You need people like me so you can point your fuckin' fingers and say, "That's the bad guy."

Chevalier calmly strolls down the sidewalk and into the Cafe.

Doktor Schmidt steps out of the hospital, his leather trenchcoat flapping around his gaunt form in the stiff breeze. He looks about as happy as ever - which is to say, not very.

Wagner is leaned against a building, taking a break from his duties. This brief respite no doubt passes as the old Scharfuhrer's idea of a vacation… of "fun". His helmet is in the crook of an arm, off to allow his scalp to breathe a little. His trusty MP40 dangles from its sling. Wagner drinks from his canteen and watches those around him.

Etoile has stepped outside the cafe for a breath of fresh air and a cigarette, apparently unaware that the two are mutually exclusive. She glances to Chevalier as he heads in, but remains outside for a little longer.

Is that a Wagner? It is. Sofia blinks, spotting the old Scharfuhrer. She looks around, and waves to the older man. Doing her damndest to seem respectful and all of that. "Hello, herr," She steps a little nearer to him. Sofia notices Etoile, glancing over, but doesn't greet the woman juuuuust yet.

Doktor Schmidt waits around to be noticed, in vain. Happily, he's not the kind of man to dwell on this kind of thing quietly and write emotional poetry about it, but rather the sort to inflict emotional misery on others. He stalks towards Wagner and Sofia, calling out in his clipped, cold German, "Frau Weir. Herr Scharfuhrer."

Etoile notices Sofia - by now, the woman is starting to stick out somewhat in her memory - and idly observes her, doing more nazi-watching while she smokes her cigarette. She glances over to Chevalier as he steps out, and offers a reserved nod.

Wagner nods to Doktor Schmidt. "Hello, Herr Doktor." One corner of his lips twists up a little, the Scharfuhrer's ugly attempt at a smile. He just looks at Sofia, his blue eyes cold. She should know him by now to expect nothing more than a gaze. Wagner puts his canteen away. "I haven't seen you in awhile, Herr Doktor. Without any wounded, the medics in Untersturmfuhrer Hirsch's platoon do not need to be resupplied."

Chevalier smiles at Etoile while bowing his head and touching his hat brim in response to her nod.

Whoops. Talk about a social faux pas. And now on Nazi Watch 1940. Sofia. She must be an optomist, but looks away at Wagner's gaze. "Hello, Herr Doktor," Sofia nods politely. She goes quiet, as Wagner speaks. She folds her hands in front of her, still looking intently, off in space.

"Running errands, Fraulein Weir?" Doktor Schmidt's disapproving tone implies that she is not; she must be shirking her duties, out here just to enjoy the sights and smells of Urban France. He nods sourly to Wagner, "The lack of medics in my field hospital is one of the few things with which I console myself to the occupier's life, Herr Scharfuhrer. I have been lately informed that SS personnel ransacked the hospital just before I took charge of it, taking with them most of the morphine and plasma."

Etoile takes a long inhale, holds it for a few seconds, then breathes the smoke out through her nose. She has no idea what ze Germans are saying, of course, but she can at least keep a beady eye on them. "We've got some fruit cake stocked today. Goes well with coffee. You want some?" she asks Chevalier, as an aside, and nods to the interior of the cafe.

"I assure you that none of these ransackers were from my platoon, Herr Doktor," Wagner says. "I don't like this… lull," he continues. "The longer we wait here, the longer it gives the enemy to regroup." He scratches at the huge scar on his scalp and stares at the civilians. He mutters in a low tone to Doktor Schmidt (and presumably Sofia), "German blood is a small price to pay for progress. Or French blood. Alas, we have our orders, you yours and me mine, do we not?" The old Scharfuhrer chuckles a little, continuing to watch the untermensch go about their daily activities.

Chevalier smiles at Etoile, "That sounds nice, yes, but first if you do not mind I think I'll join you in a smoke. Do you have a light?" He removes a pack from a coat pocket and takes out a cigarette.

Sofia was either cursed or blessed, having the intelligence and capacity to finish her work early. Unfortunately, she lacked the wisdom to stretch the tasks out. A pause, and a nod. "Yes, herr. I had finished," Sofia replies quietly. "But ah, I guess there is some cleaning perhaps…" She squirms. She simply smiles and nods at Wagner. None too eager to linger here. She curls her fingers and starts to go off.

Etoile takes a box of matches out the sleeve of her sweater and offers it to Chevalier. "I'll go put a fresh pot on the stove," she tells him, and untermenschs her way back in to the cafe.

Chevalier strikes the match and lights his cigarette, making sure to remain down wind of the 'ubermensch' as much for their voices to carry to him as his smoke away from them.

"Quite." Doktor Schmidt looks at Wagner in a way that implies that he's not sure if he believes that. He sniffs as Wagner speaks of a lull, "Not only that, but discipline. An occupying force becomes lack, unruly. Soldiers are bad enough when on the march, but if you let them linger in a civilian area, they will soon lose every pretence of order and discipline. Morale must be enforced. Harshly." The gaunt doktor smiles, no humour in the grim expression. He looks a bit disconcerted as Wagner speaks about orders, looking away; as he does so, his eyes fall on Chevalier. He sniffs disapprovingly as he notices the cigarette.

Chevalier puts the cigarette out against the bottom of his shoe and places the butt into a waste receptacle. He is very deliberate in his actions, so as to linger a bit longer, once done however he reenters the cafe.

"I've told the men under my command to keep to themselves," Wagner says. "No fraternizing. The last I need is a soldier fathering some bastard child." He snorts. "If it were up to me, I'd have the men posted on the outskirts of town and on patrols, if only to keep them from getting soft from sleeping indoors." The Scharfuhrer pats his MP40. "I'd rather see the men quartered with German families. Once victory is achieved."

"Once victory is achieved." Doktor Schmidt's voice is even, toneless as he repeats that statement. He stares forwards, absently adjusting his spectacles, before offering Wagner a curt nod, "I must return to my duties. I wish your superiors shared your convictions, herr Scharfuhrer. The less the soldiers malinger in town, the better." His reasons for wanting that are naturally a little different than your's, as confirmed by his slight sneer of distaste.

Wagner nods. "As do I. Have a pleasant day, Herr Doktor," he says. Wagner doesn't appear to notice the sneer, to caught up in his blind, unquestioning nationalism. He puts his helmet back on and walks off.

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