Quit Worrying

Who: Genevieve, Henrik (Jacque emitted by Gene)
What: New information
Where: D'Artois Estate
When: August, 1940

Coordinates : 16 8

Like a golden sea, the wheatfield stretches out with forest in the distance, or far off farm houses. The land is flat and open and anyone moving through it is easily spotted. Here and there some weed has conquered an area, mostly thistles which adds splashes of green amidst all the yellow.

It is currently daytime.

Sub-Rooms :
D'Artois Estate

It was around midday when Henrik had payed for his daily bottle of beer with a few deutschmarks. Perhaps a half hour after that had come the singer's performance of a Trois Temps, and now- into the late August afternoon, Henrik's path has brought him to the palatial doorstep of the D'Artois estate. Looking around his with a dry shake of his head, the foreigner thumps thrice on the door.

It's quiet for a few moments, though he might be able to hear the sound of small feet being dismissed up the stairs before Genevieve heads to the door. She suspects who it is, but one cannot be too careful. confirming his visage through the peep hole, she opens the door and smiles. "You remembered. Good. Come in…" She's still in her working clothes, only having gotten home a few moments ago herself.

Henrik nods once to the words, stepping inside once the door is opened far enough and closing it at his back with the pressure of one calloused hand. "Yes, I remembered." A short look about the interior- or rather, as much of the house's interior as can be seen from the front door, before bringing his eye back to Genevieve. "Well?"

Genevieve nods for him to come into the great room, she having been in the process of getting a fire going, and she continues. "I have this week's patrol schedules again. They're tighter and more constant. Vogel really wants to find that Englishman, and -now-. Lots of patrols down by the river and in the fields outside of town. I can detail it all for you or just give you some notes." She murmurs, as she continues to build the fire.

Henrik frowns slightly and nods once. Keeping his feet, the foreigner mutters, "Lot of information, then. Lot of questions that I can't risk carrying notes on." Regarding the woman a moment as she builds the fire, he voices further, with arms crossing over his chest, "You gonna change out of that or should I start asking details now?"

Genevieve laughs a moment, "Does it bother you that I'm wearing this? I wait tables in it and walk all the way to the north of town in it nightly. A few more minutes sitting here won't bother me." She admits with a warm smile, finally grabbing a match so she can lean down and write the kindling.

Henrik grunts wordlessly once and shakes his head to the negative. As the match is struck and the fire set, he gives a litany of questions, "How far into the fields are they patrolling. Are they taking dogs. How many. How frequent are the patrols along the river. Are they guarding Town Hall more closely."

Genevieve blows across the kindling for a few moments before she unfolds carefully and stands, heading back for one of the davenports. "At least all the way up here, if not farther. Yes, they have dogs. As many as possible, preferably one for every pair of men. The command is the patrols along the river are to be constant, from Vogel. He thinks the Englishman is going to escape that way. Nothing was said about Town Hall, so I think nothing has changed there, but security does seem like it is going to be a bit looser in town."

Henrik hrms under his breath with a thoughtful frown. Uncrossing his arms, the big man sets down on the nearest chair, to consider Genevieve's answers with elbows set on his knees. "Good," he mutters after a moment, repeating again, "Good. Looking to the river, and the outskirts. Can maybe do something to draw their eye further away from town. Rails, maybe.." he mutters, half to himself. Fixing one cold blue eye on the singer, he adds, "Have you seen any of the old bureaucrats in town? Anyone who has been inside the Town Hall since the fascists took over?"

Genevieve shakes her head quietly, "No…but I haven't been looking. Should I search for that next? Really… I'm not sure I can get much more out of Wolff than patrols, though he's talking about a promotion. That would be convienant for us. What… what do you want me to start looking for? I think I'm going to have to start reaching higher up…" She murmurs with a slight frown, her expression thoughtful and a touch tense now.

Henrik grunts a flat, "No," to Genevieve's questions. "Don't reach further. I meant your people. Frenchmen. The worthless paper-pushers who might have some worth after all." Frowning deeper for a moment, he chooses his words better by the time he asks, "Anyone who might know where the fascist radio room could be. Or whether there even IS one in the goddamn place." Lower, he growls, "If the only station is in their barracks, forget it."

Genevieve considers that…"Wolff might know. I will… attempt to get it from him on our next.. Date." Gene leans forward, grabbing a half empty wine bottle from the table and pulling out the cork. She dumps it in a glass on the table and scoops it up. "And why not? I am getting us some information, at least it is working! If they think me a slut? It is worth it. That is what we wish. Then i am not a danger."

Henrik snorts flatly, "How do you think to be subtle in asking where their goddamn radios are? No, on second thought- don't answer. I don't want to know," he cuts off his own words with a dry half smirk and shake of his head. "If you can, good. If you can't.. then I just wonder where all your town's bureaucrats are."

Genevieve smirks faintly, "Do you think it is easy to be subtle about asking for their entire patrol schedule, even the ones that he is not on? I have my ways. I will try." She actually seems a hint amused at his response. "And alright, I will look for it…I wish I had more for you."

"Hrm!" Henrik rumbles in dry amusement, before adding, "Just don't push your luck too far. Once the fascists actually CATCH a french rebel in Arras, everything gets very much worse for the rest. Not to mention you'd probably be tortured to death." A shrug. Fun facts of fascism. "You have enough for me. Don't apologize."
Genevieve rolls her shoulders in a touch of a shrug. "I don't much worry about myself, but yes… for you all, I wouldn't want it to be any worse. I will be careful. I don't have any -intentions- of dieing, but if somethings working, I'm not going to give it up either."

"Good," Henrik mutters in return, with a short nod. Considering for a long moment, he asks, "With all the fields around here.. someplace on this ground there has to be an axe and a pick. Right?" Blue eyes narrow in keen thought as he pieces together the details of a half formed idea.

Genevieve considers thoughtfully before she nods, "Yes.. there is a shed, I'm certain he has those things and more tools in there. Why? What is on your mind?" She asks him rather thoughtfully.

Henrik shrugs once, and leans back in the chair to regard Genevieve as he answers, "Something to draw their eyes further outside of Arras. Tear out a rail on the train-lines, or something like it. Might get them paying more attention out in the fields. Would make them waste time fixing it, anyway. Probably wouldn't make a train run off lines, but it might." Chest and shoulders rise with a slowly drawn breath before he notes, "It's something until we can find out where their communications come from."

Genevieve nods quietly, "We should go now, before the patrols start, or the will wonder what we are doing in the shed. I'll get you the things… don't worry about bringing them back until it is safe, unless you wish to hide them here, somewhere." She frowns at the thought, a hint of worry pulling at her pretty features.

Henrik shakes his head. "No. Take some time, its still daylight out. Didn't see any fascists watching me come up here, but its better to wait until after dark. Can check the timing of those patrols your talker gave." A moment later he concludes, "Beside, if it looks good, this is a better point to slip into the country from, than mine on the riverfront. Quit worrying."

Genevieve stares at him for a few moments. "Quit worrying. Would you do it if I told you any more than I can do it myself?" She asks, folding her arms across her chest and staring up at him from her elegantly placed position upon the davenport.

Henrik regards the woman for a flat moment before stating, "The less details you know, the safer you'll be. Should be simple enough, not much risk, but still. Any move against the fascists can get people killed. Beside-" he adds, canting his head to a faint angle as he eyes the singer, "You DO tell me only 'I can do it myself'. Don't see your point," the big man mutters as he holds Genevieve's stare.

Genevieve chuckles slightly, nodding for him to sit…"Come on, relax. I'll get another bottle of wine. And… fine. We shall both agree that we are probably going to worry no matter the reason. We are friends, no? That is, on occasion, what friends do." And she smoothly stands, heading for the kitchen and the wine store there.

"Fine," Henrik mutters, "Got time. Couple hours until dark." As she withdraws to the pantry, he thinks to ask, "There a map in this house? Or you know how far off the rail lines are?" Settling his frame back into the invited chair, he looks again about the rich interior of the house.

Genevieve shakes her head quietly, "Not that I'm aware, if you want to go hunt around in Xavier's study, perhaps there is something there…" She grabs a fresh bottle of wine and a clean glass for Henrik, setting both down on the coffee table as she hunts for the cork screw.

"I'll look," Henrik mutters in reply, as Genevieve searches for the cork screw, Henrik rises and raises his voice to ask, "Which way? Could get lost in this goddamn house," he adds with a short snort. Half to himself, half for Genevieve, he voices further, "Could always just parallel the lines that run into Arras, but better to cut another."

Genevieve nods up the stairs…"First door on the right. I'll be here when you're done." And with that, she pours herself a new glass of wine at least, waiting for him as she relaxes on the couch.

Henrik climbs the stairs two at a time, the sound of the door opening precedes a scant couple minutes of searching around within the absent gentleman's study.

The door to the study opens a few moments later… and Jacques comes in. The 15 year old. He stands behind Henrik, a frown on his lips, "What are you doing?" Apparently, the boy rather thinks he's a man, and he tries to put that tone in his crackling voice.

Henrik had been turned away from the door, checking the drawers of the room's desk and promptly throwing them closed again when the contents didn't look mappish. He half turned to regard the boy over one shoulder, as he looks back to the contents of the room and resumes his search. "Looking," he mutters none too helpfully. Giving a low curse in a foreign tongue, he shakes his head once, hands settling at his hips.

"Is Uncle Xavier dead?" The boy isn't going away… but here comes a foreign man, who Gene has permitted into the house, and is now digging through Xavier's things. Xavier who has been missing for weeks. He folds his arms across his small chest, standing bean poll straight and trying to be a touch intimidating.

"Probably not," Henrik answers evenly to the boy, turning in place a second time after a moment, in order to eye the little fellow with his affectations of courage. Something in the sight draws a small shake of Henrik's head. "You're standing in the only doorway," the big fellow points out evenly.

"Then why are you going through his things?" Jacques insists, a hint of doubt across his voice. He might be young, but he's got some guts to him, that's for certain.

"Because he's not here and I need something," Henrik replies colorlessly. Pausing words a moment more, he eyes the boy, briefly bemused behind his stonefaced expression. "You going to get out of the doorway?"

Jacques isn't looking amused at all. "…What do you need? I have lived here much longer than YOU, and I do not care what you are doing with my sister. I can help. You should not go snooping in other people's things." he's not moving. Henrik could probably pick the bean pole boy up and move him aside, but Jacques is offering to help, in his own twisted way.

"You've got some guts," Henrik observed simply, still regarding the boy. Words level and deep he mutters, "If more frenchmen were willing to face up to the stronger man when he came into their house, your country might not be in such a mess as it is. Hrm," he rumbles deadpan. "I don't care whether you believe me or not, but its better for you and your family if I don't answer."

The boy grunts as much as his voice can, "Xavier taught me to shoot a gun! I protect this house when she is gone with all those… Men!…I am the man of this house right now. Xavier said I was! So tell me how to help and I will or get the hell out!" And Jacques puts his foot down there — literally — momentarily stomping on the hard wood floor.

Henrik lets out a slow breath at the boy's defiance, a scowl twisting his features- the motion of his brows tugging at the scar tissue which snakes up his forehead and scalp. Taking a slow, unhurried pair of steps toward where Jacques stands and stomps, the cold eyed foreigner stares into the boy's own eyes for a long, silent moment, before voicing quietly, "Don't be too eager to pick up a gun and play the killer, monsieur. Shooting a gun does not make make a man, it simply marks you as ready to die." Once the evenly spoken words are given, he adds, "Now if you will step aside, I'll leave your Uncle's room."

Jacques is torn for a few moments… but eventually he does just turn to the side and stalk back down the hall, throwing a bit of a pouting fit but not arguing further. Children!

Henrik doesn't look back over his shoulder at Jacques as he closes the study door and steps down the stairs. The frown has not faded from his face as he rejoins Genevieve, who has no doubt gotten started on the wine. "You don't actually have any guns here, do you?" he asks the singer evenly.

Genevieve frowns a touch, "…Xavier had a rifle… It was his, I'm not certain if he's taken it with him or not." Gene admits quietly, her head tilted to the side. She's on her second glass of wine now, "Why do you ask?"

"The boy," Henrik mutters, with a toss of his head toward the upstairs, "Was making the sort of noise boys make. You should make sure it's hidden. From him and from the fascists. Don't need to see more dead children ever again," he growls, in an abruptly sour temper. "Need a drink."

Genevieve rolls her eyes, "Yes… he's been making those noises since Xavier showed him how to use the damned gun." She leans over, pouring a very good amount of wine into the glass she got for him and then pushing it across the table. "There. A drink, enjoy. Did you find a map?"

Henrik takes up the glass and promptly puts away a good measure of the wine, before shaking his head to answer, "No. Which is probably good." A short breath left out as he returns his eye to Genevieve. After a slowly drawn breath, he notes quietly, "One thing has changed since I came to Arras, at least.." Countenance drawn in a weary frown, he comments, "I don't want to see France become another Spain."

Genevieve tilts her head, a hint of intrigue crossing her pale features as she crosses her legs and takes another sip of her wine. "No?…And what brought about this change?" She cannot help but ask.

"Because if France reaps the whole weight of her leaders' failings.. there will be nothing left. You people.." he notes looking down at the singer, "Are too proud, too arrogant, and too short sighted. I might as well be one of you," he notes with a snort. "The English are under siege now, if they fall, the fascists have won. There are the Soviets, but Russia carved up Poland alongside the Germans. Russia carved up Spain alongside the Nationalists. Russia is no better." Lowering himself into a seat facing Genevieve, he downs the rest of the glass of wine. "And the idea of freedom being crushed under fascist heels is a darker future than I can stomach."

Genevieve shakes her head violently, "England will not fall. It… it cannot. It will not!" A touch drunk and more than a touch passionate, she cannot entirely hide the desperation in her voice as she insists upon those words.

"And France will never fall," Henrik states coldly. "In Spain, we shouted 'No Pasaran'.. 'They shall not pass'. Madrid still fell. England CAN fall," he notes flatly. "And if it does, there may be nothing left but to choose how best to die."

"What of the Americas? We can escape… find a boat, maybe… go there… " Even drunk, Gene knows the foolishness of her own words. She laughs wearily and shakes her head…

"The lot of your nation is being settled over the water. France's fate rests in the hands of the English." Henrik states evenly, with a raised brow to Genevieve as he sets the empty wine glass on the table again. "I can only hope that- having fed Europe to the fascists once, they do not repeat the mistake." A moment later, he scowls to recall, "Couldn't even make it across the channel to London, before all this." The thought of who is in London and what is happening there darkens his expression further.

Genevieve sighs and nods, leaving the conversation there… She can't dispute him, so she drinks. He cannot be happy, so they both drink… It is the bandage for the masses, it seems.

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