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Post by LUCY HEMMINGWAY on Sept 16, 2009 22:27:46 GMT
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -  DON'T PATRONIZE, I REALIZEi'm loosing and this is my real life*
The sun had just set in the west and with it the temperature started to plummet even lower than it already was. Her breath formed little clouds of vapor in the air before her painted red lips. Adjusting her thick knitted scarf around her neck, she shivered. And here she had thought connecticut winters were cold. Nothing could compare to this european cold, it could cut through you like a knife. Bowing her head politely and tossing the young soldier a coy smile, she slid into the bar as he held the door open for her. They were all jerks, the lot of them.
Taking a seat at the bar, she ordered a whiskey and waited patiently for her order to be filled. So far she found france to be nothing but a bust. Why had she come here? It was far more dangerous. The answer, of course, was there was a chance of an amazing story here. After all, this was Nazi occupied France, and with the fake papers in her pockets, she was free to move about as she pleased - kind of. At least in London they spoke english, speaking french or german constantly was exhausting. All Lucy wanted then and there was an American companion. After all, the last person she had really held a long conversation with that was american had been her father - and he had been dead three months now. Picking up the drink that had been dilvered before her, she took a sip and made a face. How fast time seemed to fly. It seemed like only yesterday she had been in London, that they had just had breakfast and heading to a local matinee. It was crazy, it was, unsettling.
Reaching into her jacket pocket, she removed the small notepad and placed it before her. Then. reaching into her other pocket she procurred a long white stick and placed it between her lips. Before she could even reach into her pocket for her box of matches, the bartender had lit one for her and held it out for her to light her cigarette. Taking a drag, a small smile played her lips, "Merci beaucoup, monsieur."
Ah, Nicotine.
What would Lucy do without it? Sometimes the young girl believed that the intoxicating smoke was the only thing that kept her sane in these times, that and her work. She felt slightly detached from the war, even though she was oh so envolved. She was the ace war correspondant for the new york times, one of the few civilians allowed to be involved in all this madness. And yet, she had not found the right story. Nothing seemed big enough, she needed a real show stopper. Lucy felt that she needed to break away from all the articlkes and exposes that had fallen into the same rut. It seemed to her that the same story was being told over and over again just with different words and a different by-line. It was depressing.
This was the modern world, for christ-sakes!
Finishing her drink, she waved for another and flicked her cigarette into the tray. The dark haired girl sighed and started to read through her notes, it was going to be a long night.
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Post by LT. ALDO RAINE. on Sept 17, 2009 23:11:39 GMT
Aldo was a Frecnh civilian. Well, he wasn't really, but he was pretending to be one. The only Germans that knew he face were the ones that were dead and that one survior they had left so far, but her heard that he had run away to Switzerland to get away from the war and the Basterds, just what he liked to hear. He was thirsty and he wanted to have a drink, he also felt that it was about time to meet with Lucy. He had briefly met her once and she was publisising nothing but good things about the Basterds and nothing was too revealing, it was just enough to strike the fear in the eyes of people and make them not want to walk alone at night, but in all honesty, it was only Nazis they killed and some of them couldn't have fear struck into their hearts because they didn't have hearts, they killed innocents for no reason and they were murdering the kinsmen of his good friends and that disgusted him. Racism wasn't something her treated lightly, being part Injun he sometimes got the racism himself and he couldn't stand the way black people were treated, after all, they were people too, just like the Jews, the homosexuals and the Jevoha Witnesses.
He wondered into the little bar that was always pretty much empty, he did enjoy it in here because not a lot of people wanted to speak to each other, you just ordered your beer and went. Now, the man behind the counter still believed her was French, even though he had never spoken a word of it, but Elizabeth had told him that he was a mute, so if he spoke, he would be done for, her would have to keep the speaking to a minimum, but if he was going to be talking to Lucy, whom he had heard spent a lot of time in said pub, he would have to write his notes to her and then eat them, or sit himself down with her in a corner, back to the bar and speak in a hushed tone, something he could do very easily. He was in and he was going to sit right down at that bar and order himself a drink with a nod of the head.
He did exactly as he wanted to, ordering in silence, sitting in silence and then drinking in silence. But he saw her, he saw Lucy and as much as he wanted to say hello, he couldn't, he was a mute to the people in this bar. Instead he nudged her on the arm to get her attention. He didn't want to speak because one, he was supposed to be a mute and two, if there were any Germans here he would be dead in the water if they heard an American speaking. He smiled politely at her and then nodded towards the quiet table in the shadows where no one was sitting and there wasn't even anyone around it, they would be safe if they sat there, but would she get the message just yet?
status •• finished.
tag •• lucy!
word count •• 552.
apperance •• here!
notes •• hope you don't mind (:
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Post by LUCY HEMMINGWAY on Sept 18, 2009 2:26:07 GMT
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - DON'T PATRONIZE, I REALIZEi'm loosing and this is my real life*
It was right when she started to feel that little buzz inside her head that she felt the nudge on her arm. At first she was a little startled, after all, in these times, who wouldn't be. When she turned around she half expected to find a pistol in her face with a german finger on it's trigger. Not that anyone knew who she was. Well, most American's knew her name and celebrated her pieces - but none could put the name to the face. So, expecting these pieces of filth to know who she was was, well, stupid. When her baby blue eyes fell upon Lt. Aldo Raine she couldn't help but allow herself a small smile. They had met not all too long ago, and what a chance meeting it was. Lucy had written many articles on the Basterds, including one that made the front page on Hugo Stiglitz - meeting the man before her had been a great honor, and now here he was again.
"Come to read my latest article?" Lucy said with her false, but strangely believable german accent.
As he nodded to the table in the back, she already understood - if she hadn't she shouldn't be allowed to call herself an ivy league graduate. Chuckling to herself, she called for another whiskey then made it to the table. Plopping down in the chair she smiled at the fact that if her father had seen her do that he would have thrown a fit. He was a proper man, he may have been a reporter and such, but that didn't mean he raised his prize daughter to be a 'barbarian' as he put it. But things were different in this world than the one her father knew. Times were a changin' and they had all better get used to it, because nothing was ever going to be the same again. After all, how could it? After so much hate, so much destruction and death?
As Aldo took his seat, the garcon dropped off her drink at the table. Lucy offered him a sweet smile and then took a sip, making a face. She didn't exactly care for the taste of whiskey, but the way it made her feel, now, that was worth the burning in her nostrils. Lucy fingered the edges of her notepad for a moment before flipping it open and spinning it around so Lt Raine could see it. In tidy all upper case letters the top of the page read, "THE BASTERD'S MESSAGE TO THE FURHER".
"Care to peruse it? It's my best yet. I hope you don't mind that I took the artistic liscense of adding a few, well, choice 'quotes', if you will, into it. I figured it got the point across quite well. You know, you could always just give me that interview I've been dieing for."
Casting him a sly smile, she sipped at her drink again. It really was her best yet, well, perhaps only second to her Nazi killing Nazi expose on Stiglitz. She portrayed the basterds as the defenders of good, brutal in upholding what they knew was right and showing no mercy to the men who would give them just about the same courtesy. And she made it very, very personal. When the Furher read it, which, she was sure he would (why wouldn't he read what other countries were writing about him?), he would quake in his little goose-stepping boots. Oh, it made her shiver with excitement. It was like her own little dig at the man who essentially murdered her father. And, besides, if anyone was going to get Hitler, it was going to be the man sitting right before her.
"So, what can I do you for, Mr. Raine?"
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Post by LT. ALDO RAINE. on Sept 20, 2009 16:48:12 GMT
As she ordered herself another drink, he pointed to the bottle of whisky, saying that he would like one as well, he did enjoy a good whisky now and then but he did prefer to drink his Moonshine, but resources were limited so he had to be careful when he drank it so he could keep the stocks topped up and the men happy when they wanted to drink it. He knew it was time for the Basterds to speak up about something, much to the dislike of Elizabeth, but then he didn't care what Elizabeth thought because, well, she was a woman and she wasn't the leader of the Basterds, he was, he knew what was best for his men and he knew what was best for the war, he had been in the war longer than her and didn't know what the war was like, he did. He sometime wondered it the people around him knew about his past, the fact that his grandfather was a large Native American hero, a man who had killed and scalped so many enemies and he was raised by his father who was a war hero for America in the First World War.
Sitting at the table he looked at her, leaning in towards her. "Depends, is that latest article abou' us," he asked he with a little smile as he spoke lowly in his thick Tennessee accent. The bartender arrived with their whiskys and placed them on the table before them. He smiled politely at the bartender and nodded. He watched her as she sipped her whisky and smirked to himself lightly, he loved faces people made when they drunk, but he never did. He took a swig of his glass and placed it back on the table, half empty now. They were alone and it was okay, if this bartender heard him speak he would most likely throw him to a German officer, or worse of all, he would give him to the Gestapo and that would mean that he would be tortured until he gave up the location of his fellow Basterds, something he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for if he did. He wouldn't allow the German's the satisfaction of killing him and would kill himself because it would crush him deeply, he didn't want to show how much he cared for his men, and woman, but he did, a lot.
His words rung through his ears, he wondered if reading it would be a good idea, maybe it was best to just let her publish it so if there was something they didn't like, they couldn't blame him. But then again, what if she had made them sound like pansies, then he would be extremely pissed and he would probably have to beat some sense into her. "I can have a lil look over it miss, but I don't promise to like it," he said lowly with a little nod. He took the notepad and quickly scanned it, just looking at the quotes quickly and a few of the words that caught his eye, things that made the Basterds sound very scary and something of nightmares to the Germans. "Quick change, you gotta include 'Liz'beth, so they know their dicks ain't safe neither," he said with a little smirk, still speaking lowly, referring to Elizabeth in his strange way of saying her name. He then heard her question as he handed back the notepad, looking at her a little intrigued and smiled finally. "Maybe I can give you that interview you want, after all, I got nothing better to do and you need something right about to make these Germans shit their pants," he said, smirking as he settled back into his seat, taking the final sip of his whisky.
status •• finished.
tag •• lucy!
word count •• 632.
apperance •• here!
notes •• awesome!
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