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Bingo! A Basterdly Tale [SevenxPosie]

Joined
Jan 11, 2009
Author's Note: Anyone who has seen 'Inglourious Basterds' will be aware that it is a multi-lingual story; at best, my skills in other languages can be described as 'terrifying', so while some words may be in the language they're meant to be in, we will be primarily writing in English and highlighting in other colours to indicate another language is being spoken. I can't believe I'm doing this, but here's our language colour chart:

German will be written in dim gray
Hebrew will be written in blue
French will be written in dark green
English will be given no assigned colour.

We'll add more as we encounter other languages; god help us all.


----

Once Upon a Time
In Nazi-occupied France...


1944

The Kübelwagen ground it's way along the last of the rain-slicked roads near Porte Dauphine just as the sun began to sink below the horizon; the radio crackled with static, the music stuttering and interrupted by the steady drizzle of a cold April rainfall.

Vor der Kaserne,
Vor dem grossen Tor,
Stand eine Laterne
Und steht sie noch davor.


Reinthaller shrivelled his nose at the radio, an expression that rumpled the scar located directly between his eyebrows, a mark he'd received when he had first been drafted back in '39, when he'd still been a Private - a weak kid, too skinny to handle killing one dirty Jew. He'd hesitated, back then.

Then the fucking Abbie had got him across the face with a beer bottle and he'd learned, he'd learned quick. It was easy to pull the trigger after that.

Just like he'd do der Schlampe on the radio, if he ever met her. Traitor. She may as well be a goddamn Yank.

So woll’n wir uns da wiederseh’n,
Wenn wir bei der Laterne steh’n,
Wie einst, Lilli Marleen,
Wie einst, Lilli Marleen.


"Blöde Fotze," Stupid cunt Reinthaller snarled at the radio, as though Dietrich might be able to hear him via the radio waves; beside him, Commandant Wiligut gave a low laugh and took a right turn, veering the Volkswagen off of the paved road and into the heavily wooded Bois de Bolougne. Reinthaller fixed his superior with a questioning gaze, only to see Wiligut jerk his head back slightly, towards the back seat.

Ach, ja. He had nearly forgotten - they weren't usually this quiet.

Turning in his seat, Reinthaller stared at their prisoner; he was bound in cuffs and black and blue from the beating he'd received early on. The man spoke fluent, flawless German, but he was one of them - like a dirty fucking rat, this one had managed to blend in for years, another Jew posing as a German, making a damn mockery of their nation. Of everything they'd worked for. Everything they'd suffered and killed for.

He cocked his head to the side; their prisoner was a grown man, but Reinthaller could have easily mistaken him for a woman - from the slender build to the long, dark hair and with his big eyes and full lips, the Jew could scarcely be viewed as male. He was androgynous, even.

Reinthaller's eyes shifted back to Wiligut, who simply smiled at the windshield; strictly speaking, while in the boundaries of Paris, they were meant to bring all Jews to Vichy and drop them off at the Drancy internment camp with the rest of their kind.

Strictly speaking.

But no one would miss one kike.

He focused on the road again; it used to be that German soldiers would discreetly make their way into the Bois de Bolougne or Vincennes because, after dark, the prostitutes would populate the area, looking for customers - and no painted face would refuse a Nazi, not if she wanted to leave the woods alive.

But that was back before the regime had scared them all away; these days, the woods were used for other things that had to be kept quiet.

Leaves crunched under the wagen's wheels; Wiligut had driven close to the lower lake and the waterfall was just visible beneath the drooping branches of the weeping willows. The Commandant was the first to step out of the vehicle; the floor of the woods was soft beneath the heels of his jackboots.

"Kommen Sie." Wiligut said, and Reinthaller obeyed, stepping out; Wiligut yanked open the back door then, grabbing the prisoner by his skinny upper arm, barking: "Kommen Sie auch, Jüden."

The Commandant looked the prisoner over; he'd retrieved the man's name earlier - Aaron Levy, a German-born Jew who had managed to evade the Schutzstaffel. Wiligut explained it away - he was rasied in Germany, so naturally, even as a Yid, he had some German ingenuity.

Being caught, however, was simply the fate of the Jew.

"Zeige es Disziplin." Show it discipline Wiligut sneered, half-dragging Levy to the inferior officer and shoving him in Reinthaller's direction; he leaned back against the side of the Volkswagen, pulling a dog-eared cigarette from the breast of his overcoat and propping it between his lips before adding, "Kreativ sein." Be creative.

Reinthaller gave a stiff nod,

"Ja wolle." he said, and took hold of Levy's arm, insisting him across the muddied woods, leading him towards the lake. Reinthaller discovered there was little resistance; though the officer was not a heavy man by any standard, the Jew was too thin, too slight, too lacking in mass to put up any significant struggle against him.

The walk, however, felt strangely long; Levy's mouth was gagged by the kerchief that had been shoved in place early on and Reinthaller couldn't think of anything significant to say - between them, there was only the sound of breathing and twigs breaking underfoot, combined with the not-too-distant rush of the waterfall.

Reinthaller brushed the leaves of a willow out of his face as they passed beneath a pair of them that had grown towards eachother, forming a drooping green arch above them, branches glistening with rain droplets, living up to it's name as the flora itself appeared to be crying. A raindrop hit his neck and Reinthaller rubbed it away as he fell to stillness only feet away from the lake's edge - the sun was at half-mast now, and it had cast an orange and red light across the water, glaring into his eyes with such brightness that he had to blink it away.

He turned his head then, fixing his eyes on Levy; light was glaring off of him as well, creating a strange play of shadows across his thin face, settling in the hollows of his cheeks and emphasized by the way his mouth was held around the gag.

He found his mind going back to his earlier thoughts; the Jew didn't look masculine at all.

And especially now, he looked positively girlish.

Something dark stirred inside of Reinthaller and it was a feeling that was immediately accompanied by guilt; he peered back over his shoulder and found that he could no longer see the Kübelwagen or the Commandant.

It was just him and the Jew, wasn't it?

He eyed Levy for a long moment, looking over the numerous bruises that marred his face, the way that his lips were swollen. What a weak, pathetic creature. He was helpless.

Just like a woman.

Anger suddenly surged inside of Reinthaller at the thought and he grabbed Levy by the back of his thin neck, forcing him forward, kicking his legs out from under him and violently forcing his head into the lake, knowing he only had his nose to breathe through.

"Für`n Ungeziefer!" Fucking vermin! He spat out.
 
His lip was split.

A bitter, metallic tang of blood filled his mouth; saliva soaking and mixing with acidic bile at the back of his throat as the car jolted from side to side on a suddenly uneven terrain. Much of the thick crimson liquid had seeped from the gash on the captive’s naturally swollen lower lip, through the thick material of the white handkerchief that had been stuffed between those pouty lips to gag him. A fold had become too weighted with the substance; a drop trickling down the corner of his mouth, pooling onto the leather seat he had been thrown upon hours ago..

Laid out on his left side, hands bound behind him. Sweat beading upon his forehead, at the base of his neck…Panic-stricken viridian eyes that had cruelly been left uncovered, darted from window to window; foolish, desperate in their attempt to discover where they were headed…

As if it would matter.

Aaron’s fate had been sealed the moment that one of his ribs had cracked. Impaled by one of the German’s boots as he had slept beneath a worn down bridge, regaining his strength to continue his travels the moment the sun set...They had found him, under that hardly scenic bridge. A bridge that the forest seemed hell bent on reclaiming; vines and mold patterning the length of the structure like a twisted hand uprooted from the ground.

Surely the patrols wouldn’t be able to successfully maneuver a vehicle of any size over it…They would go to a new bridge, and scout the other side by means of that route...In fact, that was precisely the standard proceedings of the soldiers who were charged with the security of the area.

As luck would have it however, one could successfully avoid the patrol routes…but not the areas where the patrol stopped to piss.

The impact of the boot against his chest had been the searing pain that had initially awoken Aaron Levy, as he slept in the otherwise serene French forest. As fragments of his bones frayed, a feminine shriek sent the birds in the surrounding trees skyward. One man had interrogated him; heavy fists colliding with Aaron’s porcelain face while he was shoved against the weathered bricks of the bridge’s underside. The other man searched through the black knapsack the boy had been resting his head upon, finding nothing of particular value or interest; save for that no identification papers could be located.

The belt that had cinched his coat delicately around his slender waist had been ripped off with little regard. His pockets searched, the buttons torn and the coat discarded into the muddy water of one of the stems of the Moselle. The pretty boys head soon followed suit, gloved hands wrenched tightly in the waves of his long dark hair. Held beneath the current until his name was confessed…

His name.

If Levy was not enough to make him suspicious, than his lack of paperwork acted only to finalize the closed mindset of a German soldier; if you couldn’t prove you weren’t a Jew, you were a Jew.

One of the men had turned in the front seat. His dark eyes wandering over the length of Aaron’s body until their eyes met; deadlocked. The captive’s heart stilled in his chest, and though his bruises still burned, his eyes narrowed up at the man.

Defiance; a resilient quality of an ever-persecuted people..

The vehicle choked, sputtering as it came to a stop.

Aaron was soon pulled out of the backseat, exchanged like some purchased good from the hand of one man to the other. His arm throbbing already, threatening to produce another bruise beneath the bunched up sleeve of his torn shirt. The handsomely tailored hunter green shirt, black waistcoat and charcoal pants he had left Luxenbourg with two weeks ago were now in shambles. The knees of his slacks scraped open from being dragged along the ground...The seams of his shirt starting to tear from brute force.His waistcoat mostly in tact, though his grandmother’s pearl pendant had been removed when he his hands had been bound.

Kreativ sein.

Aaron’s head suddenly felt very heavy, his vision dimming slightly before being jolted forward. His feet however, moved lightly, without much resistance as he was pulled along by the less-decorated soldier. The smell of smoke from the other’s lit cigarette burned inside of his nose, causing him to cough against the kerchief. He saw only blurs as they moved through the woods…Leaves blending into one another.. His feet fuzzy shadows that held no shape until they suddenly stopped.

His ears had been ringing…

For how long, he was uncertain…but the sound of the crashing waterfall seemed to alert his senses. As his eyes turned upward, they squinted slightly in the setting sunlight. There was distress on the soldier’s face before him…He seemed to be looking past him for a moment, checking for something..Convincing himself of some pestering thought before those dark eyes set to wolfenly appraise the captive before him. Aaron’s long fingers had splayed slightly behind him, stretching and straining without moving his shoulders too noticeably, trying to untie his restraints as he had failed to do while en route…

Suddenly, the Nazi’s hand shot forward, seizing him by the scruff of the neck like Aaron was some sort of misbehaved feline.

The boy’s body tensed, easily collapsing the moment his legs were swept out from beneath him. With no way to compose himself, the slender Jew fell forward, his nose filling instantly with the cold water of the lake, long hair veiling around him, soaking those dark tresses once again as he flailed desperately. Frantic bubbles rippling through the surface of the lake as Aaron's fingers curled into fists behind his back, his jagged nails piercing into the flesh of his palm as his writhed beneath the man's grasp..
 
((Author's Note: From this point, when a character speaks in German, it will be typed in English and highlighted as dimgray. Occasionally German may sneak into the posts, however.))

Reinthaller was almost surprised to find a struggle in the man - boy? Thing? - that was clenched in his hand. Granted, the strength was scarcely enough to move the Private, but enough to force him to acknowledge that Levy was very much alive - and wasn't that a shame? Another goddamn Jew, the last thing the world needed.

He held fast, holding onto the back of the little neck, holding him down, keeping his head under and watching the bubbles stream up to the surface of the water, pop, pop, popping. Soon enough, the stream was reduced to a few measly bubbles, and though Reinthaller wasn't sure why he did it, he released Levy, wrenching him up out of the water and shoving his drenched form down onto the shore.

He tore the gag out of the Jew's mouth, tossing it aside - it dissappeared into the shadows that were creeping up around them with the collapse of the sun, and the radius of light seemed to be reduced only to the shore now, encircling them like the spotlight on some sick stage show of life.

But there was no audience here.

He stared down at Levy then; the man was wheezing and spitting out water that had climbed its way through his sinuses and down his throat, he had probably even swallowed some of it, and the water running from the corner of his mouth was mixing with blood from a cut, creating a stream of pink from swollen lips.

Heat stirred deep inside of him; Wiligut was yards away and no one would be stupid enough to come out into Bois de Bolougne this late unless they had a death wish.

"Up." he snapped, tugging Levy into a sitting position, crouching beside him, dark eyes scrolling over him again, from hair to knees, taking in the torn clothes and the cuts and scrapes, adding: "You look the part, Jew."
 
Frantic bubbles faded alongside panicked convulsions in what seemed to be the inevitable last few moments of the captive’s life; the struggle to stay alive lessening with each bubble that made its way to the now distraught surface the lake.

They hadn’t held him under this long before…The superior officer’s fingers wrenching the back of his neck, barking questions in his water-logged ears before shoving him back into the murky stream.

There were no questions now…Only the distant sound of the waterfall, and those little, pathetic bubbles..

Pop…pop…popping…

His fingers had relaxed from their fists, or rather, the strength to retain them was lost.

A sudden exhale released a more steady stream, perhaps a resign of his fate, had been released the moment before he was jolted back and forced down against the soft grass on the shore. Aaron’s sopping tresses clung against his neck, across his face as he spurted out a mixture of water and snot. His jaws ached gratefully as the gag was discarded. Inhaling sharply, he coughed, a fit of frenzied pants as his broken lips pursed, sucking in the damp air of the evening. His small chest quivering, barely able to take in the amount of breath he was trying to capture in his weighted lungs.

Air…sweet air…

Life.

When he was forced to his knees, Aaron felt as if water was sloshing around in his head. Those pretty blue-green eyes rolled back for a moment, his shoulders jerking as he heaved a watery, pink tinted bile onto the ground before him…

Thankfully, missing the soldier entirely..

He swallowed, though it burned awfully. His face twisted in anguish as he forced his saliva down his own throat, trying to coat it..ease the singed lining whilst suppressing another expel.

“I..I don’t…”

The words trailed off, a fleeting though meant for inner dialogue, pushed past those pretty lips in a moment of recovering delirium.. The Jewish boy turned his head, staring between strands of his dark hair up at the soldier who peered at him studiously..

“I have told you…my name….” He swallowed hard, his mouth left agape somewhat as his shoulders sank. His breath steadying slowly as he knelt beneath the weeping tree… “I have…nothing else..”
 
Reinthaller's young face was twisted into something unpleasant as he watched Aaron - over and over, he could hear die Fuhrer shouting furiously, pounding his fist on the podium:

For us there are only two possibilities: either we remain German, or we come under the thumb of the Jews.

That had been back in 1921, long before Reinthaller had been born - but he had read the transcripts, heard the recordings, had it drilled into his head time and time again in training camp, back when he had been a snot-nosed kid.

They would be victorious over the Jews.

And look at them now - this was what they were reduced to, crawling around in the dirt, sleeping beneath bridges, caving under the steel toe of Hitler's army, necks bare and just waiting for the German soldier's knife.

Not for the first time, Reinthaller felt a surge of power overcome him as he looked at the pathetic creature in front of him - there was no pity, only the knowledge that Levy was at his mercy. He could hurt him, dispose of him, and no one would care - no one would look for the Jew, his life was reduced to this, to now.

Reinthaller rose, standing over Levy, no longer a young soldier, but more monster than man, a uniform and a medal and a symbol of white and black and red. He pulled his sidearm from it's holster and the Walther gleamed in the dying sunlight; he reached out and gripped a handful of Aaron's hair, tugging it hard and forcing his head back - he pushed the barrel of the gun into the Jew's mouth,

"Clean the barrel, kike." He spat out.
 
And so the monster rose as the sun set behind him.

Demonic wings spread out with the shadows. Features twisting into otherworldly shapes in the darkness..

Perhaps the Commandant had flashed the headlights, or perhaps some inner predator that lingered within the tainted soul of the German soldier made his eyes glow so eerily beneath the willow’s canopy…

The slight creaking sound of finely tailored leather made Aaron’s tongue suddenly feel very dry. A slight breeze signaled the soft sprinkle of the rain droplets that had gathered above. Pattering lightly against the distinguished jacket of the man who had so suddenly stood before his kneeling captive.

His throat no longer scorched, but now felt horribly numb as the barrel of the soldier’s pistol forced its way between his lips, penetrating its way almost to the very back, causing the boy to gag and recoil..but it was pushed deeper, threatening to twist its way down further to release an unwanted load down his aching esophagus should he choose not comply...

The taste of steel was more bitter than blood..A pungent, almost rusty tint to the flavor of the underside of the barrel that had settled itself on the top of Aaron’s tongue. The slender Jew cowered at the command, his heart practically leaping into his throat to coax on a second expel of sick..

Desperate times in Luxembourg had called for worse deeds than deep-throating a gun…

At least this time, he might not have to wake up with the memories…or the guilt.

Shutting his eyes tightly, Aaron entwined his fingers behind his back..A shuddered breath escaping his nose as he brought his mouth down half the length of the gun, his tongue caressing against the side…staying far away from the trigger.
 
The Private's eyes stayed pinned on Levy, watching as he stiffly obeyed the command he had been given, leaning forward and taking the barrel of the Walther partly into his mouth, tonguing it,

"This gun killed a Jew once already today." Reinthaller hissed out, fisting his hand harder in Aaron's dark mane, and he yanked the man's head further down the barrel, then back again, before he held the Jew in place. He moved his index finger onto the trigger pointedly, the little piece of metal adjusting in its housing but not depressing.

His hand shifted away from Aaron's hair and down to his jaw, gripping it hard, fingers and thumb pressing into the hinges of his jaw to force it open wider and he began to move the gun back and forth, in and out of Aaron's mouth, watching the saliva gleam along the cold metal surface, fucking his mouth with it.

"It will kill many more, with your kiss on it." he added, before suddenly barking out, "Open your goddamn eyes!"
 
Aaron’s eyes wrenched tightly together as the German hissed. The man’s fingers gnarled, digging within the boy’s long hair, guiding him lewdly up and down the length of the gun. The sound of his saliva slicking as he was forced down upon the barrel. He could hear the soldier’s fingers moving, teasingly tapping against the trigger...

Taunting...

Tormenting.

A grunt stifled in his throat as Reinthaller’s hand forced his jaw into a more accommodating holster for his gun; pathetic enough in its sound to resemble a woman’s breathy moan.

His lips were trembling around the steel cylinder; Adam’s apple bobbing in anxiety in that slender throat..

He couldn’t open his eyes…

He wouldn't.
 
A noise escaped the Jew, an exhale that came with sound, distorted by the gun in his mouth, enough to make Reinthaller sure that Levy was still aware, still capable of hearing him, still very much alive - and yet he disobeyed the order he was given, keeping his eyes held shut, refusing to open them. The soldier seethed at the disrespect; he pulled the gun back, removing it from Aaron's mouth so he could deliver a full-strength backhand,

"Jew dog!" Reinthaller growled out, yanking Aaron up by the collar to keep him upright, refusing to allow the Jew a chance to do anything but stay on his knees; the face in front of him was dirty and bruised and now his lips were badly abused, cracked and bleeding in spots, and he could almost be certain that the Jew's mouth would taste of gun metal and blood.

He forced the gun into Aaron's mouth again, shoving it in deep and hard the second time around, intent on gagging him with it, and something about seeing the Walther dissappearing past his teeth and knowing that the little throat was straining to swallow because of the metal pressing in - it made that dark, guilty part of the Private's brain sneak up to the forefront again.

How hot would that little mouth be?

He glanced back over his shoulder again; Wiligut wouldn't come by to check on him for some time.

No one would ever have to know - not Wiligut, not his Outfit, not the Third Reich or even Hitler. No one would know if he did it just this once.

"Open them or I take your eyelids." Reinthaller re-iterated in one low breath.

---

The Commandant took a deep drag on his cigarette - it was German-made, and Wiligut would smoke no other, not merely out of principle, but because Parisan cigarettes were terrible, weak things. Appropriate, he supposed, while the German smokes were always strong and hearty.

Wiligut had served for the German regiment since 1932, twelve years of training and running and shooting and killing, twelve years of turning unkempt, untrained little boys into men through discipline and hard-work, turning them into soldiers by teaching them what they had to do - by making them do it.

Reinthaller was one of those men that he had brought up, turned into the real German that he was - he had been resistant to it at first, even showing pity for the Jews - he had been too soft. Wiligut might have even pinned him as a gay for all of his theatrics during the first time he had to kill a kike, but a few tries later and he had proven himself to be fit for die Führer's army - but once in a while, Wiligut liked to reinforce it, to groom Reinthaller properly.

And besides, soldiers needed release. What better way to take out their frustrations than on a Jew? They were destined for the ovens anyways.

He ran a hand back through his thinning blonde hair, flicking the stub of his cigarette onto the soil, putting it out with the toe of his boot. Life, for what it was, was good. He pulled out a match to light a second cigarette; the flame flared up and it shed light on the world around him for only an instant, and it was an instant long enough for him to see a pair of eyes lit up in hues of orange and red, right in front of him.

"Goo-ten tawg, shit-head."
 
The site of the gun clicked against Aaron’s front teeth at it was quickly withdrawn; chipping carelessly at the white enamel. He drew his lips inward, whimpering as his jaws began to sting from being forced open for so long..pain soon replaced by the impact of the soldier’s hand against his bruised cheek, a blow he could have prepared for had he opened his eyes…

Consequences…

Everything had them..

Aaron’s pearly teeth had bit down harshly against his splitting lips, deeply..almost entirely though those pouted petals, cracking open any moderately healed wounds and sending blood seeping forth as if he had bitten into a raw steak. Streams of scarlet staining those pretty lips, trickling down that slender chin.

The Jew recoiled, gagging even before the well lubricated gun was forced back inside of his mouth. His entire body buckled as his throat fought to take the entirety of the gun, his tongue quivering as it dropped to as far down as it could, fearful to twitch anywhere near the trigger…

Though he could end this humiliation now if he did so..

This was just the final torture of the cat before devouring the mouse for supper..

That night had surely been his last sunset.

The numbness in Aaron’s throat seemed to spread throughout his body as the German again barked his orders, frustration dripping from every word at the Jew’s disobedience. Slowly, those viridian orbs opened once again. Bloodshot and strained beneath thick black lashes, Aaron’s gaze crawled up the height of the man until once again they were deadlocked…

Staring death in the face, was certainly a memorable end…

One which only the soldier before him would bear witness to..and be forever haunted by those wide, seraphic eyes that narrowed ever so slightly, even with the cold mouth of a gun menacingly violating the depths of his throat...
 
Aldo Raine snuffled and rubbed his itching nose against his sleeve; damn snuff tobacco was giving him snake skin in his nostrils, but he supposed it was his fault for nicking anything off a Nazi to begin with.

He took the cigarettes anyways; German smokes stunk like shit, but Hugo got even more morose and scarily quiet if he didn't get his tobaccy, and Aldo just didn't feel like waking up with the Austrian's hand halfway down his throat in some sort of tobacco-withdrawl delirium.

Though, really, Hugo might do that to him out of sheer annoyance one day anyways, hard to say.

He went through the glove box of the nazi-mobile, picking through papers and pocketing some gum along the way - the inside of the thing was spotless, but there were a couple of dents in the leather seats that told him there was a second party in the vehicle. Maybe stopped to take a piss.

Aldo's head popped up over the seat and he peered into the back - nothing of interest there, on first sight, but a second glance and something was shining at him on the seat, something wet.

Blood, not the straight stuff that comes from a fresh wound, but the sort that trickles from the mouth, pink from dilution; saliva. Someone was drooling on the back seat with a busted up mouth, had to be laying down to do it, too.

"Gone and got yerself a prisoner, didja?" Aldo asked, peering out the vehicle to where Wiligut was laying on the ground, arms bound behind his back by his own belt; the nazi didn't reply, except to give a huff of annoyance. Aldo stepped out of the Kubelwagen and walked up to Wiligut, swinging a foot back and catching him in the ribs with his boot with a 'hup!' and the Commandant's breath escaped him all at once.

"Gon' tell me where yer girlfriend went?" Aldo asked, using his foot to direct the Nazi onto his back; Wiligut stared up at him. Rage lit his eyes as he wheezed in a breath.

"Go to hell, you fucking American red skin swine." Wiligut said clearly, and the side of Aldo's face twitched in something like a smile.

"Was hopin' you'd say somethin' like that." Aldo said, stepping over Wiligut.

--

Finally, the eyes opened. Reinthaller had seen them before, earlier, when they had first picked the Jew up from under the bridge like a bit of trash they had stumbled across, but it was different now, now that they were looking up at him.

The dark look on Reinthaller's face gave way to a disturbing smile, something sick and amused now that Levy was looking. He pushed the gun in a little more, once, before finally tugging it out of Aaron's mouth again,

"I will bet you have done that before." he said, finally releasing Aaron entirely, keeping the gun trained on him; his free hand slipped down between his own legs, palming himself where he was straining against the starch-pressed fabric of his uniform. His thumb and forefinger began to open the buttons of his slacks,

"And you will do it again." he added, tugging his cock out and pulling on it a couple of times. He reached out and gripped Aaron's hair again, angling the man's head back -

- just before the rock slugged Reinthaller in the side of the neck, sending him off balance with a shout of:

"Was verdammt!" What the fuck!

And, just as he tried to stand upright again, a second one struck him, sending him to the ground, falling to his hands and knees, clutching at his face where the rock had carved a trench in his cheek and nose.

Reinthaller turned his upper body enough to look behind him - in the last breath of the day, the approaching man was lit up red by the dusk sun, a contrast to the brown leathers and green cottons of his rumpled clothes; in one hand, he held what appeared to be some sort of dead animal, all blood and fur, and in the other, he held a big damn rock.

Briefly, the American's eyes scanned over the bound, beaten, and bloodied prisoner before disregarding him, focusing back on Reinthaller, who was unsteadily getting to his feet again while Aldo watched. In his dazed state, Reinthaller found himself noticing that his attacker held his jaw strangely, jutted forward in a way that made him appear perpetually bemused - and it was only logical that his eyes followed the line of the man's jaw down to his neck.

Down to some silvery, jagged mark that encircled it. A scar.

Instantly, Reinthaller's head went back to camp fire stories, back to the rumours that the men would share about some insane woodsmen, some group of rebels who slaughtered german soldiers - they called the leader of them the Apache, with good reason.

Reinthaller's eyes went back down to Aldo's hand, refocusing - and he realized he wasn't looking at a dead animal, because he recognized the blonde hair.

It was Wiligut's scalp.

"Blödmann!" Bastard! Reinthaller's hissed, and dimples appeared on the Apache's face.

"Yup." he said, and the German went for his gun, only to find it missing from it's holster, dropped to the ground; in Reinthaller's moment of confusion, Aldo's eyes flicked down, brows knitting before his eyes flicked back up, because there was a limited amount of time in which another man could, or would, willingly look at another man's johnson, and this one just happened to be freely flapping around for no particular reason.

Or - ?

Aldo's eyes moved to the prisoner again, and this time he really observed him - his position, in particular.

"Aw," Aldo said, a grunt of disgust as he looked back at Reinthaller, who was actually picking his Walther up off the ground; Aldo shook his head in disapproval, then whipped the third rock with astounding accuracy, pelting him in the mouth with it and taking out a couple of teeth, adding:

"Dirty fuckin' natzee."

Before he approached and rammed a boot into the German's stomach, causing Reinthaller to go fetal around his foot and causing Aldo to briefly totter on the spot before he extracted himself.
 
Watching the gun withdrawal from his lips, coated with a thick phlemy mixture of blood and saliva, was almost surreal. For a moment he saw himself, through the eyes of that snickering German soldier, looking down at himself as the dripping barrel pointed at his forehead…ready to unload, perhaps.

He wanted to shut his eyes,

Take in one final breath before resigning to his fate…

But the hand of the soldier did not move to where he had anticipated…Not by any means. Aaron’s lip twitched slightly, swallowing heavily the curdled remains of what lubricated the gun with a deep, shuddered snort. He exhaled, whimpering softly as his mouth hung agape…Too sore to close again without encouraging those fingertip bruises painted along his slender jaw line to start throbbing more noticeably.

The smell of stale sweat wafted its way inside of Aaron’s nostrils when the buttons were undone, though he kept very still…The gun not too far from his head to make shrinking back his last action..

A soldier whom would force a defenseless prisoner to his knees in preparation for such an act, would mostly likely not be opposed to using said prisoner’s freshly dead corpse to finish the job without the irritation of resistance.

Aaron had shut his eyes again, absentmindedly. Anticipating as much as one could, an unfamiliar taste about to be forced upon them…but nothing came.

A sudden cry caused the Jew’s eyes to snap open again, glimmering in the dimming sun as he watched the German soldier jolt to the side. The willow tree letting forth another cascade of rain as a blur of gray whizzed across Aaron’s eyes, colliding with the German’s face, sending him crumpling to the ground with a guttural heave. The man’s twisted face further marred, blood streaming from his nose as he tried to regain his composure, eyes slightly widening upon gazing at what had pelted him with two seemingly small boulders, or very large rocks..

A man.

A very tall man with a distinguished, smug expression seemingly plastered upon his face, holding another large projectile in one hand, and something that was dripping with blood in the other..The way the sun’s red rays haloed around his silhouette gave the man an almost otherworldly presence…An intimidating one, if nothing else.

Aaron had noticed the once-over he had been given initially, how the other had been seemingly unfazed at first upon seeing him there…Understandably so, as the soldier wasn’t exactly dead yet.

But the second time the foreigner’s feature’s repelled, as if he had seen something horrific that at the moment Aaron was oblivious too.

Aw..Dirty fuckin’ natzee

English.

Another rock, this time impacting with a shattering sound as several teeth propelled from the soldier’s mouth.

The American walked over, and with a swift, heavy sweep of his boot the soldier stilled…

And Aaron knelt there, not far from the two still, and very still.

Bloody lips quivering, slim cheeks swollen with bruises; sore eyes glistening, staring at the man much like one would stare at the apparition of some vengeful spirit come forth from the fade to see justice handled properly…

It was a wonder the boy had not fainted.
 
For a moment, Aldo was still, motionless as a statue as he stared down at the wheezing form of Reinthaller, watching the way the uniform still held it's starch against the dirt.

"Für`n Jüden, für`n Amerikaner schwein," Reinthaller uttered between gasps for breath, and Aldo cocked his head to the side,

"Now, I don't speak me much Ger-man, but I'm pretty sure I know what that one meant." he said, gesturing at Reinthaller with an index finger, "An' it'd be-hoove ya t'shut your trap."

He punctuated the last word with another kick and this time something cracked against the toe of his boot, causing the soldier to let out a shriek of agony - oh, sweet music to a Tennessee ear. Aldo chewed on his cheek for a moment, then turned his eyes onto Aaron again.

He was young, no doubts about that, and he didn't look like any brand of soldier that Aldo had ever seen - had been beaten all to hell, too. The pretty ones always got it worst; Nazis couldn't resist spoiling something nice, like the world's most organized group of party crashers.

Aldo's jaw jutted further forward, if possible, then slid back again; he gestured at Aaron with his chin,

"English?" he asked, a touch hopeful - the last thing he wanted was to have to drag the sumbitch back to camp and get Hugo or Wicki to translate before he knew whether he was supposed to help or kill this guy.
 
The scream that had fled from the soldier’s throat was blood-curdling.

Whatever had ruptured beneath the American’s boot must have been vital, as the German’s body was slumped and motionless by the time the man turned back towards Aaron. Staring between long strands of wet hair that veiled over his swollen, bruised face; broken lips hung agape as his eyes crept up the height of the man.

Watching that tight jaw twist and jut.

He was contemplating what to do with him no doubt..Or trying to figure out what sex he was.

It would not by any means, have been the first bewildered glance that Aaron received in that regards.

The man’s chin protruded forward, pointing at him in replacement of his fingers that were clasped on his hips in some odd, American pose of confidence.

Aaron nodded his head slightly, drawing his cracked lips inward, swallowing deeply before nodding again.

“J-jå,”
 
The response wasn't the best one, considering, but Aldo nodded anyways, stuffing his available hand into his pocket while the other one continued to hold the still-dripping scalp, the Commandant's dirty blonde hair threaded between his fingers like Perseus clutching the head of Medusa.

He took a few aimless steps, peering out towards the darkened woods,

"So I got me a group'a boys who'll be wonderin' where in the hell I got to." Aldo said conversationally, squinting at the trees, "Hour long piss'll get 'em confused, rightly so."

He scratched at the side of his nose, unintentionally smearing a bit of blood on the bridge of it,

"M'gonna come back with a prize, a'course." he added - lifting the scalp for emphasis - as though he had found the silver lining in the whole thing, "So it's gonna be up to you, how many'a these I go back to my camp with."

Aldo finally moved his eyes back to Aaron, looking him over again.

"Yer name," Aldo demanded, "Yer real name."
 
As the American stood before him, clutching the morbid souvenir as if it were some carnival prize, Aaron suddenly felt less at ease than when the man had initially made himself present.

His stomach lurched somewhat, but his concentration was spent moreso on keeping his heartbeat from throbbing in his own ears so that he could hear the man’s words, rather than making himself look like he wasn’t about to hurl again.

Aaron shut his eyes for a moment, wetting his lips with his tongue as he tried to swallow down any stomach acid that was creeping up the back of his throat.

He felt so dizzy.

Like the entire earth just had been pulled out from beneath him, and he was hovering in some nauseating limbo, with some American ferrymen waiting to guide him to one side of existence or the other…

“Aaron Levy,” he breathed out, not needing to be threatened into giving information a second time that day.

“My name..is Aaron Levy.”
 
Though his air was casual, Aldo was watching Aaron closely - the boy was wavering on the spot, swaying lightly as he continued to balance on his knees, frozen in the position he had undoubtedly been forced into. It was clear enough that he wasn't in his right head what with bleeding all over the place and with those nasty welts coming up on his face - which seemed to be the main focus of the beating, though he couldn't be certain what other damage had been done.

On top of that, all of the blood seemed to have drained from his face - which was young, but currently had a painfully drawn look to it - and he was drenched from mid-chest and up. Raine reasoned with himself that it probably wouldn't do a hell of a lot of good to interrogate the kid right then, not that he thought he'd get a hell of a lot from him. Probably just another stray, like the rest of them.

The boy sputtered out a response, his voice raw and a little choked, like he was holdng something down; Aldo examined the dampness of Aaron's hair, then eyed the lake only a few feet away,

"Best t'let it up." Aldo said, the voice of experience - that water sure as shit wasn't for drinking, not unless it had been boiled for a bit.

Aldo reached under his jacket then, extracting a hunting knife that ran the length of his forearm, coming to a curved edge and glimmering point; the very tip of it was crusted in blood. Without flourish, he moved around behind Aaron and cut his bindings,

"While you do that," Aldo said, giving Aaron a hearty whack on the back - possibly to get him started - before stepping away from him, "I gotta finish somethin' up."

He strode over to Reinthaller - still fetal, right where he'd left him - and cocked his head to the side, examining the other man,

"Still alive there, Fritz?" Aldo asked, and Reinthaller shifted minutely, "Good. Wouldn't want ya to miss this."

Discarding the scalp behind him, Aldo reached down and gripped the back of the Reinthaller's uniform jacket with one hand and took hold of the soldiers hair with the other, using them to lift him partially off the grass, forcing the Nazi to try and find some sort of footing while taken by the instinct to curl up around his newly injured midsection.

"'Cause it oh-curred to me," Aldo continued conversationally, striding across the grass with Reinthaller in tow, "That I gone and got your uniform all dirty, and we just can't have that."

"Nein." Reinthaller protested, briefly retching in pain before his legs were kicked out from under him again, a mirror of what he had done to Aaron earlier that evening.

"Gotta get you cleaned up." Aldo said, heaving and forcing the resisting Nazi face-first into the water, his body half on the shore before Aldo took a seat directly on Reinthaller's back. Facing away from the water, Aldo leaned an arm onto the back of the man's neck as though reclining on something more comfortable than a struggling Nazi, forcing Reinthaller's head to stay in the water; he whistled a cheery melody.
 
The moment, the moment his hands were released, they shot upwards. Fingers digging frantically, twisting as his shoulders lurched forward, palms pressing against his head as if to hold in some building pressure. Pulling his long, drenched hair back into a make shift ponytail as the boy’s body doubled over.

That slap on his back having signaled his stomach contents that all was clear, a bit too soon.

Hgghkk..

The patch of grass in front of Aaron’s knees, was soon coated with blood tinted sick. Thick and glistening, its contents primarily of sinus debris rather than of anything once remotely nutritious.

With his head bent down, he looked like some bar floozy, too sick off her strawberry daiquiri’s to stand up straight, holding her own hair back because her friends had gone off with whoever bought them the most drinks that night.

Aaron wiped his nose with his sleeve, spitting out a hawk of the saliva that still tasted faintly of metal…The blood he didn’t mind so much, but he couldn’t seem to bed rid of that lingering metallic flavor..Like it was scrapped overtop his taste buds..

Drawing his lips inward, he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the tangles as his heart beat started to level out. Hearing a splash, he lifted his head up to see the American plopping himself down on the back of the German as if the soldier was some sort of lounging chair, whistling a tune, that smug expression never leaving his face.

Americans.

A smirk tugged at Aaron’s chapped lips as he placed his hands on his knees, rising up to his feet very slowly. He walked forward, minding his pace and his distance, his left eyes squinted from the bruises swollen on his cheek. Shifting his hands to rub the chaffed skin upon his wrists, rubbed raw from the restraints and brutal handlings. He stopped several paces away from the American, and the flailing feet of the half-submerged Nazi.

“I am..most thankful for your saving of me..”
 
Having one's head held underwater tended to signal brain to panic - a few seconds without oxygen and the body would begin to fight for air, a few more seconds and the lungs would begin to seize up while the brain fired electrical impulses back and forth, shutting down bodily functions one after another in a last ditch effort to save itself.

Aldo bore his weight down - admittedly, the kraut was bigger than he was, bulkier too, but that wasn't much of a contest given that the American spent a good deal of his time running around in the woods and exerting himself on the heads of German soldiers, eating only when fate permitted.

However, Aldo had the good fortune of knowing how to get higher ground - and sitting on a man's neck sure as shit was an effective defense strategy.

In the meantime, some sick, rarely-visited part of the American's brain wished fervently that he could look into the Nazi's eyes while he died, but he assured himself that sort of thing probably wasn't healthy - it was the sort of thing Donny and Hugo did. At any rate, Aldo had long ago decided that he didn't really care how Nazis died, just so long as they died.

Beneath him, Reinthaller began to thrash violently, the pain of his very recent injury forgotten in lieu of the instinctive terror of dying. Aldo shifted on top of the Nazi then, giving up his casual position for something more business-oriented, turning and straddling the man's back, pinning his arms to his sides with his legs, gripping fistfuls of the soldier's hair and grinding his knuckles into the back of the man's skull to keep him under.

Reinthaller struggled; he writhed and bucked and kicked his legs hard enough to hit Aldo in the back a few times, but it wasn't enough to dislodge the American - the only accomplishment made was that the soldier forced the last viable air from his own body, and when he took his next instinctive breath, his lungs filled with the thick, noxious water of Bois de Bolougne, combined with the blood from where his teeth had broken off. Immediately, his body rebelled, trying to retch it up again, succeeding only in flooding Reinthaller's mouth with bile, which went down with his next inwards breath, suffocating him on his own stomach contents.

Focused on his work, Aldo scarcely noticed Aaron moving skittishly up beside him,

“I am..most thankful for your saving of me..”

Reinthaller bucked and sent a wave of greenish water up around them, drenching the American's face and chest,

"Thank m'later, kinna busy." Aldo replied through his teeth, jaw clenched and moustache dripping; he leaned forward, jamming the Nazi's head further down into the water, bending him unnaturally as the thrashing reduced to a weak struggle. A final death throe and Reinthaller stilled, body slumping against the shore, head still submerged; Aldo held on for a few more seconds to be sure and then finally eased back, hands coming out of the water and resting on his knees.

Giving a nod to himself, Aldo climbed to his feet and tilted his head from side to side, cracking his neck audibly; by that point, the sun had dipped past the horizon and cast the woods in the blacks and blues of night, leaving only the constellations to reflect off the water and onto their faces. With the stars caught in his eyes, Aldo reached for his knife for the second time that night and went onto his haunches, yanking the lifeless body out of the water and taking a good hold on the dark hair.

The sound was vaguely like a burlap sack tearing; the knife went through hair and tissue as Aldo skillfully hacked skin off bone, leaving a shining red spot where Reinthaller's scalp was once firmly anchored.
 
Aaron’s eyes were fixated upon the American.

Engrossed in the seemingly effortless manner in which the man subdued the thrashing soldier. As if he was not at all intimidated by the shroud of reaper’s leather, or by adornments earned from atrocities revered as triumphs..

Were all American’s so…daring?

A pang of shame suddenly wretched his insides. Knotting his gut; causing him to lower his head for some, almost bashful remorse. He had not fought back…ever. Not with the Nazi’s beneath the bridge, not at home in Luxembourg. He had said nothing when the laws had suddenly shifted in 35, essentially stripping all Jews of their German citizenship. “Subjects of the state,” who in the years following could not be seen by Non-Jewish Doctors, attend Aryan schools, or walk out of their own homes without some demeaning decoration upon their sleeve or chest, to identify them as Juden..

He had complied..

Everyone had.

And with their submission, they were condemned to live without being able to breathe.. Hounded by men, who could not possibly harbor souls...Empty, monstrous husks patrolling the streets dressed in military guise that some demon had provided them…

His mother had called it a trial. A test from god, like in the days of Moses.

The older members of the community were convinced of such, and concurred that for their people to be persecuted by man, ensured god‘s cherishment of them. Benevolent father, with lessons far beyond the grasp of his straying children…And so, they submitted to the law. The rules of heaven far more important than the regulations of a shattered government…Even when their bakery had been foreclosed, their finances seized and their forced eviction from their home, Aaron’s mother had smiled and thanked god for such a test of her faith.

A test that, according to several witnesses, had proceeded with Yona Levy and her young daughter Adina, being pulled into the back of a Gestapo van. One that’s fleeing direction no one could recall, only that the Officers had not asked for identification and that there were other women and children packed inside of the vehicle…

The only contents of Aaron’s stomach were coated upon a patch of grass, but still he felt as if he would again become sick.. Head bowed, peering from the corners of his eyes, he watched the Nazi fight for his life…Pathetically. He watched as the American shifted himself, forcing those large hands to keep the soldier beneath the water..Those limbs flailing desperately as dusk subsided into night..

He felt like a voyeur; watching, enjoying the scene before him. When the body suddenly slumped, and the American seemed to lessen his grip…A perverse satisfaction coursed through young Aaron Levy’s veins. He smiled; laughed almost.

He had never witnessed such a death…And as his left hand moved up towards his broken lips, the knuckle of his thumb grazing between his teeth, Aaron continued to stare. Biting a bit harder as the sound of ripping flesh sent a jolt of shudders down his spine…A feeling that both excited and terrified him.

Why was this so damn satisfying?

Perhaps he had finally snapped..

“You are very good,” He said against his fist, not certain if the American was even paying attention. Eyes focused upon the blood that dripped from the freshly retrieved scalp, watching it paint the blades of grass beside the Nazi’s still warm corpse…
 
Wiping his knife off on the grass, Aldo rose to his feet; with the shining lake serving as background, the American returned his weapon to the sheath on his hip, his hair and jaw dripping steadily, soaking into the collar of his dark shirt. Aldo chewed on his bottom lip, lifting the scalp up to give it an appraising look,

"Real, honest-to-god hunr'd percent Nat-zee hair." Aldo said, striding forward and picking up the other scalp he had tossed aside earlier, "In an ideal world, ladies'd be wearin' this fer coats instead."

He peered over at Aaron then, taking him in; the guy was biting at his fist, watching with an expression that appeared utterly - enraptured. It reminded him of Donny, a little, when he was getting into one of those Nazi-braining moods.

"What'chu do is up t'yew from here on," Aldo continued, rubbing his shoulder against the side of his face to get rid of some of the dampness, "Kin go yer own way - road's not far from here, but the Nat-zee's'll still be keepin' watch of the area."

Aldo's face split into a grin,

"S'why we chose the spot. We like that." he added as a side-note before continuing on, striding away from the lake now, speaking back over his shoulder at Aaron, "Or ya can come t'camp, set out when the mornin' comes. Ain't much we got set up, but it sure shootin' beats Vichy."
 
Watching the American assess his new prize, Aaron stroked his thumb beneath his own chin, observing the way the smooth side of the scalp glistened in the darkness. When the second was lifted and held together, the sheer precision of the way each had been cut, was almost overwhelming.

It was not some barbaric lopping off of flesh and hair…

It was an art form!

Though, in quietly considering this, Aaron’s mind for a moment wandered; determining that the controlling minds of fashion world would unlikely be successful in promoting a tre chic line of Nazi-scalp cardigans…A clutch perhaps…or maybe lampshades..

Whatever the man had said, Aaron had not understood. In partial because he had been to mesmerized by his own thoughts, and also due to the man’ incredibly thick accent. However, he was now keenly aware that the man was walking away from him, and that he did not wish to be left on his own that night..

“V-vait!”

Aaron swallowed nervously, taking a few steps after the American before shifting his hands into his own pockets, glancing over his shoulder back towards the road.

“Should not ve be searching zere cahr? Maybe ist finding somesing useful inside?”
 
Aldo was rubbing his sleeve across his forehead, wiping away as much dampness as he could; with the sun down, the spray of water across his skin was rapidly chilling, leaving his throat and collarbone cold - it wasn't a pleasant feeling, but he'd sure as hell weathered much worse.

He could hear Aaron starting after him, leaves crunching under his feet.

"Nah," Aldo said, pulling out his snuff box and taking a pinch of the ground tobacco between thumb and forefinger, inhaling it with the practise of one who has done so many times before, "Already gone through it. Ain't nothin' but some matches and a bit'a yer blood. S'a good thing ya left that behind, too."

He didn't expand on that; frankly, he didn't want to think of what the hell would have happened if he hadn't shown up when he did - of course, Aldo was used to hearing about and seeing the brutality that Nazi soldiers committed, but what he'd run into Reinthaller doing, or about to do -

- well, it covered a topic that a gentile tennessee man just did his damndest not to talk about. Don't ask, don't tell. Don't tell nobody, never.

"Anyway, they weren't too important or they wouldn't be on scout duty." he added stepping out into the clearing where the Nazi-mobile had been left; he gave it a sideways look. It was always tempting to take one, but most of the time they were more of a burden then anything - men could travel by foot in silence and not get caught, but vehicles were cumbersome and easy to spot.

Besides, if he drove the thing back to camp, Hugo would strife him before even glancing inside.

"We got everythin' we need back at the ditch."
 
So, they had destroyed everything.

The photographs he had hastily packed…His parents wedding portrait, his sister in the batmitsvah gown that their mother had sewn…

His father’s gold pocket watch wrapped in his grandfather‘s silk kerchief…His mother’s hair ribbons..A plush bear from his sister’s room, just in case he--

The American had started to walk off again, having paused to wipe at his nose it seemed..Taking an agitated breath.

Aaron quickly dashed over to the scalped soldier, kneeling down beside him to search through his pockets; keeping his gaze towards his own hands, uncertain if could handle the sight, or had the time to admire, a recently scalped Nazi...

Pulling out a Zippo lighter and a wallet made of the same crisp leather as the man’s jacket, Aaron moved to his feet to start following after the American. Shuffling his fingers through the wallet, finding amongst several ID’s, a wad of francs and a crumbled up napkin with a phone number written in cursive.

A prostitute no doubt.

An expensive one, if the banknotes inside had been meant for her.

“Zere are…being many wiz you?” Aaron inclined his head slightly, keeping himself a few steps behind the American just incase his presence was suddenly deemed unwelcome…he could at least get a decent head start if that stained knife started swinging.
 
Aldo didn't bat an eyelash when Aaron dug through the late Wiligut's clothing - it was common practise amongst the Basterds, scalp the body, take anything that was useful - money, cigarettes, matches - leave behind anything that wasn't.

Or, in Donny's case, take a few medals as memorabilia. But that was Donny, and Aldo didn't have the heart to stop him when he was having his fun, it'd be like ruining a kid's day at the park.

"Yeah, s'a few of us." Aldo said, stuffing one hand in his pocket and giving Aaron a sideways look; all Germans sounded the same to him, so he was never able to deduce where they came from the way Wicki and Stiglitz could - he imagined it was probably a similar situation for Europeans though, that Americans all sounded like yokels to their finely tuned ears.

"Where'd they get you at?" Aldo asked casually, "Down by th'bridge?"
 
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