Question Of Racial Hygiene

Doktor Schmidt is sitting in his office - a small space seperated from the body of the makeshift field hospital by a few wooden screens - reading a medical journal. He has given directions for you to come to the hospital, just a cottage equipped with a rudimentary operating threatre, for your "Examination". The actual content, or for that matter nature of this examination remains unclear.

Elsa is highly beginning to suspect, well, defecting wasn't the wisest idea. It hasn't helped one little bit, and the one man who was on her side has been forbidden from seeing her. She did bring medical supplies, a whole pack full, which are probably now sitting suspected of being contiminated and useless. Still, it's clearly too late now. She's long ago learned it's unwise to fight the men taking her where ever they want… it just hurts and she cannot out strength them no matter how hard she tries. So she walks slowly, her blue eyes tilted towards the ground, dirty blonde hair a mess and long having fallen out of its pins and ties. She's attractive, or at least she certainly could be if she cleaned up enough. She's still wearing the clothes she had on when she came in, a simple gray a-line skirt and a close fitting button down shirt tucked in the skirt's waist. It gives a good idea of her nice shape, if still is properly conservative..

Doktor Schmidt looks up from behind his desk as one of the guards knocks on the door. The Doktor's cold, severe voice rings out, "Enter!" He sounds irritated, as if this was a poor use for his valuable time. The tall man's steel grey eyes glitter coldly from behind his spectacles, reflecting the light of the halogen lamp overhead. He doesn't look like a happy camper.

Elsa stiffens as she hears that voice. Somehow, she doubts she's been brought here to prove her nursing prowess, though by the look of Bastian's restitched up wound, she does know what she's doing. The guard opens the door and the other gives her a small shove into the room. She stumbles in on her still surprisingly in tact heels. She stops herself just on the edge of the door, somewhat cowed blue eyes flickering up to the Doktor for a heartbeat or two before looking down again. The guards look up to the Doktor, awaiting orders. One finally asks, "Should we remain inside or outide, Doktor? However you feel safest, sir."

"Safest? Don't be a bloody fool - she's just a little girl. Remove your soiled jackboots from my pristine office, schutz." Doktor Schmidt's voice is laden with scorn, his eyes narrowing as he stares at the offending guard. Indeed, the striking thing about the "office" is that everything, down to the last paperclip and piece of paper, is in perfect order there, stacked in neat piles, all the furniture spaced at exact right angles to each other. The tall surgeon points imperiously at a wooden stool before his desk, "Sit down, girl."

Elsa steps a hint hesitantly into the room, still not looking back to the Doktor, but she jumps a bit as she hears the guards shutting the door. Still this was a man of medicine. He had ideals. He was the sort of man with whom she was used to working. She draws in a deep breath, her blue eyes scanning around he surpremely neat room as she crosses to the stool and folds her slender form into sitting. It was… infinitely nicer than the Polish field hospitals, always being moved, filled with wounded and dying. There was no question, from this space alone, who was winning the war. "Doktor." She offers in quiet, respectful greeting.

Doktor Schmidt follows you with his eyes, staring at you intently. It's not an amorous stare, or even a look of human interest: It is the intense, specialized and coldly analytic look of a scientist studying a specimen. He takes up a clipboard and pencil from the table, never removing his eyes from Elsa. Finally, he adjusts his spectacles, saying severely, "My name is Doktor Jacob Schmidt. You will adress me as Herr Doktor, or Doktor Schmidt, or Herr Doktor Schmidt. You will not call me Doktor - in German, which I'm sure is not your native language, this is rather too familiar. Is this understood? Now, what is your name?"

Doktor Schmidt is wearing the red, swastika-bearing band of a member of the SS around one sleeve of his coat.

Elsa folds her slender hands neatly into her lap, occasionally daring to steal a look up towards the doktor, but mostly her eyes just stay straight ahead and nervous. She's doing her very best to stay strong and look brave, at least. Unfortunately, she's mostly failing. At least she's not like some women, a blubbering, simpering mess of tears and sniffles. There is at least a quiet confidence to her. "Elsa Gorski, Herr Doktor…I.. I am… was… a nurse."

"Elsa… Gorski." Doktor Schmidt scribbles your name into the clipboard. He raises an eyebrow, a look of mild interest visiting his face as you indicate that you have served as a nurse. He does not, however, ask further about this. "I understand that you have defected to help the German nation, due to your Volksdeutche roots. This interview, taken in the interests of maintaining racial hygiene, is going to establish whether you can make that claim. Please list for me your place of birth, the names of your parents, and your known German ancestors, in order of descent."

Elsa speaks German, at least, and her accent is not horribly thick. She must be from the area just around the border, and have grown up speaking the language. She doesn't stumble or struggle for words, even with the imposing man looking down upon her in the least comforting of ways. She breathes in quietly, focusing her brain on trying to remember her grandparents' surnames…"I was born in Breziny, though my mother was from Dresden, her name was Elsa Kohl. My father was Fredrich Gorski, his father of Breziny also, but his mother's name was Pia Kleber. My mother's parents were Jorg and Elsa Kohl, both from Dresden also. I visited often as a child. I can tell you street names…restaurants…"

"That will not be necessary. Your genealogical information will be verified by Reich archivists, after this area has been pacified and added to the German hegemony. If you are lying, then it will be all the worse for you." Doktor Schmidt offers you a terse, humourless smile, his thin bloodless lips turning up minutely at the corners. For about a minute, he scribbles this information into the clipboard, before standing up. The tall Doktor picks up a pair of leather gloves, and puts them on. He takes an odd instrument, all angles and metallic arcs, and steps towards you - apparently, he intends to place it over your head. It features several screws… Torture device or measurement aid? Who can tell.

Elsa looks up, doing a quick double take in the… thing's direction. That was no medical device she'd ever seen before and yet he was coming near her with it. What kind of doktor -was- he? Elsa swallows back, forcing herself very strongly not to ask the question of what he plans to do with it. She keeps her chin leveled and jaw tightly shut, waiting for the pain or what ever is to come. Also, well, silently thankful she was truthful about her origins. And didn't go much further on about her father's bloodline.

Doktor Schmidt carefully fits the thing over your head, tightening the screws so that it is securely fitted over your skull and face. There is no pain, even if it is uncomfortably tight, cold, and hard. Doktor Schmidt bends forwards, his gloved fingers probing the lines of your skull surprisingly gently, only the fingertips touching. As he works, he fires off a battery of questions, "Are any of your known relations or ancestors Jewish? Gypsies? Russians? What kind of genetic diseases are known to occur in your family? How many of your relatives to the third degree have died from cancer? Do you know any instances of dwarves, or people with other notable deformities having been born to your family?"

Well, even if the thing isn't painful, it's certainly a good way to keep her off balance while she does her best to answer the rapid fire questions. Her eyes widen a hint at the first three, and she almost tries to shake her head but after the slightest twitch she stops herself. He's, apparently, working up there among all her blonde hair. "N-no… No. None of them. And….we're not diseased. My…my father's father was killed in a bar brawl. My mother and father are still alive and well. No cancers… that I know of… My mother's mother had a bad heart and died of pneumonia… the rest are still alive. No dwarves… deformities… we are a respectable family!" Those last questions actually seem to offend her that they were asked at all. Does she LOOK deformed? She was always one of the prettier ones in her family!

"Bar fight, eh? How virile of him." Doktor Schmidt's cold voice drips scorn. It's hard to say whether he has something against Elsa's parents, or if it's just his general dislike for all of humanity finding an outlet. He makes, "Hmmm, mmm-hmmm" sounds as Elsa answers his questions. Fortunately for her, his special skills don't include empathy or understanding of other people, so he doesn't catch the start at the Jew question. "It is for me to decide whether you are a respectful family, fraulein. I will also thank you not to speak unless spoken to, or asked a question." He finishes with the probing, moving to stands before Elsa. The tall Doktor brings his face close, very close to the woman, staring into her pupils, studying the bone structure of her face. The examination, as intimate as it is, is all the more creepy for the perfectly clinical, dispassionate manner of the surgeon.

Dammit, why couldn't Bastian be doing this? At least he was handsome, and had SOME sense of humor! Her eyes widen just a hint as he leans in so closely, but she simply nods, having been ordered not to speak and since he didn't ask a question, well, there is nothing for her to safely say. Bone structure wise, well, she's certainly not Jewish. She doesn't have the nose, cheek bones or even the slight touch of skin colour that is sometimes present. She has the structure of what she claims to be, a borderland mix. There is definitely some German in her, but she doesn't have the purely strong facial features either which might save her a good deal of trouble here. She breathes in forcibly slow and deep through her nose, trying to calm her rapidly pounding heart. It's no real use.

"Your bone structure is passing, if a little too Slavic for my taste. The colour of your hair and eyes is satisfactory, even if blue eyes and blonde hair have been found among the lesser races, as well." Doktor Schmidt himself happens to have brown eyes and dark hair. He straightens, calling out coldly, "Remove your outer garments." He turns his back on Elsa, walking to the desk and picking up the clipboard. As he starts to scribble in it, he seems to have completely blocked Elsa away from his personal universe, like she had no objective existence, or relevance outside his analytic scrutiny.

Elsa opens her lips, her usually spit fire attitude just fighting its way into surfacing. Yes, she was going to say something, but then his next order shocks her enough (and her brain kicks into self preservation mode quickly) so that she doesn't speak unwisely. She just watches him, uncertain, the brief bit of steadiness she found all but gone again. Her eyes then flicker over the room, indeed confirming they were alone. He was a doctor… she could do this. It would be fine. He clearly didn't care to see her as anything but an experiment which was, oddly, as comforting as it was unsettling. So, with silent hands, she begins to unbutton her shirt to reveal the simple white brassiere she wears beneath. She folds the shirt and sets it aside, hesitating at her skirt. Her skin is unblemished or marked, no freckles or anything to mar her pale flesh. The skin of a girl who came from at least a decently well off home..

Doktor Schmidt finishes writing on the clipboard, dotting a last i with a flourish. He looks up, clearly irritated that Elsa haven't complied fully with his orders, "Well? Do as you're told, girl. I assume that you are wearing undergarments. If you are not, they will be provided to you." The way he says that, chillingly dispassionately, marks his intentions as purely scientific. He clasps his gloved hands behind his back, staring at you sternly from under bushy eyebrows.

"….Sorry. I am…" She responds quietly, and reaches down, carefully opening the zipper of her skirt as well and allowing it to pool around her ankles. She steps out of the skirt, leaning over to pick it up and fold it across her shirt as well. Now she stands just in a pair of close fitting white lace bloomers and the matching bra. She definitely wasn't simple poverty or peasant stock, at least. Her legs have been carefully shaven, but that was a few days ago now so they aren't nearly so smooth as they were. She lacks stockings, those being entirely too expensive a luxury for anyone these days it seems.

As he gets closer, well, she isn't horrible smelling yet. She definitely hasn't bathed in about three days, ever since she made the run for the border, but she could certainly be worse. She's a nicely shaped woman, not all that strong and for it having the curves in the proper places. She hasn't been in trouble long enough to be starving or have lost the softness of her hips or breasts… yet.

Doktor Schmidt walks closer, closely studying Elsa's skin and body. He circles around her, absently snapping, "Stand up straight!" He speaks almost to himself as he goes about his dispassionate examination, "No visible deformations or skin abnormalities. Skin colour, passable. Wide hips and bust, suitable for child-bearing. No excessive musculature on the upper arms." He 'hrhmps', as if disappointed at finding nothing to complain about. The tall Doktor takes a step back, staring coldly at your face, "Do you know of any cases of mental illness or ailments in your family? Schizophrenia? Neuroses? Aphasia?" He bends closer, brown eyes glittering - for the first time in the examination, he seems visibly interested, rather than just official and half-bored.

Elsa stands up straight as commanded, arms down at her sides and shoulders squared. Though she's a hint shy, she's not really blushing. She knows she's attractive and is, well, rather proud of that fact. Let him look! Closest she's been with a man in ages, either way. The smallest hint of a smile touches her lips at that thought, but his question snaps her back to reality. She clears her throat, doing her best not to shiver under the cool air. "No, Herr Doktor. We are of sound mind." She states with a simple confidence, no hesitance in her voice.

"Are you sure? Not even manic-depressiveness?" Doktor Schmidt looks crestfallen for a moment, before pulling himself together. The brief interest has passed. "Oh well. Please dress yourself, and sit down." Human interest of any kind seems something that the Doktor is incapable of mustering. He wheels around, seating himself behind the desk, and once again turning his attention completely away from you. He scribbles on the clipboard, pausing every now and then to consider something.

Elsa reaches over, quickly scooping up her skirt again and pulling it on across her legs. She doesn't hesitate to get dressed when she is given permission, silently thankful the inspection didn't go much deeper than that. Now, just get out of here without coughing or sneezing once and she should be fine. Of course, now that she's thought about it, it will be ten times harder. She breathes in and grabs her shirt, pulling it on across her skin and covering quickly. "None of which I am aware, Herr Doktor, no." She responds earnestly.

Doktor Schmidt tut-tuts and shakes his head absent-mindedly at your negation. He writes for a full five minutes, before finally placing the clipboard to the side, and looking up at you. From the mild irritation on his face, he looks surprised and annoyed that you're still there. "Fraulein, your mother is apparently of German stock, and your father of mixed ancestry. Your mother will be reprimanded for her irresponsible choice of a spouse - it does not do, to water down the Aryan blood. Your father, as a man of inferior stock, will not be allowed to continue in marriage to her, unless he also passes an individual Racial Hygiene examination." Doktor Schmidt speaks in a droning, bored monotone - he could as well be speaking about sacks of wheat, for all the emotion and interest in his voice.

Elsa has taken that five minutes to tuck in her shirt and comb her fingertips through her hair, carefully placing it behind her ears and doing her best to look professional and put together as she was before she left Poland. She has returned herself to the stool and crossed her legs, getting a touch more comfortable in her sitting. Occasionally, she does clear her throat, forcing herself to swallow back a hint of a cough. This air is horrible for allergies, prime conditions for a simple cold which she's been just slightly fighting since the night she ran. She will NOT let him see that, though, and it's not bad enough to be sniffling or anything yet. Finally, he speaks, and she just allows a breath of relief to touch her lips. Her brows furrow, though, since he's speaking as if her parents are here. "I…they did not come with me, Herr Doktor. I… defected alone. But… I am sure when the time comes you will make the right decision." It hurts to say those words, her face pinching just a bit, but she's not stupid. She can see where this is leading.

"Do not concern yourself, Fraulein. Poland will fall, and be subsumed into the Reich within weeks, if not sooner. And it is not a choice for me to make - in fact, this has nothing whatsoever to do with my personality or predilections." Doktor Schmidt speaks in the same cold, emotionless monotone that he'd affected earlier. As he finishes, he stares at you thoughtfully for some time, before removing his glasses. He holds the spectacles in one hand, while rubbing his eyes with the other. "This is a matter of the genetic purity of the entire race. This is what so many people fail to see, even German scientists." There is a note of scorn in his voice, academic rivalry no doubt. "The measurements I make, the questions I ask, they are standardized, analytic procedures that return objective results - quite unconnected to me. I do not make /choices/. I follow the directive of Science, to the letter." The way he says "science", he could be talking about God. "Discounting error factors like deliberate deception, I have now ascertained the purity of your blood." He stares piercingly at you, as if accusing you of having lied to him.

Elsa stares straight back at him, her expression open and just a touch defiant, as if daring him to accuse her of those lies his eyes think she is telling. Finally, she does speak, "You asked your questions, performed your examination. Do you doubt your -science-, Herr Doktor?" Immediately, she mentally kicks herself. Hopefully her slightly smart mouth will not be the end of her here and now. She doesn't dare let herself say more, but her eyes hold that challenge. She was honest, she bared herself to him and she passed…

Doktor Schmidt opens his eyes, staring at Elsa a little disbelievingly - she, being the specimen, is not supposed to jump at the microscope. His face settles into an unpleasant frown, brown eyes glittering coldly, "You will refrain from commenting on things that your simple mind cannot possibly comprehend. The cause of Science, and of Progress, are noble ones that encompass the entire human race, and its natural masters, the German people. It is not up to you to make light of this. Do I make myself understood?"

Elsa folds her arms across her chest, settling back into the slightly more relaxed position again. "Yes, Herr Doktor." She responds simply, clearing her throat again and just forcing herself to relax. Everything's fine. She flickers a gaze across her shoulder towards the door to his office, not certain what happens next but very eager to escape the room, even if she forces her body language to simply be relaxed now. It's all over. It wasn't even all that bad.

Doktor Schmidt stares at Elsa sternly for a while, before leaning back in his chair once more. A slight self-satisfied smile flickers on his thin lips for a few moments, at having browbeaten his specimen. Finally, he clears his throat, glances at the clipboard and then says, "Do you love the Fuhrer, fraulein? Have you read the Mein Kampf, and appreciated the cause for which we struggle - yes, struggle - against the tides of ignorance and dacadence?"

Elsa considers the question for just a few seconds, her frown creasing slightly at her lips. She shakes her head quietly, "No, I have not read it. I look forward to being properly educated. Hopefully, the man who wishes to take me as his wife will teach me the proper ways." She admits quietly, the simple hope of getting to see Bastian again enough to get her through this matter. She allows herself to sit up slightly straigher again, since it does seem they are discussing business.

"Yes, quite." Doktor Schmidt offers these bland words, apparently not greatly interested in her answer. He studies her unblinkingly for a full ten seconds, before speaking in a cold, formal voice, "My examination is concluded. I declare that you are Volksdeutsche, and are to remember the purity of your blood in all things, and desist from actions and behaviour that is not befitting an example of Aryan womanhood. However, pending an examination of your genealogical records by the Reichkanzlerie in Berlin - which will have to wait until Poland is joined to the Reich - you are not to procreate, or have intimate relationships. In any case, if you are caught having contact with a male of an inferior race, it will go very hardly for you."

Elsa hasn't caved. For all the staring, all the waiting and the mind games, she hasn't blurted out that she has lied at all. So, she's either an excellent liar with good body structure, or simply telling the truth. A slight smile of relief touches her lips and she bows her head in understanding. "Of course, Herr Doktor. May…. may I now join the ranks of service as I first planned? I am a nurse, I have competant skills… I know you must be in need of a trained hand or two. I wish to serve where I can. For the right cause."

"Additionally, your name is now Elsa Kohl. The name of your racially inferior father does not suite a member of the Master Race. Fortunately, it is an ancient Germanic custom that descent is tracked both through the father, and the mother." Doktor Schmidt permits himself a little, self-congratulating smile on this bit of historical trivia. As you offer service, he smiles, a thin, humourless expression, "As you wish. I will inform the appropriate authorities that you are now under my supervision, and authority. Assuming that you are indeed a trained nurse, you will help me here at the field hospital, as well as provide first aid to front line troops where necessary. If you require lodgings, they will be provided to you here in Brezizny."

Elsa Kohl smiles earnestly now, relief on her face and all of her head screaming back that tiny little line of doubt at the base of her skull. This was the right thing. This was the proper thing. She stands quietly and nods, "I look forward t the privillage of working with you, Herr Doktor. And yes, I will need lodgings… Is there anything else?" She inquires gently, waiting to be dismissed and to, hopefully, find some other women to relax with and begin to work. It will be easier outside of this room. People will seem more sane. Surely.

Doktor Schmidt simply inclines his head, no smile disfiguring his gaunt face now. He leans over, taking a little square of cardboard from the table next to him. He glances at you every now and then as he writes on it, finally taking out a stamp, and pressing a mark onto the pass. The tall surgeon extends his hand with the pass, not bothering to stand up to give it to you, "This is proof of your Volksdeutche status. I will have the administratory personnel arrange you lodgings here. If there is any trouble, make it clear that you are under my authority, and thus, protection." He seems very self-satisfied about that - he is an Important, and Powerful man. He adds, almost as an afterthought, "Feel free to let yourself out."

Elsa reaches over, accepting the card with a bow of her head, "Thank you, Herr Doktor. Whenever you need me, you know where to find me." And with that, she slips the piece of cardboard into her pocket and turns upon the ball of her foot, smoothly stepping outside the door and into the field hospital beyond. Her eyes go wide as the guards which had escorted her here immediately stand and reach out for her arms, "I… I have passed, gentlemen!..Please…" She reaches into her pocket, showing the card that had been given to her. They don't entirely look convinced, but do allow her to pass. Immediately, Elsa slips back towards the area of the few nurses on site. It's the first time she's breathed easy since escaping from the wrong side.

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