First Entrance

[nohillforastepper]

…and stops dead in his tracks.

Because Wesley and B.J were supposed to meet at the Paderborn car park in five minutes’ time. From there, it would be a straight shot to Castle Wolfenstein, a straight-ish shot to the folder von Schabbs was keeping in her office safe, and then – well, it’d be a straighter shot to winning the war than they would have, otherwise.

Except this is not the Paderborn car park.

Imagine what happens when you try to shove an All-Texan linebacker into the uniform of an obersturmführer of the Allgemeine SS, and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what the man who just passed the threshold looks like. The symbol on his armband needs no introduction. The black jackboots and the Sam Browne belt running diagonally across his chest are similarly distinctive.

B.J stands tall, but hesitates before he chances a look around the Bar. About the only thought he can summon is:

Fuck.
[OOC: If you haven't already, please read this backroom post before clicking on the cut! And just as a forewarning, I'll be pretty slow responding to tags for the better part of this week and the next.]

[ETA: We're back in business! Still going to be slow, but the mun is up and about.]

Comments

[iamhismummy]

This will probably not be helped by the young woman who stares at him in open horror for a long moment, then very slowly backs into a corner and tries to make herself small.

[nohillforastepper]

He doesn't see her, not at first. It's a big, big bar, and she's not taking up that much space.

But eventually his eyes settle on her, and he steps toward her, trying to keep his expression neutral.

(It's hard when a big ol' bar pops up in your world out of nowhere. He didn't even hear all this ruckus on the other side of the door.)

"Ah- guten tag, fräulein."

(His accent is shit. It's always been shit, and Wesley has constantly ragged on him for it being shit.)

"Wissen sie wo der..."

(Fuck. What's the word for "car park"?)

"...park...platz?"

[iamhismummy]

The fear on her face ever so gradually, as he carries on, turns into bemusement.

"...you're not German."

[nohillforastepper]

"-it's that obvious?"

(There aren't any English refugees in Paderborn. -that he knows of, anyway. Why would there be? The Nazis have long since found and deported all non-German nationals.

Which makes the question of where the hell am I just that much more pertinent.)

[iamhismummy]

"Just a little bit." She's eyeing him with a somewhat unimpressed look now, her spirit coming back in full force. "Why are you wearing that?"

[takingthechance]

Sam has given up for the night on spending the night at home - every doorway seems to lead here. She's not about to protest, by any means - there's food here, and a distinct lack of bombing, and generally happier company than can be found at home.

...

Generally. She looks up when the door opens, mostly out of curiosity (and a certain amount of worry that one of these days Mister Foyle is going to come in and there will be quite a lot of explaining to do).

She doesn't remember standing, or scooping up the fire poker, but that seems to have happened anyway. Clearly what this situation needed was a very young MTC driver armed with a length of hard metal advancing on the newly-arrived patron and looking ready, if possibly not able, to do damage and Defend The Bar.

[nohillforastepper]

The Bar's a big, big place. And B.J, being the shocked newcomer he is, is taking quite a while to process all the people and the noise and the sights.

Which means he doesn't see Sam until such a time as about the only reaction he can offer to her movements toward him is widened eyes and a half-step back.

Uh-oh.

(Whatever's German for "drop the fire poker, miss", he doesn't know it.)

[takingthechance]

(That's okay - she doesn't know it either.)

Don't ask her why she thinks it's a great idea to go up against what's clearly a German soldier with something that isn't even a proper weapon.

She won't have an answer anyway. Thinking isn't exactly something that's happening here - this is pretty much pure fury and terror bundled up into one young woman. She swings with great vigor if precious little aim or practice, with a somewhat panicked 'Go Away!' shouted at the top of her lungs.

...

As far as great battle cries go, there have been better.

[nohillforastepper]

The uniform. The insignia. The shout. All these and their implications coalesce in about half a second for B.J.

There are no MTC drivers in Paderborn. The nearest British force of sufficient size to warrant them is in Great Britain.

Which means something has gone very, very wrong.

He holds up his hands, trying to back away from Sam. "Miss-

thwack goes the fire poker, and he grunts from the impact.

"Miss-"

Another thwack, and another grunt.

"Listen, miss-!"

[i_am_your_host]

The Master of Ceremonies has yet to see someone in full SS uniform in his own time. But the armband is enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

He immediately thinks of the Nazi Eric killed for him, and he panics, frozen in his seat at the bar. Had they found out? Was he somehow followed through his door?



"Scheiß."

[nohillforastepper]

The Bar is a big place. The Bar is a colorful place. The Bar is a noisy place.

So it takes B.J a while to notice the skinny white guy. But when he does, he advances to a respectable conversational distance, his hands clasped together at belt buckle level.

"Ah - guten tag. Wo...ist...der parkplatz?"

(He sounds like a tourist reading out of a phrasebook, and his accent is about on the same level.)

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee drops his cigarette and scrambles off the barstool to get away when the man approaches, because that is what he does when large men wearing uniforms and jackboots and armbands notice him.

But when the man speaks some sort of barely intelligible German, he stops. He looks up at him, his kohl-rimmed eyes still wide with fear and uncertainty, resembling a rabbit on the verge of bolting.

"Unless you mean the garage downstairs," he says slowly in German, because he is German, "there is no car park here, sir. You have arrived in Milliways."

...Did the man even understand what he'd just said?

[nohillforastepper]

What B.J was able to make of that can best be described as "something-something-garage-something-something-sir-something-something-Milliways".

(He really should've brushed up on his German before this. Wesley had been hounding him to do it.)

"Was...ist...das...'Milliways'?"

He's looking around now, checking for Wesley - because this can't have popped up out of nowhere.

[hecu_marine]

Huh. Ain't that something.

Shephard was hoping to spend a nice quiet evening working on some of the stuff he's had to learn about Borealis' reactor systems. The Bar's supposed to be neutral ground; hopefully Security will make sure of that, because he's not in the mood for anyone to start screaming right now.

Might be in the mood to cheerfully greet the newcomer with a wave and a "Jabolo, bierficker!", but that's about it. If you start trouble you're supposed to follow it up.

[nohillforastepper]

-did that guy just call him a beerfucker? He's not entirely sure.

And so, B.J responds with a nod and a horribly-accented "guten tag"as he tries to figure out just where the hell he is.

[hecu_marine]

Shephard goes back to reading his textbook, but notes without looking up, "This here's neutral ground, friend. Don't try startin' shit. You'n yours ain't got jurisdiction here."

Hooray for the translation field, right?

[nohillforastepper]

-was that English? Not just English, but backwoods-accented English?

-in Paderborn?




"Um." (That Texas grizzle is back in his voice.) "Listen, friend. I think I'm lost. And I think there's been a - miscommunication."

[tu_vas_triompher]

Yeah, Feuilly hasn't cared to read up so closely as to recognize the specific uniform, but he's seen the overall type in enough books. And he's an amiable guy, he's been polite, even attempting friendliness, with Javert, and with slave-raiding Vikings.

But no.

He approaches the man and catches his eye. (The part where he's more than a foot shorter makes it a little awkward, but hey.) "Look, I don't have any official jurisdiction here to say this, but I don't think this is the right place for you."

[nohillforastepper]

"Um."

So that was English. Accentless (as far as he can tell) and more or less perfect English.

The nearest native speakers - aside from Wesley, Pippa, and himself - are miles away from the Paderborn-Wulfburg area.

And so, with a weak gesture to his uniform, his response is:

"This - isn't what it...looks like?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

Isn't Milliways translation grand? Unfortunately, the small and very determined-looking young man in a 19th-century jacket looks unconvinced. He folds his arms.

"It looks like you're here from the Nazi party, in the 20th century."

Which...isn't actually against any rules here or anything, and in fact there are likely worse people here.

[nohillforastepper]

A little flustered:

"I'm undercover. It's an OSA job to steal Nazi documents from Castle Wolfenstein and -look, mister, I don't mean no trouble, but there ain't supposed to be any English speakers within miles of Paderborn and I'd very much appreciate it if you could tell me where I am."

[inspector_blueeyes]

David looks up at the newcomer from his paperwork. With a single sweep of his eyes and years of military intelligence training, he can tell the man is not what he's dressed as.

"Good evening." He comments in accentless English, his expression passive. "You may want to change out of that if you plan to stay here any length of time."

[nohillforastepper]

It's true, B.J's cover is only about enough to fool dumb checkpoint guards and their officers. -so long as he doesn't open his mouth.

Still, he can't help but sag his shoulders as he's outed, because that doesn't make him a very good OSA agent.

He looks to David.

"-how about you tell me what this place is doin' in Paderborn, first?"

Or what he's doing in Paderborn, but one thing at a time here.

[inspector_blueeyes]

David gestures to a seat at his table. "The bar requires rather an in-depth explanation. It is enough to begin with that you are safe, and that your mission will be there when you return, without time having been lost."

[nohillforastepper]

B.J approaches, but does not sit, instead grasping the back of the chair with both hands.

"-okay. I'll bite. How did you make me so quickly?"