Back To Being Hated

Who: Christiane, Genevieve, Henrik, Jeannette
What: Heated exchanges in the street
When: April, 1941

Coordinates : 15 2

A fine example of a French town, despite the signs of modern warfare with several buildings completely ruined by German bombs. One area of this block is almost completely wiped out, the one closest to the Town Hall, that building somehow miraculously still standing though the left side is in ruins. Other areas are completely untouched and makes a stark contrast to the ruins.

It is currently daytime.

Christiane comes walking up the street from the outskirts of town, looking tired and rather bedraggled. Her clothes are rumpled, as if she'd slept in them. Despite that she tries to keep her head high and her eyes straight ahead as she strides through the street. Doing her best to avoid looking at anything German.

If Henrik's appearance is rumpled and a bit dirty, it is nothing out of the ordinary. The drafted workforce is still in the process of clearing out the year old rubble left by the german bombing during the invasion, and among those is Henrik. A pause appears to have been called, while the local men (and drafted foreigner) take a moment's respite in the shade of a half-standing wall. Upon sighting Christiane, the swede once again raises his voice to greet, "Madame Morgenstern." The big man rises to his feet, dirt and stonedust marring face, forearms and clothing.

When one walks around with their nose fuguritivly buried in a book, they get around to some odd places. Jeannette brings her eyes off of a dry, drab, technical subject (All the /good/ books she had to hide, for fear of Germans deciding her library needed torching), to see rubble being cleared out, and a very haggarded women moving down the sidewalk. There's a touch of concern on her face, and she moves forward to hail her. "Mademoiselle, are you all right?"

"Monsieur Svensson." Christiane stifles a yawn as she greets Henrik, turning her step toward him and his work. She looks up at the wall, a frown lining her face. "It is funny, the Germans are only now getting to having it cleaned up. With all their efficiency." She keeps her tone low but there's a bite to it she's too tired to hide. She seems about to say more, but Jeannette's words stop her short. "Hmm? Oh. Yes, Madame. I am fine. I just did not get much sleep last night, and I had to walk back into town this morning."

Henrik briefly regards the reading girl, as the other speaks toward Christiane, although the Belgian woman quickly draws back his narrow eyed attention. Commenting flatly to her initial comment, he notes, "This building means nothing to the fascist war effort. The germans are in no rush to see it repaired." At Christiane's explanation for her weariness, he frowns, and draws a breath to speak, before holding the words unspoken.

Jeannette keeps her face carefully blank, before casually, yet carefully, looking around for the nearest German. Seeing none, she moves a bit closer, and keeps her own voice low. "Hah." She says, a slight scowl on her face. "The Nazi's are good at killing and conquering effiicently. But they won't help us French, oh, no. We are the occupied, as I was reminded by a vile 'Doktor

Jeannette keeps her face carefully blank, before casually, yet carefully, looking around for the nearest German. Seeing none, she moves a bit closer, and keeps her own voice low. "Hah." She says, a slight scowl on her face. "The Nazi's are good at killing and conquering effiicently. But they won't help us French, oh, no. We are the occupied, as I was reminded by a vile 'Doktor' just yesterday."

She looks over to the harried women, eying her up and down, and still looks concerned. "What had you out so early?"

Christiane also looks about for passing Germans before speaking again. But it seems more habit than anything else by now. She sighs when she catches herself doing it, giving her head a small shake. She sniffs softly when Jeannette speaks of the 'Doktor.' "You have met Doctor Schmidt, then? He can be…difficult, yes. I try my best to ignore him when I am at the hospital. It is usually not hard. He does not care for dealing with patients." She answers both Henrik's unspoken and Jeannette's spoken question. "A farmwife on the edge of town is expecting a child. I had gone out to examine her. Her last pregnancy was very difficult, she nearly lost the child. She is doing well enough but night was coming on by the time I was ready to leave. I did not want to risk walking back after curfew."

"Hrm," Henrik rumbles, before looking briefly sidelong at Jeannette, He answers Christiane first, with speech that has only just started seeing its accent fade after all the time spent in Arras. "If she's so close, maybe she should be moved into town. If she labors at night, she would need to wait for you until morning." Only then does he glance back to Jeannette to comment, "You would prefer it perhaps if the fascists who take your country and homes took better care of you?"

"She does not like coming into town these days," Christiane says, leaving it at that without explanation. She seems to assume they can fill in the reasons on their own. "I cannot say I blame her. There is still time yet before it become a grave concern."

Jeannette looks as if she'd like to spit on the ground somewhere when the Doctor's name is mentioned, but refrains. Far too conspicious. "Yes, I met him. He will be staying at my home, he and his asssitant, paying two rents for the price of one. But I feel if one gets enough wine in him, he may say things he may not otherwise say." She nods, just slightly, and fights the urge to look around again. Henrik gets a mean look. "I would rather they leave, or, better yet, die horrible deaths, one by one. But, since that is not to happen, I will simply have to make do with what circumstances give me."

She pauses, and looks to Christiane. "I cannot offer much… but if they are in need of a bit of food, or, perhaps, a place to…" She stops, and shakes her head. "I am sorry, I have forgotten my situation. Food, I may still be able to provide, however."

Genevieve arrives from the North.

"You should be glad, mademoiselle," Henrik advises colorlessly. "If the fascists kept your houses warm and your bellies full, your countrymen might be willing to accept the fascist yoke as the germans have. But all free hearts loathe a tyrant." Back to Christiane, he nods once, stern expression unsoftened. "Yeah. Can't say I blame her."

Christiane snorts softly. "Getting enough wine into the Doctor would not be difficult, I suspect," she says. As to the rest, she just sighs again. "I would have the world be much different, if I had a choice. But it is as it is." She squares her shoulder, looking down the street. "I should be getting home. I told my husband I might have to be out the night, but I would still not worry him. Good day."

The look Henrik get's is slightly more withering than the one before it. How could he understand, of course? He wasn't French! "They may keep us housed, and fed, but that will not earn them more than a months respite. We French love our freedom, and our history, both of which these Nazi scum see to take away from us. Even our lanaguge, they attempt to replace!" Jeannette has to struggle to keep her voice down, and is more successful talking to Christiane, as she moves away. "Good day, Mademoiselle. Good Luck."

"Guard your tongue, Madame," Christiane warns Jeannette, her eyes widening at those words. Not in disagreement, really, but rather alarm that such was said aloud. "Monsieur." With a short nod to Henrik she marches off. Her pace quicker than it was before.

Christiane heads off North.

Genevieve just had a rather nicely hearty breakfast and a few glasses of wine with her beau, the somewhat infamous Wolff who is no longer just a patrol man. He, however, had work to do and she's feeling the wine enough to want to enjoy the day, so she's coming out from the cafe, her cheeks rosey with wine and red painted lips smiling warmly. Her high heels slightly sink into the ground, but she is managing, especially for it still being so early. She lofts a brow as she hears the conversation slightly, "Well, perhaps the Germans would treat you all proper if you showed them proper respect." Says the woman with new nylons on her legs.

"Madame," Henrik offers in parting to Christiane. "My regards to your husband and children." Only then does the stoic foreigner turn his cold, even regard upon Jeannette. "Yes. The fascists have swallowed free nations for four years, while you French prized your freedoms, treasured your language, and abandoned your allies." the man's words are intent and level. Only once his answer is given does Genevieve's approach catch his notice.

Jeannette is about to offer a scathing, probably ill-advised rebuke to this man, here. France had seen enough of war during the last one, it's population almost crushed. Could they be blamed for searching for peace, when war's cost was so high? And, once Poland had fallen, didn't they rise up-

She stops that train of though when she hears such false words in a French accent. Her eyes look the women over, and she stiffens, slightly, at the sight of new nylons, and her appearance. Drunk? Now? She…

"We were simply having an intellectual discussion, you know. We don't mean anything by it." She says, after composing herself. Collaboraters could be as bad as the Nazi's themeselves.

Genevieve smirks slightly, taking out her fresh pack of cigarettes, a german label on them, and tapping one out against the palm of her hand. She then offers the cigarettes around, her cool blue eyes amused and careless. "Yes. Intellectual discussion about those who are now keeping you safe. Herr Henrik is right, you know, we brought it on ourselves. We made our bed, we might as well lay in it. Frankly, it's a rather comfortable bed when you accept that face." She laughs softly, flashing Henrik a somewhat saucy smile…"Good day, Herr Henrik…it is always… -Good-…to see you."

Henrik's already sunburned face doesn't alter it's flat expression, as first Jeannette, and next Genevieve offer thier words. A close look might note that his face flushes a shade darker. After a moment's silence, he mutters, "I'm not hard to find."

Jeannette waves her hand. "I do not smoke." She offers, as an explanation, and keeps the disdain off her face that would say, even if she did, she wouldn't take German cigerettes from the likes of /her/. "And… so you say. Your argument certainly is logical." She says. What else /could/ she say? Engage this Nazi-loving whore in a debate on the merits of French Nationalism? She was not stupid.

A look between the other woman and the Swede brings some questions into the mix… that are also best left unsaid. Bah!

Genevieve shrugs slightly at the woman's comment about smoking, Gene herself pulls out a second cigarette, placing two between her lips and lighting them both before handing one in Henrik's direction, her lipstick on the filter. "No..I suppose you -aren't- hard to find. I saw you Herr Vogel's office just the other day. Interesting conversation?" She looks at Jeannette more as she's saying that, as if to prove a point.

Henrik snorts. "Hardly," he mutters to Genevieve's question. "New order for the labor gangs." A jerk of his head toward the old, bombed-out building behind him, which several locals are taking a brief break from the task of clearing out rubble. Taking the cigarette between thick, calloused fingers, the scowling swede draws a short measure of the tobacco.

Jeannette nods, slowly, drawing out the time she needs to come up with a proper, safe response. "Quite. A little discussion about new orders, as well, actually. Only one that pertains to nations, rather than work gangs." She keeps her voice neutral, as if a university student discussing a particularly interesting piece of news to the class. "We came to the conclusion that the Germans are in charge, and we certainly can't force them out, so, one will have to live with it." For as long as it takes until we force them out, and their bitches with them.

Genevieve bows her head quietly, "Yes, one -will- have to live with it. And it really isn't so bad if you just stop assuming the Germans are not here for your own good. They will -unite- Europe! We will ALL be better in the end for it! You just have to open your eyes." Gene, definitely a bit tipsy, seems to be putting her whole heart behind these words.

Henrik snorts, rumbling under his breath with a sidelong look at Genevieve, "Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" The words are just loud enough to carry to the two women nearby, as he draws a second, longer pull from the cigarette. Narrow blue eyes flicking to Jeannette. "What did you say earlier? Painful death, one by one?" A moment's wordless stare as he draws another puff of smoke through the cigarette. "Be patient."

"When one argues with such clear-headed fervor," Jeannette dead-pans, "How can one disagree? Perhaps we should all wait until Europe marches to German tunes, and Mien Kampf replaces the works of Voltaire. We can only hope such a day will come." She stiffens at the words of Henrik, caught between fear and a ruthless elation, to which she compromises with a hard, knowing stare at Genevieve, and, "Forgive him. He is a bit liberal with my words."

Genevieve is quiet a few moments at Henrik's mutter, a slight smirk across her lips, "..Well, when I have spent the morning being serenaded with such words with the same passion Cyrano felt for Roxane… how can I help but do anything but repeat them?" And, depending on how observant Jeanette is, she might actually hear the underlying sarcasam beneath Gene's words. Depends if she's really listening or not. Gene takes another breath of her cigarette, forcing her smile to return. "Do not lie, Madamoiselle. It does not become you. A lady of passion should speak her thoughts."

"Catching on yet?" Henrik asks Jeannette flatly, deep, rough voice kept low. "You should probably storm off about now, mademoiselle," the big man advises with a curt motion of his head.

Jeannette must spend too much time with her nose buried in a book. She has trouble getting things others might get on the first try. After a moment, her hard, knowing look cycles through confusion, dawning understanding, and then a careful mask to keep all that under wraps. "Well, you certainly have a point. But I'm sure you, as all people in your possession know truth and passion are aspects of an unhealthy lifestyle. Certainly, those who profess them seem to take ill rather suddenly." She notes. To Henrik, she simply nods. "I've things to do, this day, yes, and cannot spare much more time for conversation." She moves back, and gives a slight curtsie. "If you have a moment to spare, mademoiselle, you may wish to seek out my boarding house. Such passionate discussions may be best left to my kitchen." She then turns, and moves off, heading toward a merchants, the drab book of her's forgotten for the moment, tucked under her arm.

Well, Gene would hope no one would get it on the first try… her life would surely BE forfiet if she made any of this obvious. She nods slightly to Jeanette, her expression a touch more seriously fierce though she doesn't speak on the words at all. "Or my winery.. the D'Artois estate, north of town. You are welcome to come by for a glass of wine any time." She admits quietly, leaving it there. She nods towards Jeanette, "Be safe." She then turns back to Henrik, abit of a thoughtful smirk on her lips. She's not all that happy her secret's been revealed.

"You enjoyed that," Henrik accuses Genevieve with a wry growl. Eyeing the well attired woman sidelong with a shake of the head and a last long draw from the cigarette. Letting the smoke out through his nose with a slow breath, the big man watches Jeannette withdraw for a moment before looking back at the singer.

Genevieve looks more than a bit amused, shaking her head, "I enjoyed making you -blush-, I will say that… but otherwise… I am not certain. It would be safer if she hated me, I think." Gene admits, her voice quiet and whispered, leaning close enough that he can hear her words.

"Hrm," Henrik snorts at Genevieve's victorious bit of amusement. "Small risk," he mutters to the latter comment. "If she kept talking like that, she'd get herself killed. Beside, your reputation is very well known. Can't imagine anyone would believe her if they heard."

Genevieve grins slightly, shaking her head. She seems about to say something, but she forces herself to bite her tongue and instead just takes another drag of her cigarettes, "I will trust you in this… But only you. I trust her because you have vouched for her, we shall leave it at that."

"We'll leave it at that," Henrik echoes in curt assent. Looking back over his shoulder, he raises his deep, rough voice to holler, "Break's over, back to work." The natural reluctance is groaned, cursed, or simply accepted depending on the individual frenchman's nature. Glancing back to Genevieve, he notes, "Back to being hated, shall we?"

Genevieve nods flatly, "Indeed, back to being hated it is." And she rebuilds that smile upon her features, that same stepford wife smile as before… it's almost chilling how good she's gotten at perfecting that. With that, she gives him one last wave and heads off towards the barracks.

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