a know-it-all pose, one that was casual but still cocky.

«Think about it: a starving little brat catches you two snogging each others' brains out. She demands food in order to be kept quiet. If I really wanted to ruin your lives, wouldn't I have demanded money, or some ungodly favour that would have wounded your ego and pride? No, just food. You are acting like I am the Prime Minister himself, wanting to puke some rule at you to get you to behave. ‹What do you have to lose?› you might ask? Well, a lot, actually. For one — I am not supposed to be here.»

After holding up one finger, she then held up two.

«Two — I am a street rat. You are a respectable soldier. Street rat, soldier, street rat, soldier. Who do you think the pigs are going to arrest first? You've got marks on your shoulders and some fine-looking uniform stuff. I've ... got a dirty sack of a dress thrown over a shirt and some trousers. I mean, you could kill me, but a lot of people kill rats in the streets to clean them up. So either way, win-win.»

She shrugged.

[Stephen Colly]

Despite everything, she seemed rather intelligent. He caught nearly all that she said in French and nodded slowly. What she said was true, and he felt bad for even producing the knife. She had scared him. He had been very, very worried indeed. He bit his lip and glanced away, not knowing really what to say to her. He hoped she would not say anything, and he doubted she would if all she wanted was food. Food and then she’d be gone. But now, he didn’t feel like being with George. Their little time together had been ruined and it made him think just how wrong his feelings were.

”Umm….Pourquoi n'êtes-vous pas censé être ici?” he asked, having picked up on what she had said. It could be an obvious answer she was an orphan like so many perhaps? She called herself, what was it, a rat? Sounded a bit harsh.

He realised now that his shirt and his army jacket were undone and he had been exposing his chest for some time now. He blushed and began to do up the shirt slowly, watching her with a slight frown on his face. How had she got into the theatre? They had been sure it had been locked as well. Stephen glanced at watch on his wrist and saw it was past midnight. That was why he was so tired. He was to leave again for Dover tomorrow morning at around 0800 hours and then take the boat out to France again. God, his leave had felt only 4 seconds long. But this time, he knew he would be seeing Edward. The two had been sending messages via code to each other. He was looking forward to it, and he knew now that he liked Edward in a way that a man likes a woman. But he wasn’t sure whether to tell Edward that or not.

He pushed the thoughts away from his mind as he yawned and rubbed his eyes, his tired eyes. He glanced again at the girl.

((For those of you reading, this comes before Stephen meets Edward in a pub in France, sometime in 1941))


Translations

Why are you not meant to be here?

[Hilda ("Hildy")]

«I broke a window to get in here to sleep,» said Hilda. «England is very wet. Orphanages are lonely places, and they're not as nice as people say they are. I can take care of myself, but it's nice to sleep under a roof once in a while. Especially up here, where the country can get soaked to the bone without a second thought.»

She watched as he blushed and did his uniform back up. She arched an eyebrow at the soldier.

«You know, shocking as it might be, I don't really care if you sleep with men or not. I'm just hungry, and hungry people say stupid things. People will do a lot for you if you've got leverage on them, and I'm just used to taking advantage of people. Yeah, I'm a little bitch for it, but better a little bitch than a pussy-cat that'll be an officer's mattress one day.»

Eloquently put for a street rat. The girl was literate, and spoke far more properly than her status might show. Her pronunciation was a mangled mess of a trip through Europe — that couldn't be denied no matter how hard she tried — but she was intelligent. She had to be. It was how she had survived all these years, and how she had kept one step ahead. What was such a literate girl, then, surviving on the streets for?

[Stephen Colly]

Stephen raised an eyebrow at what she said. She broke a window did she? Orphanages did she say? That explained it. Not that he already had a good enough feeling of what her situation was – like so many other children.

She carried on and it surprised him about how she didn’t care. Good, at least she would not hand him into the police. Yes, hungry people would do anything for food. She seemed to know her stuff and it surprised him that she was here. He shook his head, saying nothing. Silence now descended on the room as Stephen pondered what to say.

But then he heard the door open slowly and George appeared with a glass of steaming milk and some food – bread and butter. He came in slowly, balancing it on the tray as he made his way to them. ”You do not know how long it took me to get this.” he nodded at the tray and put it down near the girl, giving her a glare and then stepping away from her.

”Got anything out of her?”

”She broke in here. And she won’t report us. And that some sort of orphanage. Her accent, it is hard to put a name to the place. It is sort of a mixture.” Stephen frowned.

In French, he turned to the girl and said ”An orphanage did you say? Umm…your accent is hard to work out, where are you from?”

[Hilda ("Hildy")]

By the time Hilda was addressed again, she was halfway through the bread, and chugging back the steaming milk like it was her final meal. The glass empty in seconds, she wiped her mouth, smacking her lips as she took a chunk from the bread.

«I'm European,» said Hilda between bites. «Europeans talk funny. Well, you're European, at least, but you're off on this wee little island to the north. In any case, the only reason I'm here is because the Teutonic pigs decided they were going to hoist France out from under us. From the looks of it, they hoisted it out from under the Queen's feet, too; Channel Islands aren't yours anymore.»

The bread was gone in moments, Hilda swallowing a barely-chewed chunk. Sucking the butter off her fingers, she wiped her face with a sleeve. «So, I decided to try my luck up here. So far, it's nice; police are bleeding blighters, but at least there's no gunfire. You have a very lovely countryside, if a little bit spooky when the fog rolls in. Not sure how the lads up on the moors can deal with that shit, what with their stories of ghosts and ghoulies and what-not. Tell me, has anyone ever been eaten by a barghest?»

She knew her folklore, too.