Post by SGT HUGO STIGLITZ on Sept 18, 2009 13:54:43 GMT
In this day and age, a German Nazi traitor can't go anywhere without being recognized by someone, if not by his face, by his name. The name Hugo Stiglitz echoed through the European continent, as if it was not hard enough to be a basterd. Since Hugo was one of the few basterds who could speak German, or any language other than English for that matter, he was always placed in charge of venturing out for more supplies. A camp full of guys who liked to drink and kill had a high demand for supplies, especially for clothes that could replace the bloody ones. Some socks, maybe some gloves for the cold, some kind of new undershirt, whatever the task, Hugo was on his way.
This time, it was better to go to the dumps of the town, less people would recognize him there, the more German soldiers he was around, the higher the risk for his capture would be. Moving through the crowded bum-eff's, as some Americans would say, he avoided anyone that looked sick and gruffly bumped into people when they would not move out of his way, giving a quick and violent jerk to his shoulder to make them regret not moving when they first caught wind of a German officer.
His trusty long gun hung on his shoulders but his fingers curled around it, damn he loved that gun. Finally, he reached somewhere that he could buy some socks or something like that. Of course, it was surrounded by the sleazy prostitutes and he had to shake his head when the ran their fingers through his hair, caressed his neck and offered themselves. He had only had conversation with one prostitute, and she hated being called that, a harlot was a bit nicer of a term and the fiesty Minou along with her girls had a well run brothel that did not appear as though the girls had rolled in the mud before pouncing on the first man that approached.
A growl escaped his lips but it was barely audible and the girls did not hear, they just knew they lost him to the store. The little bell rang on the door when he stepped through and the woman who stood as the cashier was busy organizing, so she just waved a hand, telling him to go ahead and look around, she would be right with him. Looking around, he found his socks and only two pairs of gloves, for Aldo and who ever complained about the cold, probably Donny, that rascal... for use of a clean term.
The woman approached her place and he paid her the proper amount of money for his damn shopping, why couldn't Elizabeth do this? Or one of the women, hell, even that British basterd could shop, he spoke German, or Cpt Wicki. No, it was Hugo, Hugo the frequent shopper, what the hell. He slipped out of the store only to be faced with the prostitutes again and they attempted to dig into his bag for what he just bought, but he brought it up to his chest and glared at everyone who dared try to steal from him. Thanks for such a beautiful exit crowd, sluts.
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tag Lucy Hemmingway
words 536
language no speaking at the moment
notes Hugo is no shop-aholic
