ƒαìт αccσмρℓì - - { private } - -

[OuEstLaCraie]

lover • figher • dreamer • schemer • mother

Once the German's wife was safely in the car and disappearing into the distance, Eponine had a sinking feeling, deep in her gut. She was going to be alone with him? That hadn't been part of the bargain! Sure, she hadn't been much for working out the details when he'd first brought up the whole idea, but she cursed herself now for the over-sight. She shouldn't have let her anger cloud her mind; she now found herself in a potentially hazardous situation. And, besides...she didn't want the Hun in her house. Chez Eponine, as she had affectionately termed the apartment, was for herself and her son, and no one else. Vistiors were allowed at her discretion. And, as if it weren't obvious, Captain Hoffmann wasn't on that list.

She'd worked hard not to balk as he rattled off his rank and name. She wasn't stupid; she knew what mouthing off to one of the Germans got you - especially one who wasn't just a nameless henchman, but an officer with a commanding name and a personality that seemed to have shifted from a sort of cold politeness to something much more brazen, much angrier. He was upset about something. Eponine knew her attitude was part of it, but he should have come prepared for insolence and bitterness, or not come at all. And there was no way a few harsh words would cause this - whatever that emotion was she saw in his eyes. He towered over her, and their proximity frightened her, only a little less than the fact that she'd obviously misjudged him. She hated the whole idea of these lessons and spending time with the monster, but at least he'd seemed like a beast wiht a heart. She taunted and mocked and chastised him because it was practically in a Frenchwoman's blood to ruin her enemies, and because she had thought she could get away with it. She'd hit him, for God's sake, just the other night! And he hadn't done a thing by way of physical reprecussion. Now, with him leering down at her, and then turning and marching towards her building, she couldn't help but shiver.

"I'll be sure to keep all of that in mind, Monsieur Captaine," she replied coolly, loud enough to be heard and no louder, and stayed rooted to her spot when he entered the apartment complex's foyer and called teasingly, rudely, back out to her.

"Care to join me?" she muttered darkly, mocking his words, then hurried up the steps and through the front door to overtake him before he reached the stairs up to her apartment. She paused with one foot on the bottom step, and glanced back at the German. She really didn't want to be seen with him. It was enough that he had shown up outside her home, that they'd had a rather conspicuous exhcange of words outside, and that almost everyone remaining in the building knew what hardship she must now face to avoid a far worse punishment, but escorting him up to her apartment would have all the gossips' tongues wagging for a much different reason. Things were going toget out of hand. And, now, there was Enjolras to worry about. Since she was remaining her for the lesson, her son's place was with her, in their apartment. She felt ashamed to think it, but knew her son might help her avoid harm if she further angered the German. Either that, or you'll make him so angry he'll kill you both. She looked away hurriedly from the German, decided to leave things as they were for the moment, and said only, "This way," before beginning the journey upstairs.

On the way, Eponine ran her hand along the flaking, wrought iron banister, and frowned when her hand came away stained and dusty. She had never seen the building's imperfections before, for it had never been anything but safe, homey, and familiar, but, now, eyeing the walls and stairs and apartment doors through the German's eyes, she knew he must think them dirty and disgusting people, living in poverty. Bombs had been dropped so close that the foundation was dangerously cracked and a few walls and ceilings in the apartments had holes or entire chunks missing, and a thin layer of plaster and dust covered almost everything. There was no elevator here, and barely enough hot water to get through the morning. There was electricity (or so she liked to believe), but most of the building's inhabitants lived off of gas lamps and candles, especially after the blackout time every night. Finally, Eponine reached her own floor and ran a thin finger along the apartment number, a 5G that had once gleamed golden, but was now hanging loose on a single nail and winking sadly only when the light caught it jsut right. Without a word of introduction, Eponine unlocked the door and threw it open, entering the main room of the apartment and waiting for the German officer to follow.

She tossed her jacket and scarf aside, where they came to rest with practiced ease over an old arm chair. The main room was sparse: only that arm chair, a small kitchen table for eating, three wooden chairs, the rather stately fireplace, Enjolras' crib by a window, and some of her mother's paintings on the walls. Her bed (thankfully, made up neatly that morning) was against the wall opposite the fireplace, looking out onto the cobblestoned street below, and a small kitchen area was next to this "bedroom." It wasn't much; it made her cringe, just thinking about what the German would have to say to this.

вìєи des choses à тσυs,

O O C : Well, I'm still sorry the last post was so short - but I'm glad the bitter worked for you XP

[momiji85]

Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi

ritz felt bad about the tone he had used with her. She was a woman, a being he had great respect for, and here he was, hounding her for her attitude. But dammit . . . he just lost his fiancée, a little leeway about his manners should be applied for the situation. The young soldier shook his head, silently stopping himself from going any further with that particular thought process. He needed to stay focused or else he would break from the pressure - again. So instead, he stuck to fallowing the French woman up the stairs, when a passing typical man mindset shifted his focus from the previous concentration. For as each step was climbed, a bit of Eponine's skirt raised a little, revealing muscular, beautifully shaped legs. It was the kind of man ideas that made his cheeks flush, and his heart lay a guilt trip on him within seconds. He had just lost fiancée, and had grown angry with this woman mere minutes ago - now he was staring at her legs?

He was horrible . . .

So instead he gripped the rusty railing, and moved quietly along.

Within minutes, he was standing in the threshold, and he couldn't help but notice the blandness of it all. The way the dingy curtains fell over the chipped paint that held the window panes together. The way the kitchen cabinets hung on the hinges for dear life. And the baby crib off to the side - wait . . . "Are you a mother?" His eyes surely gave away his suprise, so Fritz didn't really see the point in pretending he wasn't. Normally most of the women - at least the ones he knew - who had had children, were a little more rounded in certain areas. But again, noticing her physique, he had to admit, she was abnormally small, even compared to women who had never had children. Realising his stares were beyond obvious by now, the young soldier shifted uneasily to the side, and tried to wait it out quietly until she felt like answering.

Because in all honesty. Fritz had never even been around children. And had really never given them much thought. After all, he had only recently become engaged, so the idea of making little mini-Fritz' hadn't crossed his mind yet. But thinking that a little kid could be nearby seemed to unnerve him. For though he knew he was a gentleman, and he could not possibly have feelings for this French woman (atleast not anything past a mundane - and fleeting - sexual attraction), Fritz felt bad. He had placed her in a horrible predicament. Forced her into a corner, that could probably ruin her reputation. She had to - more than likely - pass her child to a babysitter, to bring him upstairs to careless whispers and hushed rumors of poor taste. And it was all because of his passive-aggresive ego trip. This day was just getting worse . . .

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ooc; okay, here's a good question: Why does it always take me like a damn week to reply in here?! I LOVE this rp, and still, it takes me FOREVER . . . blah, I suck >,< Oh and sorry it's a little on the short side and vague. I'm waiting for Eponine to explain the death of her husband and that way Fritz can have even more angst! XP

[OuEstLaCraie]

I REALLYYYYYY want to reply, but I'm really sick and exhausted and it's gonna be a crazy week...I'll come up with something later in the week :]

[momiji85]

I promise if anyone understands, it's me! Just reply when you can . . . now that Fritzi and Eponine are alone, we can really get creative with the drama! Can't wait ^^

[OuEstLaCraie]

lover • figher • dreamer • schemer • mother

She cast her eyes over him, a mischevious twinkle winning over her usual contempt. "No, I keep a rather pampered cat," she replied, a joke that, in her nasty tone, was sure to sting his intelligence. She sighed wearily and crossed the room to shut the apartment door, then returned to rest her hands on the back of the armchair. "Oui, I have a son. I believe I mentioned that on the night we first met, monsieur. A shame it is, that you have already forgotten our introductory conversations." Of course, he hadn't forgotten; it was probably just the shock of tangible evidence of said infant that had brought the question to his lips. These lessons were evidence enough that he hadn't forgotten that she'd hit him, or that she'd tried to fool him with false papers.

She noted his agitation. "Do not look so frightened, capitane. Or am I allowed to call you Fritz, now that we are teacher and pupil?" Her smirk returned with a vengence. "I'm making tea," she declared and went about the task. He could have some, or not - her phrasing had saved her the indignity of offering him any, while also saving her from any more remarks about her rudeness or insuboridination. As she waited for the water in her old kettle to boil and whistle happily, Eponine continued their rather one-sided conversation without looking again at the German.

"You are not . . . experienced with children. You're too young to be, I'd guess. And they unnerve you. Understandable, monsieur, understandable." She collected two mugs from one of the better attached cabinets, and set them on the gleaming counter, then dug around in a drawer for her stash of tea leaves, coming back, instead, with some old, hoarded sugar and two spoons. "I have always loved children. I have many younger brothers and sisters, though, so I am used to the ways of the young." She glanced at him over her shoulder, judging how he was taking all this, and trying to guess how he would take her next statement. She looked back to her work, focusing on the mundane task. She would have to, in order to keep talking - as long as her hands were occupied and her mind on other matters, she could tell him everything.

Not that she would. "My son - Enjolras - he is only a year old. Still a handful, but still beautiful." She smiled faintly, remembering everything - meeting Auguste and, laster, losing him, giving birth, holding her son for the first time. Only a year, and already, so much to commit to her worried mind! "His father and I - we were not married. Quite the scandal." She gave a snort of contemptuous laughter. "You might as well know you are taking your French lessons from a social outcast!" The water began to bubble, rattling the kettle as it heated, and she doled out tea into the two cups; it would be there if he wanted it, or for her to drink later on, in the quiet comfort of her lonely apartment. "What about . . . you, monsieur?" She looked back to him, again, probing openly. "Do you and ta femme plan on plaguing the world with more of your 'superior' Nazi offspring? Perhaps let the next generation complete your grand and glorious, nonsensical plan?"

вìєи des choses à тσυs,

[momiji85]

omg, I don't know why this didn't register to me before today, but I seriously thought I was the one waiting on you (not the other way around) gonk . . . dumb blonde moment stare Ugh, I'll read the post, and try to write up a reply by tomorrow!

[momiji85]

Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi

ritz thought back to their tense first conversation . . . She had mentioned it. The fact that she had a son. But for some reason - maybe with the shaken reaction of Maria's death - the young man couldn't seem to recall it in detail, much less retain it. Though he did remember something about thinking she was quite thin for someone who had had a kid. Looking back at her, he heard a question about calling him "Fritz", and if he weren't in such a haze from an emotional breakdown - then again, he could always blame it on the weather if she asked - . . . Well if it weren't for his current rundown state of mind, he might have been able to pay attention better. Obviously, these French lessons were going to be harder today than he thought. And sure, most people would just tell him to give it a rest, to wait a few more days, or even weeks, but these lessons were a welcome distraction for him - though the theory of its benefits wasn't working so well yet . . .

His eyes shifted to the side, he stared at the crib, right at the moment when she began to talk further about children, and suggesting he must have none of his own. She was correct (but not because he was too young, and besides, wasn't she younger than him?). No, he didn't have any. He wasn't even married to, much less in talks about having children with Maria. Sure, the thought crossed his mind here and there. He thought about what they'd look like, thought about where they'd live - live . . . Maria was dead. Such thoughts (about a future) seemed utterly mundane now. The idea of continuing the next generation, when he didn't even have the woman he wanted more than anything in the world, beside him . . . Instead, he was standing a run down apartment, with a woman who hated him, and a sense of self-loathing that refused to budge one way or the other. Things were looking grim for sure. But he had to put his best foot forward. He had to try to focus on the task at hand, even if it was something as frightening as spending an evening with the "ice-lady".

Decisively turning to face her once more, he noticed her trim figure dashing between the stove, and cupboards to prepare tea, and Fritz was able to crack a small smile - albeit, a very small one. Tea must be the European cure for everything. In fact, Fritz and Anna often enjoyed making fun of the old wives’ tale: that no matter what your ailment might be, just feel better, by drinking the tea! Oh, hours of laughter over that one . . . But if the tea she poured for him now, helped steady his nerves in any way, he'd welcome it with open arms. Stepping a little closer, really only a step or two, he tried to look regal. Folding his arms behind his back, gripping his wrist with his left hand, he stood there in silence as she went on about her son. Though she probably thought she was talking way to much, he welcomed the her banter. Anything to get his mind off of the current depressions inflicting him both personally, and seemingly worldwide. At least for a moment, Fritz could relish in the company of a welcome distraction. But though appreciate on the inside, he remained quite rigid physcially speaking; he was afraid to think, lest his thoughts drifted back to dark places once again. And he almost managed to suceed until she mentioned the bit about why she was a social outcast. It was bad enough for her forsure; to have to find that babysitter in order to invite a "German soldier" over - but it looked like she had a reputation before he ever came around! Oh how his cheeks blushed! He wasn't the kind of person to judge (or at least act on those judgements) with others, but having a child out of wedlock? Wow, the bravery this woman had to even be able to hold her head up high! She had quite the balls, and it was a trait Fritz found quite welcoming in a woman. Too many of them shun away from everything, but this one . . . Dear God, she just said and did whatever she wanted! It was a fascinating creature that stood before him, something he had never seen in his entire life. And he wanted to understand what made her tick; just how she ended up this way.

Yet the pendulum swung both ways, and now he was faced with her bluntness in a much harsher light. The question started out simple enough, but ended with a tone which didn't take a genius to recognize the rage behind it. Ah, and the hits just keep on coming . . .

Reaching for the cup of the tea - the first real movement he made since he had entered her apartment - Fritz gripped the handle firmly, thankful to still be wearing thick gloves to bear the heat radiating off the cup. And though her attitude would most likely end in the slap of the face with other soldiers - or worse - the young German smiled. A full, broad one this time around. So, letting the steam envelop him, warming his face, Fritz remarked quite non-chalantly with a passive attitude, "No, us maggots won't rot your fruits anytime soon . . . " It wasn't until he said it, that he realized she could have taken his comment in several different strides. One, she could assume that with us, he meant all Germans, and suddenly he was giving her top secret information about a possible retreat from this horrendous occupation. Two, she could fear that he somehow wanted her (a reasonable enough assumption by his strange behavior around her), and that saying he wouldn't rot her fruits anytime soon - that he was in fact admitting he liked her, but that wouldn't do anything to her. Or third, that he was simply referring to himself and Maria, and how even if they had children, that he wouldn't be allowing them to invade her fruits - her country - anytime soon. It was only the third answer that was correct, but unless he explained it, she probably would go with reason number two. Ah, why bother? She saw him as a liar, a thief of nations, a maggot . . . No matter what he said, she'd twist the reasoning to suit her own. So instead of filling her in on his remark, he continued with another, "So will your partner be joining us later than? I do not want to get you in trouble with him - " Trying his best impression of a passive non sensical man, he enveloped the steaming cup tightly with his hands and barely looked back at her, pretending to contemplate whether to drink the obviously hot beverage or not. Though he assumed she was on her own, he didn't want to act on that assumption. So he played it safe, hoping that she would tell him what was what, one way or the other.

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ooc; dear God, like two weeks have passed since you posted <<; Ugh, real life . . .

[OuEstLaCraie]

lover • figher • dreamer • schemer • mother

She misconstrued his words, of course, the comment about her fruit and his "rotting" them - who wouldn't have taken that as some kind of warped sexual inuendo? . . . Probably no one but Eponine would have thought about it like that. At least she wasn't alone. The German seemed thrown off by his own words, but, boy, did the man know how to make a comeback! As soon as both their wariness over the comment had worn off and their mental staggering had ended with both feet firmly back on the ground, he went in for the deathblow.

Anyone who knew Eponine well enough would know that she had always been a firm believer in true love. She adored the sciences, but she was the kind of woman who'd have given it all up in a heartbeat to marry the man she loved and bear their children, all the time picturing their twilight years together. Helping to raise five baby brothers and sisters has a way of doing that to a person, a magical secret that makes them a natural nurturer, a lover of children and everything associated with their development into adults. In fact, the young woman had, more or less, unconciously given up her (potential) career when she fell in love with Auguste. Her pregnancy had been a completely innocent accident, but it had thrilled her. She'd had a chance to finish her university schooling and enjoyed "living in sin." Hell, she'd even loved being pregnant! She remembered listening to other expectant mothers bickering and whining about their delicate condition, but she'd simply marvelled at the powerful little person growing in her belly. Everything had been perfect.

And then Auguste had gone away to war and, like so many other wives, lovers, and mothers feared of their own men, he had never returned.

She rarely spoke of him anymore. She planned to tell Enjolras all the stories, of their courtship and his birth and how she had loved his father so much, it had hurt, but those were stories for a later date. And they were certinly not stories meant for a stranger's ears. Yet, her emotions, already strained by the war and this lessons with the brute, demanded something a little more dramatic. She took a hasty sip of her tea, swallowing the capable-of-scalding liquid without batting an eyelash, and turned away from him, under the premise of clearing up the fixings for the tea. "He's dead," she replied curtly, wiping furiously at the ancient counter with a washcloth that had already been rubbed raw. "He was a foot soldier, and they sent him away, and then they sent me a letter and said he had died." She paused in her work to take a shuddering breath. She wasn't going to show anything besides annoyance at his prying; she wouldn't cry, wouldn't yell, in front of the likes of him. She dabbed at one eye with her left forearm, then continued wiping at a puddle of water on the counter. "That's that."

вìєи des choses à тσυs,

O O C : Aw, that's ok, I understand - I'm sorry this is so short. I was trying to get to the conversation/drama XP

[momiji85]

Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi

ritz' hands quivered around the cup, his fingers beginning to tremble and loose control of the container for the still hot beverage. Eponine had played it coy, pretended that his death was something so nonchalant, when deep down, he knew it was killing her to even mention it. He knew because he had only recently lost his own true love - had it already been days since he'd been told about his loss? But now, here was another human being, pretending that everything was okay. Because at the end of the day, that's exactly what Fritz had done. He pretended that things were business as usual when he showed up here, he even let the young French women think Anna was his fiancee . . . but now? Now that he knew the truth? Now that he knew they were simply two heartbroken people in a confined space - well the feelings couldn't be held back quite so easily.

The cup wavered through his grip, slipped right through his fingers, and smashed loudly against the floor, right between his feet. The mess was all over the place, and though he had seemed to loose it for a second, Fritz was quick to get back to reality. He needed to focus, and thus, he simply started bending down, reaching for the sharp, broken edges of the damn cup, with its steaming hot liquid covering it . . . Yet, his mind hadn't quite caught up to his basic action, and a cut ensued quickly enough. But still, even when the sharp pain washed over his index finger and thumb, even when blood began to trickle onto the floor, never did the cold hard exterior of a man lost in his grief appear. He simply went on like a zombie.

His thoughts wandered to his parents, wandered to Maria and Anna, and finally back to Eponine. How strangely this woman standing before him had been able to sneak under his skin. How she reminded him of his father, with her beautiful eyes; and how she reminded him of her sister with her general attitude towards anybody she didn't agree with. The feistiness that she exhibited was welcoming to him. Because it was familiar. But now that she seemed to be upset like he was? It unnerved him. It echoed exactly how he felt - and he didn't know if he could stay to deal with that. Because here she was, pretending everything was fine, when in fact she needed to turn away from him, wipe a tear away before it dared to escape and reveal anything to the damn German dog of a man standing behind her. Fritz felt worse.

He was intruding on her house, on her, by being here. If it wasn't already bad enough for her to find a babysitter for her son (having to explain that a German soldier was coming over), he managed to make it so much worse by drugding up bad memories of her partner. And now here he was, falling apart on her kitchen floor - bleeding on it. Sighing, he looked up, agony written all over his face, but still forcing a weak smile on himself anyhow. He had to at least tell himself he was trying to hold it together. Lifting his hand, he gripped it with the other, covering it with a handerchief and trying to stop the bleeding, "I must apoligize for my clumsiness Madame. It seems the mention of death has caught me off guard." Forcing himself to tredge on, he stood up and walked over to the sink beside her - trying hard not to notice her own obvious discomfort that he had put her in, "I'll clean this up and then I'll leave. I never should have put you in such a horrible position." Turning on the sink with his non-bloody hand, he stumbled with the faucet with blurry eyes. His emotions were tearing him apart, and really, he was about to crack. He needed to leave for his own sake. He hated breaking down in the first place, but he'd be damned if he'd do it here - infront of her. She'd probably spit on him while he was lying there in emotional agony.

Finally, as the water rushed over the open wounds, he continued in a low, bitterly sad voice, "And on behalf of my country, I am sorry about Enjolras' father. Every father should be allowed to see their child at least once." The words were spoken with a raspy truthfullness, and he hoped she wouldn't kill him right then and there for thinking he was being pratonizing, because he honestly meant it - he meant it with all his heart. And as the water washed his blood clean, and as the red liquid dissipitated into the drain, Fritz spoke up one last time before he was planning to reach for his coat and dash out of there. Maybe one day he'd come back and visit her and her son, if she didn't attack him for it, but for now, he needed to just leave. His country killed her love, his country killed his love, and neither of them were going to find any comfort with him loosing it right then and there . . . or would he? "The blond woman that had accomponied me here was my sister. She came to tell me that my fiancee has been killed - shot down by my my fellow soldiers for aiding the Jews."

He through the hankerchief into the wastebasket, and looked back at her wearily, "Germany isn't very friendly is it?" Tipping his hat, Fritz pulled up his collar, planning to march right into the heavy snow come hell and high water. He'd risk stumbling in the bitter cold alleyways, just so Eponine wouldn't rub her hate in his face, "Maybe I can come back some other time?" He said it with a weary head, and turned to leave, wondering if such a spirited woman would stop him. Would sit him down, and they just talk about the injustices of everything . . . because though it would probably only make things worse, maybe, just maybe, it'd make them better?

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ooc; oh.my.God. It's a miracle - it only took me four days to post! Yippee blaugh Oh and I wonder if Eponine will mention something about the Resistance? Maybe Fritz would be open to hear about it? wink Lol, that way they fall in love because they work together, and face the dangers together? >,< I dunno, just suggesting anything at this point!

[OuEstLaCraie]

lover • figher • dreamer • schemer • mother

It was odd - barely a twitch, an imperceptible jerk, and the cup of tea was hurtling towards the dusty kitchen floor. The ceramics shattered, sending sharp shards and still scalding hot tea flying up and out, a circular pattern that was beautiful for only an instant, before revealing its destructive power. Almost like with the bombs, Eponine thought, the statement as fleeting in her mind as the snapshot of the flying tea was in her eye. She couldn't help it: she knew what the sound of the sharp crack was, knew that it was only a spatter of tea, not blood, that misted over her once-new shoes and skin-colored stockings. And she jumped, anyway. It was almost as if a bomb had truly exploded in her kitchen. A very small bomb, but one that was sure to send both of their lives spiraling off the courses they had been set to follow.

Eponine leaned back against the counter, a natural reaction to move away from a source of fear and unwelcome emotion, and heaved a heavy sigh in a weak attempt to still her thumping heart. She was sure every German in the city would be able to hear the staccato beat, let alone the one standing not five feet in front of her. She closed her eyes, opened them slowly, and looked to where Fritz was now on his knees, straightening the mess. She closed her eyes again, suddenly woozy; since when did blood have this kind of effect on her? She'd been put on nursing duty plenty of times for the Resistance, and mopped up more bloody messes on each of her baby brothers and sisters than most doctors saw over the course of a career. Maybe it wasn't the blood, or the tea (oddly enough, the mess had helped clean the floor she'd been meaning to sweep), or the German (for the first time that day). It wasn't anything tangible that made her queasy - it was thoughts and emotions, and what the obvious details hinted to.

Why had her own, little admission of the death of a loved one affected him so? Without another thought, Eponine took a deep breath to steady her nerves and then bent down near the soldier, picking delicately at shards of the tea cup and glancing around for a towel to mop up the mess. He apologized; she managed as fake a smile as he did, matching his own tooth for tooth. "Here, I'll do this... He stood to clean his wound, and her sole rude thought in the moment was that she wished she had inflicted the damage herself, rather than leaving the job to a renegade cup of tea and his own jittery nerves. She smiled a little more, to herself, as she stood and swept the pieces out of her hand and into the garbage bin, then snatched the washcloth from the counter and dabbed at the tea on the ground.

Over the rush of water into her sink, she caught the man's words of apology: "And on behalf of my country, I am sorry about Enjolras' father. Every father should be allowed to see their child at least once." There was no bitterness, no laugh of contempt, no anger, as she demured, "I could not agree more, monsieur." She returned to the sink, reaching past him to wring the rag out, watching the watery remnants of tea swirl into a mess with the German's blood and the Parisian water, all of it washing down the drain. She couldn't help but think that, perhaps, this was a sign - was the world coming to an end, truly, as many on the streets had come to say? Perhaps not literally, but in a figurative sense. The world - as they knew it - was coming to an end, old traditions dying with the young men on the battlefield, and soon, everything would simply be washed away by the promises of the future.

Philosophical thoughts - the kind she usually liked. But the words in her head almost had her missing her companion's. She blinked down at the washcloth, reluctant to look at him, for fear of giving away her genuine shock . . . and sympathy. War hurt everyone, she knew, not just your friends and neighbors, but the friends and neighbors of the enemy; it was simply the fact that no one wanted to remember that idea that kept world wars in motion. There was destruction and sadness everywhere; there was just as much injustice on the streets of Berlin as there was in Paris. Had the French not helped drive the Germans to ruin after the Great War? And had their enemy's economic downturn not led to their current prediciment?

"No one should have to die until it is their time," Eponine murmured, turning quickly away from the sink to return to her work on the kitchen floor. To herself, she added, And no one should ever have to live without the one they love. No one should die at the hands of their countrymen. Nothing is going as it should - what in hell is our world coming to? It was such a good line that she felt the need to repeat it out loud - "What in hell is our world coming to?" she said firmly, putting the question to the German as he walked past. It was rhetorical, to a degree, but she almost hoped that he'd have an answer.

"Germany isn't very friendly is it?" She glanced up at his words, perhaps the first time he had addressed her not to threaten her with punishment or to bite back at one of her scathing remarks. Eponine colored a bit, her cheeks pink with a flush of embarassment, of terror; he wanted to leave.

Why didn't she want him to?

Her talk of death had thrown him off balance because it reminded him of his recent loss. It had been some time since Auguste's death, but Eponine knew that she would never forget the agony of losing him, or the pain that had wracked her heart and soul on the day she'd been told, by cold telegram, that he was dead. Thinking about the ordeal . . . she wiped at her eyes as discreetly as possible, bowing her head to scrub at an invisible tea stain on the tile. Auguste would never see his son; Fritz's fiancée would never know the joy of her own child. The world was forever cruel, but it seemed so much more so in this moment.

Tossing the rag aside, Eponine rose to her feet wearily, then raised her eyes to meet his gaze again. "Maybe I can come back some other time?" She would have liked to have called his demeanor meek, apologetic - a sniveling coward beating a hasty retreat. But she couldn't bring herself to think ill of him. Not right now. She was sure the rush of sympathy (the lapse in judgment) would pass. "You cannot leave like this," she said, gesturing to his hand, then held up one finger to ask for another moment of his time and disappeared into a cupboard, digging out one of her last towels, a thin roll of what little gauze she had left in her stock, and a few forgotten cotton balls. She strolled past him, taking his elbow gently to guide him to the armchair beside the fire. "They'll think I tried to kill you, and then I'll be hanged. Come, sit - I can fix this for you. And you can tell your friends you had a . . . a bar fight, oui?" With a tiny, conspirotal smile, Eponine dragged over a small circular table and another chair, then set out her supplies and sat, waiting for him to do the same. And, as she unrolled her gauze, she stole a glance at this man that, perhaps now, she could trust - if only a little, and if only vaguely, and if only because he knew her pain better than any other she could name - and then she asked quietly, "Monsieur Capitane has certianly heard of le Resistance, n'est-ce pas?"

вìєи des choses à тσυs,

O O C :It's a miracle! hahaha XP Of course, I had to have Eponine get a teeny bit more tender towards Fritzi - and it's not out of character, I swear! I'm so excited for the lovin', FINALLY, after waiting to get some semblance of a story off the ground with these two.

[momiji85]

Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi

ritz was astonished at her change of attitude. Though she was still the same Eponine he had come to know - though really what was the extent of that particular piece of knowledge? - she had somehow changed within the span of five minutes. One minute she was wiping up the mess he made, and the next, she was wiping him - trying to clean off the now clotting blood. Though he could appreciate the gesture, his outer physique still displayed a man lost in his own thoughts. For surely, had he been paying attention, he would have realized much sooner, the tender touch of her gentle fingers enveloping his with gauze. It was an almost sweet gesture, for her to take care of him - and had it not been for the comment about being hanged unless she did so - Fritz would have honestly believed she was doing this out of the kindness of her heart. But to be honest, he couldn't care less either way at this point. He didn't care whether she was being so nice out of fear, or out of sympathy. No, it didn’t make one lick of difference; because as soon she looked up at him, as soon as the word "Resistance" escaped her perfectly shaped lips, Fritz' attention was solely on her at that moment.

Whatever happened before between them; the threats of imprisonment had she not agreed to give him French lessons, the harshness she spoke at him with, the bumbling idiocy of his own actions towards her, and the just all the lies so far - none of it mattered now. Because when she said "Resistance", Fritz knew what he had to do . . . He knew he had to arrest her. For if he didn't, he would be court marshaled, and probably thrown in the gutter just like Maria was. Maria. She was the only thing that could change his mind to this whole "Resistance" business, she was the only one who could make him look at his duty with a different light. Maybe her death wasn't in vain? Maybe it was to shake his foundation out form underneath him. To shake the impenetrable loyalty he had towards his country. To make him question his turn-a-blind-eye approach to everything going on around him. Yes - because of Maria he would dare to forfeit his initial thought process of detaining Eponine back to his base headquarters, and even encourage her to continue.

Though he knew what it meant to even talk about it, he looked back at her with resolute eyes, that were filled with emotion. Not despair, or depression, or even anger - but with a slither of hope he hadn't felt in years. Watching her envelop his bloody appendages with gauze, in the almost graceful moves, he simply nodded, unsure of what else he could say, but knowing he needed to in order to not make her uneasy. What did he know about the Resistance? What could she tell him? And was her question simply a question, or was it an admittance to something more? Though Fritz' understanding of women was severely limited, he did know that women often spoke with an underlying meaning to whatever statement they were making. So treading carefully, he cocked an eyebrow, feigning an added set of ignorance that he really didn't have, "I know of it, but will you tell me more?"

He knew she would, knew she would entrap him into something that was bigger than either of them, but as she tied the gauze, Fritz simply looked down at her nursing skills and smiled wearily to himself. She had changed since they had first met, and though in Germany, in was unbecoming to even admit emotion over someone's death, in this case, telling the truth managed to bring them closer - to even bond them in some twisted way. And though Fritz couldn't explain it, she managed to hold his attention, even now, away from his wandering mind to retreat back to the dark places that occupied his soul nowadays. How could she do that? How did she continue doing that? Was it the wolf like blue-gray eyes that stared up at him? Or was it the sweetness she now displayed; an endearing quality, that simply caught him off guard? Who knew what was happening right now, but all Fritz' mind would allow him to process was the moment.

Which is why, with no previous experiences deciding his forthcoming action, he let his hand hold onto hers, even after she had finished tending to the small wound. Knowing what little he did about her, he reasoned that she'd either; slap him for it, or based on her recent personality flip, let him hold on. It wasn't a romantic gesture. It was a hopeful one. He didn't mean to make her feel uncomfortable. And he surely didn't want her to think she had to let him hold her hand in fear of retribution as to what he might do to her if she didn't (though he had a feeling she was too strong of a person to allow something like that - fear - to affect her resoning on personal space boundaries). He simply wanted to hold onto something before the moment passed, fleeting away from them both. Yes, Fritz just wanted to tell himself that this was really happening, rather than it later be lost in the haze of despair that Maria's death left him in. He wanted to remember the exact moment he betrayed his country . . . In order to hear her melodic voice speak to him once more.

Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi

ooc; okay, I just have to say Craie, that with your last post - well, just wow! I mean, I love your writing style, and gush over your posts already, but man, with this one - you just truely outdid yourself! You managed to take all the words and actions going on in my post, and repeat the necessities (like Fritzi's statements), and just oh so smoothly blend them into your post. I don't even know how you did it so brillaintly - but oh my God it just got me so inspired (especially Eponine's last question!). Lol, now that I'm brown nosing, I'll let you get to responding whenever you can! Oh and I know, soon enough either Eponine will have to cut things short bc of Enjolras (like having to pick him up soon), or pick him up with Fritz? Or mention something about him spending the night at a neighbor's, so they have all night to talk? I just don't want to end up forgetting about the poor little guy (though I doubt you'd let that happen!) >,<

[OuEstLaCraie]

lover • figher • dreamer • schemer • mother

Eponine tied a neat bow with the end of the gauze, then tucked the loose strands back into the bandage. Keeping her hands needlessly busy, she smirked to herself. "I don't know," she replied, a lilting, taunting edge to her words, "will you arrest me if I say too much?" Offering a man some medical aid meant nothing; she knew well that she had to choose her allies wisely. Telling him all she wanted to could spell disaster for them both, for everyone involved. In one fell swoop, her feminine wiles could collapse the entire Parisian Resistance movement, bring about her own death, leave her son an orphan, and lose Fritz his job - if he was on their side. She wanted to believe he was with them, that his fiancée's work would have some kind of positive effect on his outlook, and that her death would spur him to action.

But you never could be sure with those damn Germans.

She felt guilty for the thought an instant later, when he unexpectedly caught her hand and held it in his own, perhaps grateful for the help, perhaps coming to his senses. She couldn't tell which and she didn't much want to ask, for fear that his answer, delivered in harsh German or stilted English or even poorly-chosen French, would ruin it all, everything she imagined they had together or could have done for her country. She blinked up at him, her face blank because no emotion seemed appropriate, but squeezed his hand, ever so lightly, in return - enough to let him know that she was there.

"Tea doesn't seem to agree with you," she noted quietly, a small smile playing on her lips as she nodded down to his battle wound. "But, perhaps, I can offer you something else? I don't have much more than weak tea and tap water, but my neighbors may have . . . acquired something more stimulating." She thought of the Léons, more or less sitting pretty downstairs. The times were hard for everyone and making ends meet was tough for intellectuals and waitresses alike, but the Professor seemed to keep a good house. He had obvious connections, both in the country and outside of it, and he had never failed to get Eponine something she needed by one of his mysterious business dealings. And Madame Léon - she was simply a saint . . .

Enjolras. Eponine cursed quietly to herself, disengaging her hand from Fritz's to push back her chair and stand. Her son was still with Madame Léon, and remembering her friends downstairs made her feel guilty about leaving 'Jolras with them almost constantly; he saw Madame more than he saw his own mother. Fritz was obviously in distress, possibly petrified of small children, so bringing him back here was out of the question. But she had to check on him, and beg the Léons to keep an eye on him for a little longer. The night was relatively young, but they had much to speak of, and if she truly opened up to him all she knew about the Resistance, she would be speaking for some time.

"I have to check on . . . something." She couldn't show weakness; he was still the enemy. Her baby was a way to manipulate her, to ruin her - she couldn't allow that to happen, for either of their sakes. So, she crossed to the door, then paused with one hand on the door knob and the other raised in the German's direction. As if commanding a dog, she said firmly, "Just stay here. I'll be right back. Une moment, s'il vous plait." She opened and shut the door in the blink of an eye, slipping out and down the stairs as quickly as humanly possible, to avoid the curious neighbors and prying gossips, and knocked on the Léon's door only once.

Madame Léon appeared at the door, seemingly surprised to see Eponine before her. "So, have you killed the b*****d yet, or not?" she inquired with something like disinterest in her tone. "Everyone in the building's taken bets - I gave you an hour. Madame Tournay said fifteen minutes. And the Honore girls on the third floor said you'd be in bed with him by your next lesson. So, who's won?"

Eponine couldn't help but give a strangled smile and a small, exasperated sigh. "None of you," she replied, a little hysterical with mirth and a little hurt by their ideas of what would go on between her and ther German. But it felt good to speak French again - she'd have to prolong this conversation as long as possible, but not so long that Fritz thought himself abandoned. "I'll be having a talk with the Honores before day's end - the nerve of some people!"

Weary, Madame Léon replied, "Ah, oui, mademoiselle, mais c'est la vie." She shrugged helplessly; you couldn't control human nature, and she wasn't about to try and keep the gossip mongers from their daily workout, even if Eponine was a good friend and confidant. "How are things going, dear?"

"Fine, fine - but I need a little more time. Can you keep 'Jolras a bit longer?"

Madame narrowed her eyes, immediately suspicious. "Perhaps it can be arranged," she replied, then sshuffled a little closer to her young friend. "has he threatened you? Or said anything . . . inappropriate? Because I can be upstairs with my trusty frying pan in less than half a minute; they can't arrest the whole building."

"Of course they can," Eponine scoffed. Madame Léon only gave a small sigh of hopeless agreement. "Anyhow, I may need a good amount of time. Perhaps the night - if it isn't too much trouble, of course, for you to watch Enjolras until early tomorrow morning. I can come back to get him whenever you want me here." She paused. ". . . But can I see him now?"

"Nine, be careful," Madame stressed, worry etching unbecoming lines into her forehead and around her comforting eyes. "We have all heard the stories; you shouldn't get involved with . . . with that man. Your son is your responsibility."

Eponine shook her head. She'd expected better than a warning and false accusations (because that's certainly what the words felt like) from Madame. "I'm not 'getting involved,'" she assured the older woman, huffing out a breath of air in agitation. Precious moments to sway the German were ticking away, moments alone with Fritz that she would never get to spend again - it was agonizing, on a level she refused to acknowlegde just yet, to be wasting time chatting when she could be talking politics and rebellion with an eager enemy. "We're only talking. But if I don't get back soon, then we'll really have to worry." Madame Léon still didn't seem impressed. "I'll be by to get Enjolras by midnight," she added, her eyes full of unspoken pleas. "Please. I promise you."

Madame considered. At length, perhaps after a full minute of silence, she took a small step back into the apartment and beckoned Eponine inside. "No later, mademoiselle," she conceeded, disconcertigly like a schoolteacher, then led her guest into the living room to steal a few moments with her son, looking on in silent worry. Eponine knew Madame Léon still mistrusted the German; didn't they all? But there was too much to explain now, perhaps too much to try and explain ever, and Eponine only wanted to enjoy these few minutes with her son, babbling at him in her beloved native tongue and cuddling him close, almost forgetting a war was on until she placed Enjolras back on his blanket in the middle of the room, kissed him goodbye, and ran back upstairs to her waiting guest.

вìєи des choses à тσυs,

O O C :Awww, thank you so much for the lovely occ note! I'm so glad you liked the post, and I'm so glad to get such a fabulous compliment from someone I really respect. You're not too shabby yourself, hun ;]

I saw that you had replied and I got so excited - I don't think my obsession with replying in this thread is healthy. But I really look forward to reading the new goings-on and thinking up my responses to them. Gah, I just love everything about his rp. And I can't help but imagine them somehow slipping out of France and living in peace as an adorable little family, somewhere safe *squee*

And don't worry, 'Jolras is in good hands! And I gave Fritzi plenty of time to snoop XP

[momiji85]

Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi

Fritz picked up on Eponine's almost teasing remark about a possible prison sentence if she explained any further about her knowledge of the Resistance. And though it was be musingly eerie how he had figured she would jump to that probable scenario, the young soldier couldn't help but feel a little dismayed that she was even joking about the matter - but can you blame her? After all, his first instinct was to arrest her! Her logical, and understandable, fear over the possible outcome of revealing her information to him, was more than fair and thus, even a taunting remark should be taken with stride - so in the end he did (take in stride, that is). He hoped that with his still frazzled nerves, that Eponine wouldn't be able to tell his initial hurt feelings over the comment, especially since as soon as she tugged at his hand, those feelings melted away - replaced with a warmness that only a fellow caring human could provide. As soon as the gesture was made, Fritz felt lightened and her initial reply was simply a distant memory already.

In fact, as soon as she smiled coyly, and made her remark about tea not agreeing with him, Fritz barely contained the chuckle. His hand still held hers, and especially so, as his mind wandered back to afternoons spent with his family drinking the warm beverage for relaxation and common medicinal purposes. Germans had a thing about their tea . . . Focus. Fritz looked back at Eponine, and even leaned into her little bit, nodding at the proposal of a finer beverage brought up to the apartment. And before anything else was said - she departed, declaring that she'd be right back, before heading downstairs as quickly as she could . . .

It wasn't until her apartment door shut behind her, that Fritz hopped to his feet, and nervously ran long, gauzed covered fingers through his hair. What was he thinking?! What was he doing? Everything in his educated intellect told him to run after Eponine, and arrest her - but he couldnt. Everything, right down to his core, forced him to pace along the sofa, slowly inching his way to the door. And though his body hovered in front of it, his hands trembled at the thought of swinging the door open, and doing what his conscious screamed at him to do . . . His hands trembled, because his very soul was screaming right back with an infinite "no" And why? Why would he risk everything?!

Fritz leaned against the door frame, his muscular arms crossing over his chest, and his feet crossing at the ankles. He tried to really process the reasoning behind his upcoming actions, and though most would assume it was because of Eponine, it was really because of Maria. She had risked everything in order to save just a few lives, and in the end, she paid that penalty with her own. And no one (not even Maria herself) told him about, not even his own sister, until months afterwards. His sister had to lie to him every time he wrote to her, asking why Maria wasn't writing him. And every time, Anna had to make up one excuse after another, out of fear that they would read her letters to check for "unbecoming facts". And why did everyone lie about her death, much less pretend that how she died wasn't important? It was because, deep down, everyone knew it was wrong. Because if they honestly believed killing a Jew supporter was okay, then they would have told Fritz the truth a lot sooner. But no, they knew it was wrong . . . they knew . . . And so did he.

All his life, Fritz played it safe, even at the cost of seeing injustice all around him. He looked to the side when Hitler talked about the camps, and he looked to the other side when his country occupied France - but now? There were no other sides to turn to. Now, all Fritz could do was look straight, and face what he refused to acknowledge before. For so long, he feigned ignorance to any opinion that swung to far either way, and for oh so long, he pretended that everything was fine. That somehow, everything would fix itself in the end. And that eventually, all this would be over. But as his brow narrowed together in frustration, all Fritz could account for were the errors of his way. After all, though he himself hadn't done any particular injustice to anybody, he understood he was part of the problem. Before, he had been able to sleep at night, because he told himself that he personally, hadn't done anything wrong. But that theory was flawed. Because there are two kinds of wrong: those who do wrong, and then those who see wrong being done, but don't do anything stop it. Just because the young soldier could justify the lesser of two evils, didn't mean that that reasoning canceled out the fact that it was evil. Fritz had to come to terms with the cold hard truth staring back at him - he'd been wrong, and it sadly took Maria's death before his vision was cleared. With Maria gone, he felt like he had nothing to loose, and would now be able to do whatever needed to be done, in order to end everyone else's suffering. The Resistance was sounding better by the minute.

Okay, so maybe he did have plenty to loose. Sure, there was always Anna to consider. Sure, he could still loose her. But she was a good German woman. She wasn't an outright Nazi supporter, but she didn't seem to think there was anything particularly wrong with their approach either. If Fritz was eventually caught, it would only be his life that would be taken, not hers. And honestly, Anna could handle it. She was the big sister, his mother figure, and it would probably be hard on her - at first - but she'd handle it. She was, after all, much stronger than he was. All his life, Fritz sailed through it all, and Anna encouraged the ignorance. She wasn't solely to blame of course, Fritz needed to accept his own actions, but Anna didn't help. Yet, who could blame her? She grew up without parents, and had to raise him, too. She more than likely wanted to protect and keep him safe, hoping he would fail to catch the attention of anybody who might think Fritz was a troublemaker. Her probable reasoning was love, twisted love, but love none the less. However, sadly, all her years of upbringing were going to be crushed now . . . though he wasn't quite sure what he was getting into, Fritz knew he had to get into something. He had to avenge not only Maria, but her morals against his country's oppression. He had to fight for Eponine, and all of France - he had to fight for little Enjolras, a little fatherless boy that deserved something far better than this. And most of all, he had to fight for himself, because he refused to continue to be a pushover. Whether that meant being a double-spy; aiding and embedding fugitive Jews and Allied stranded soldiers, or giving underground anti-German newspapers such as The Combat, ammunition to sling Germany's name through the ringer even more, or simply giving some of his own rations up to the malnutritioned children hidden behind a barricaded curfew at sunset. Yes, whatever it took (save outright violence), Fritz would do it. And as soon as he had made up his mind, the most wonderful feeling washed over him - hope - for something better than the past three days had provided. And the best part? No more trembling hands.

Smiling weakly down at the now still appendages, Fritz was able to feel the adrenaline seep out of his body, and once again, became more aware of his surroundings. But it wasn't the apartment that kept his attention, it was the voices from below. Carefully laying a hand on the door frame, Fritz turned the knob ever so gently, praying that no creeks would give away his position. Normally, he blended into the background quite easily, and he hoped the trait would come in handy now, as he began to listen in on the conversation downstairs. It seemed like a pretty normal case of banter; that is, before a comment was made about "neighborly bets". When the phrase about Eponine and him . . . sleeping together was said, Fritz tried hard not to blush, but in the end, figured that so long nobody saw him, he was in the clear - so once pale cheeks ripened with a light crimson color. Yet, hearing Eponine recede into the downstairs apartment, Fritz closed the door gently again, and (moving towards the middle of the apartment) tried to listen for the muffled voices - in vain. The walls were thicker than he had given them credit for. Standing a good few feet away from the door, Fritz waited for her return, and though he would have loved to ensure Eponine that nothing would be happening between him and her (dear God, his fiancée - to his knowledge - had only been dead three days), he didn't quite know how to affirm the notion without giving away the fact that he had listened in on Eponine's, possibly private meant, conversation. But maybe later he could assure the neighbors downstairs of his intentions (or the lack thereof)? Though, then again, who needed to know about something that wasn't there . . . right? Because, though Fritz couldn't deny the physical attraction; he felt absolutely miserable about the thought of finding a lover so soon after Maria. Yet, he would easily agree that Eponine made him more comfortable (even when she was furious at him), than any other person he knew. Something about her, something he couldn't quite place, made him feel safe around her, made him feel that he could be himself. It was a rare find, and Fritz knew that it would be hard to give up, especially if they grew any closer.

His hands began to tremble again, but now it was because of excitement as he heard her footsteps gliding up the staircase once more. He shoved them into his pockets, where they gripped loose change until he was certain they'd smell like copper once he took them back out. Certain that the smell wasn't the most becoming, he shifted his hands behind his back, one holding the other by the wrist, silently praying she wouldn't be able to see their excitement over her return. But as he willed them to be still again, something else took its place; a warmness crept into his palms, and waved over his fingers. A warmness that beckoned for her hand in his, such as the grip she had had on him not even fifteen minutes prior. It was a nervous feeling, and sucking in a deep breath, Fritz held it in as Eponine swiftly stepped back into the apartment - carrying a wine bottle. She looked up at him, smiling as if slightly nervous, but welcoming none the less.

Fritz was still trying to get used to her new found niceness towards him. But he readily accepted the behavior change, no matter what the reasoning behind it was.

He let out the inhaled breath slowly, and smiled weakly back at her. After a moment that seemed to drag on to long (at least in his mind), Fritz took a step forward; then another, and then another, until he faced his hostess once more, with barely a foot between them. Again, his fingers trembled, his palms hot by now. This time, they refused to let him get away with not finding a way to touch her. Playing it safe (though still accomplishing his hands' daring command), he reached up for the wine bottle, his right hand resting just above hers, before slipping out the enclosed beverage from her grasp with the other hand. He carefully lingered for a few seconds, before realizing he was staring, and quickly looked down at the bottle. It was all in French, and Fritz had to chuckle at the irony, "I came here in order to read French labels like these - and I'll instead leave knowing nothing but the Resistance movement." There he said it, he was asking about the movement - well, actually, he was basically declaring his want of a membership roster to sign. But just in case Eponine didn't read into his underlying comment, he looked back at her, his face becoming quite serious, though filled with upliftment, "I want to know - please, tell me everything."

Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi Fritzi

ooc; Lol, it only took me two days to respond . . . eventually I'm going to dissapoint and retreat back to my once a week posts, but I'm going to relish in the moment for a little while, and know I made you happy ^^ And I'm happy bc I'm like uber inspired right now (not that I wasn't before), but now, we get to the whole forbidden romance part of it, so I really am looking forward to what happens next ^^

[momiji85]

T I M E x S K I P


Okily dokily, I'm changing the timeline to the next morning, and got it switched on the front page, too ^^ I'm assuming you're making the next post? If you want me to, just let me know whee

[OuEstLaCraie]

Haha, I'm on it! I might be able to do it later tonight; if not, it may be a few days. I'm in for a busy weekend/week >.<