It's 1939. Hitler has hailed for six years and it doesn't seem like the leader is going to lose power any time soon. Things are growing worse and worse for Germany with every passing second, but most find it futile to resist. Your choices affect everything now. What will happen to you, what you will become, if you will live or die.

These are desperate times, my friend. And desperate times call for desperate measures.

The moon painted patterns on Lola's shoulders as her bare body sauntered between trees, the stars making music out of their twinkles. A white towel, though now it was far from soft and a few select stains had found home on the fabric, just barely trailed the ground, hanging over her arm along with a pair of worn in black male trousers and an off white lacy bra. Her left hand reached up behind her, her fingers wrapping around the black ribbon tying her hair into a bun and pulled, releasing long dark chocolate tendrils to rest against the smooth skin of her back.

As her feet padded along, they were no longer sensitive to stickers and sharp twigs as years of refusing to wear footwear had made them tough, her lush lips puckered slightly and she breathed in, sucking air through her teeth so that a whistle resonated. She whistled a short tune, an old gypsy lullaby her deceased mother had once sung to her, and as she finished a soft smile flitted over her pink lips, remembering times much better than the present.

It was less than a mile more until she reached her destination: a slow current of dark blue water, barely discernible from the midnight sky. The bar of soap in the palm of her hand tumbled to the ground along with her towel and clothes. Her dark green eyes skittered across the trees, making sure no one was in sight. Once the coast was clear, she stretched a dark tan left leg and poked the top of the water with her big toe. It was cold, of course it was cold, it was barely turning to spring, but it wasn't unbearable. With that she straightened out, crouched, reached her hands above her, and dived.

A chill raced down her spine like the icy hand of death, making her teeth turn to chatter. Her first instinct was to swivel around and paddle as fast as she could back to the surface, but instead she propelled herself lower. She was at the deepest part of the river, she had mapped out its geography since the rebel camp she was leading had merged with her gypsy camp had established based in the middle of Schwarzwald, the Black Forest, but soon enough her lungs were thumping against her chest and she had twisted around so she was kicking back to the top, her speed close to that of an Olympic swimmer.

Right when black spots crept into her vision, Lola broke the water’s surface. Her mouth dropped open and she gasped for air, her chest burning. She pushed her hair away from her face, the soaked strands now jet black from the water. Her hands swept over her face, wiping drops of water from her forehead and high cheek bones. However throughout this she smiled, grateful for the adrenaline rush she had briefly found. Drifting back to the edge of the river, so her forearms rested on the already dewy blades of grass, she grabbed the small bar of soap she shared with the others of the camp.

The distinct sound of a twig snapping just too nearby for comfort made Lola freeze, the soap bar slipping through her fingers and plopping into the river. A groan strained to be released from her lips but she bit down, focusing on the bigger problem. She had trained her ears to look out for that sound, to never disregard it as an animal or the wind. She was extremely aware of her surroundings, noticing the most minute movement, the quietest of hushed sounds. This time was no exception. She heard more rustling, the sound of foot steps. Heavy, boot clad foot steps. And the only heavy stepping, large boot wearing people she knew of were the Nazis. Though she thought she only heard one set of footsteps, fear still squeezed her heart as tight as possible.

Her heart beat against her fragile ribs like a caged butterfly dying to get out, her breath catching in her throat and nearly strangling her. She leaned ever closer over the river's edge, desperately reaching for her towel. It was just out of grasp, and to get it she would have to get out of the river, which would defeat the purpose of staying hidden. In her skirt pockets lay her dagger as well, leaving her defenseless in the water. Accepting things as they were, Lola sunk slightly into the water, so only her narrowed eyes, shaded by her long lashes, and the top of her head wasn’t hidden by the dark waves. She blinked, watching the trees for the figure that had made the noise, praying she blended in as well as she hoped.

-

Another house. Oh, I hope it's empty, the blue eyed, blond haired twenty one year old male thought to himself. His uniform fit snug on his body, but Stefan wished he wasn't wearing it. Wished he didn't have to pose as his enemy, wished Hitler had never come to power. But no matter how much wishing he did, he knew he couldn't change things. At least not at the moment.

With the strap of his gun around his neck, hands on the rifle as he slowly opened the door, only three other Nazis with him, his eyes made a quick search of the room. As he hoped, no one was in the main living room. His sad blue eyes darted over the walls, taking in pictures of the members of the family that inhabited the house. He saw a large star of David adorning one wall and it made him cringe. He hoped they were long gone by now. Oh God how he hoped.

"Search the property, I'll look for the family," he ordered his troops, already having gained a high rank in the army. Though he didn't want to be in the spot he was in, he knew he was serving a purpose. As a Rebel member under cover, he had to be careful what he said and did, but he knew he was helping the Cause.

"Sir, we should all search the house first," a young soldier said and stared him in the eye before looking away from the intensity of Stefan Zoerner's glare.

"Did I say search the house first? Did I say tell me your thoughts and opinions? Did I say you could disobey the order I just gave? Answer me soldier," Stefan barked in an angry, gruff voice, making sure to act as possibly infuriated as he could. Obviously his acting abilities were working and he saw the three soldiers' faces go white. The soldier who had spoken out let out a mouse like 'yessir' and darted out of the house.

Sighing once the trio was gone, Demetri let go of his gun, letting it fall against his hard chest. His brow un-furrowed and he slowly stepped through the house. A dark book case was pushed against the wall and he used his strength to slide it out of the way, revealing a trap door in the wall. It was a commonly used disguise and he briefly glanced over his soldiers to make sure the lower Nazis weren't anywhere near.

He pulled open the door and breathed in relief when he saw no one. The family must have fled and for that he was thankful, it would have been difficult to distract his soldiers long enough for them to escape, though he would have tried with all his might had that been the situation.

His long legs, he was six foot three and a quarter, swiftly carried him to the front door, clasping his hands behind his back as he watched his soldiers return. They said there was no one nearby and still looked slightly afraid of him. The thought made him want to chuckle, but instead he cleared his throat to keep from letting the laugh out.

"No one inside. Must have already left. That's it for the night. Return to your homes or barracks," he ordered. The Nazi soldiers either lived in barracks or their own homes, though sometimes they inhabited Jewish houses they had taken after killing the actual owners. Luckily due to Stefan's rank, he was not forced to live in the barracks or a house with the other Nazis, and the other soldiers assumed he had a house he returned to.

The men all made their way back to the car, driving down a path where Stefan got out, the youngest soldier, eighteen, taking his place at the wheel. It would be a three mile walk back to the right path, then another mile for Stefan to get to the gypsy getaway he lived in.

Sighing to himself, he began making the trek back the way he had came, though he was glad it wasn't all too far from where he was. He let his mind wonder away, hands in the pockets of his uniform and his head in the clouds.

Before the war, Bruno had been a simple shop keeper. He'd had a happy life and had wonderful friends, many of whom had been taken off to camps and killed. He'd been drafted into the military and forced to kill innocent people. Some he'd even known. He sighed softly and packed his things. He had a new assignment now that he'd been promoted to being a captain.


"Bruno" The young nazi turned to the one calling him. "Yes?" Bruno was the newest solider to his platoon, though he was not much of a fighter. The draft had taken so many young men from their homes. He'd liked his former platoon much better than his new one. He'd formerly been in charge of paper work, and he wasn't fond of working here in the field. He turned back to listen to the solider who'd addressed him. "Sir, Are you ready to head back to the base?" Bruno shook his head. "You go back. I'll be back in the morning. I need some time alone." The platoon looked at him oddly as if questioning him. "Are you deaf?! I order you to go back to camp." The soldiers scrambled to head back and Bruno grinned.
The night was bright this evening and Bruno headed off towards the woods. He stopped along the way to kick a stray can, passing houses that were half collapsed from bombing. There were bodies all through the streets and it was quiet. This had been an all Jewish neighborhood at one point, but now it was completely empty. He collected some canned food from a nearby market and slipped it in his knapsack. He wasn’t one to steal, but he figured no one would be coming back to miss it anyway. He wondered who all had lived here before the war. He picked up a little doll and thought of the child it must have belonged to. He wondered how old the little girl had been, where she’d gone. Maybe she’d escaped. Maybe she’d been captured or killed. He knew he’d never know. He set the doll back down and headed off out of the city.
The forest was dark and owls could be heard screeching and hooting quietly as they hunted down their prey. Bruno wondered what kind of creatures might roam here. He’d never seem anything much bigger than a fox the few times he’d ventured out to these particular woods, but that didn’t mean their weren’t bears and wolves lurking deep in the trees. He sighed and looked back at the city which was now in the distance behind him, then stepped into the shade of an oak.


Bruno's boots crunched loudly as he roamed through the tress. He feared he was lost as he had been roaming around aimlessly for almost an hour now. The trees all looked the same and he was relieved when the light from the moon could be spotted again. He could see a clearing coming up and he looked around curiously. The moon created enough light for him to see where he was going, though he didn't quite see the woman in the water. He went to his knees and cupped some of the water in his hands to drink. He sipped the cool liquid and sighed in relief. It was quiet here and he could clear his head.

Bruno set down his rifle and rent to remove his uniform jacket to get more comfortable. He sat with his back against a tree, pulling out a small bundle of food. He gathered some wood and pulled out a flint, starting a fire with ease. He searched in his knapsack for a pan and started cooking his food.


As Bruno ate, he looked around and spotted a young woman. From the look of here, she certainly wasn't just a normal civilian. He figured she was most likely a rebel, maybe a jew. Either way he was sure he should probably be dragging her back to a prison or a camp. "Hallo." He called out, deciding to try his hand at making a friend. It was nice to have company sometimes. "Are you hungry?" He asked quietly, holding the food out like a peace offering. "If you'd like, you can come and join me. I won't turn you in." He promised. He'd never really agreed with the Nazi way of doing things. The whole war was stupid in his eyes.


"What's your name?" Bruno asked, trying to earn some trust of some sort. "I'm Bruno. I know I'm a solider, and you probably don't like soldiers, but I assure you I'm not bad. I was drafted." He watched Lola, trying to see her reaction.


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Aaron was 19 years old today. His father had been taken by soldiers, his Mother was incredibly sick, and his twin sister had been killed when the Nazis had come to take his father. He combed out his gingery hair with the only comb he could find in the dark basement where he was hidden. They had food for maybe a few more weeks, no more than that. He went to check on his mother, discovering the fever had taken her. He could remember birthdays when he’d had cake and gifts. Today was nothing like that. He’d lost everything at the hands of Nazis.

Aaron stopped his train of thought as he heard the sound of loud voices and heavy boots. He knew those boots all too well. “Nazis...” He whispered softly and climbed up into a large barrel near him. It was filled with wine, and he nearly choked on the smell. His clothes were soaked in the alcohol and he cringed, hoping it would be worth it. He would hate to be caught and forced to go with soldiers, but it would be ever worse if he were forced to march while soaking wet.

The sound of the bookcase being pushed made Aaron push himself lower into the barrel’ holding his breath underneath the wine. He could hear the door of the hideout being opened, and then he heard boots walking away from said hideout. Assuming he was safe’ he carefully climbed out of the container of wine, frowning at his wet clothes in disappointment. These were his last clothes and he was sad to see them stained. He supposed it could have been worse though. At least he was alive and hadn’t been caught. He heard a car pull away and he sighed in relief. He gathered his remaining food and packed it up in a blanket, folding it and tying it to a stick to make carrying the cans easier. He knew he needed to start moving his location. If Nazis had been around him now, there was a chance they’d return.

Fresh air was the first thing that caught the young Jew’s attention as he creeped out of the house for the first time in months. He took a deep breath of it, catching a hint of the smell of burning debris. “This place has gone to hell.” He muttered softly as he looked around. It appeared it was completely vacant here and he frowned sadly. He could remember his neighbors and the kid down the street that he used to go to school with. He bit his lip and tried to suppress tears of anger. “I hate them all...” He whispered to himself. He wiped his eyes and roamed around for a little while, looting everything he could find that was useful. He picked up a frying pan he was sure would be good for cooking in later sometime in the future.
He checked in a few more hiding places, finding that no one was still in anyone. He hoped they’d escaped and moved to another hiding place. The alternative was too horrifying to think about. He found a few cans and a bottle of wine that he put in his blanket to take with him. Having a glass of wine was a luxury he wanted if he was going to spend the rest of this war trying to hide in dark holes and basements.

After walking around his entire neighborhood for a short amount of time, Aaron spotted an officer walking away from his little town. He narrowed his eyebrows, trying to determine what he should do. The man looked tall and Aaron was a mere five foot four. He’d lost a lot of weight since he’d gone into hiding and was twiggy in stature. He gripped his frying pan and quietly sneaked up towards the officer, alert for any sounds around his. As soon as he was close enough, Aaron raised his arm, ready to strike the solider.

With her dark green eyes trained on the tall soldier with the square jaw, Lola tried to map out a game plan as he bent to sip water, only a few feet away from her. The camp wasn't far from here, only about two miles give or take, and if there were more soldiers in this one's wake she needed to warn the others. Though if she got out and made a run for it, she risked getting shot. Plus, if he was alone, he could have back up waiting at the first signal of trouble. If she were lucky, he'd eat his fancy meal, her stomach had grumbled at the scent of the food he began cooking, and leave.

Of course, that wasn't Lola's luck. She cursed internally as soon as he spoke out loud, his eyes focused on her. The edge of the river wasn't high enough above the water to shield all of her, and though the night had done its best to cloak her, she had been spotted. Again she began crossing off options; she couldn't run, he had a gun with him, it looked like a rifle from her position, and she didn't want to take a bet on how good of a shot he was, so she only had once real choice.

Lola cleared her throat, not offering a reply as she cut her eyes to her clothes and back to the soldier, Bruno, he called himself. She let his words roll around her brain, deciding how to play her game. Every soldier she had met was untrustworthy; she had scars across her body to attest to that, a significant stretching widely from the back of her ankle to the bottom of her knee on her left leg. The Nazis never offered redress for what they had done, why would he be different? But he wasn't attacking her or shooting to signal backup yet, and he had offered her more words than any soldier from her experience, except for the ones who begged her for forgiveness when they realized the tables had been turned.

The woman, barely that, she was only eighteen, waited until he turned his eyes from her so she could exit the river, and then climbed out, taking light quick steps to her clothes. She yanked on the slightly baggy male trousers quickly over her nude legs. She bent once more, grabbing the lacy bra from the ground. She hadn't thought to bring a shirt with her, the camp had been thinking of doing a bonfire dance tonight and for a top she had opted for only a bra that accentuated her breasts and contrasted with her light coffee skin. It had thin straps and in all was thin material, with the bottom going about an inch more down than a regular bra that usually cut off right under the ribs. It showed off her stomach, which made it all the more fun to dance in.

Her arms stretched up, her back arching slightly, as she quickly pulled the bra over head. She adjusted the straps quickly, more secure when she was finally clothed. She could feel the steel of the dagger in her pocket pressing against her thigh, but she resisted grabbing it. She didn't want to provoke the soldier just yet. Instead she wrung out her hair and approached him, making sure to stay a good two feet from him, on the opposite side of his small fire. Her lips parted and she tried to clear her brain. A lot of the new recruits of the rebel camp were French and so she had been speaking their language, learning it easily. Now she struggled for a moment to translate her thoughts into correct German.

"Are you..." she trailed off, trying to think of the correct word. In the past month she had gotten used to speaking French, she loved learning new languages and knew a handful, and so her German had rusted. She cursed in French under her breath and squinted. Her green orbs popped open and met those of the soldier when she thought of the word. "Alone. Are you alone now," she asked, her fingers itching to grab the knife in her pocket.

She didn't answer his other questions, just eyed the food held out to her. In the camp, they all shared their scavenged bits. Mostly consisting of softened, past ripe fruit, slightly stale bread, and on the rare treat, meat, usually from an already dead animal found in the woods. She never complained, those in the camp were similar to family, and she didn't mind sharing, but this soldier's food looked fresh, much fresher than what she used to.

"I'm Lola," she finally answered, moving her attention back to the soldier. The gypsy girl figured it wasn't too dangerous telling him her name, if he poised a threat she could easily kill him. His gun was on the ground and he wasn't on the offensive, and she was quick and trained herself. She was still standing, legs tensed, ready to take off at the first subtle sign of danger. Wet droplets fell from her still damp hair, either rolling down her back or hitting the forest floor with barely audible plopping noises.

-

Stefan slowed but didn't stop, his guard up as he heard foots fall gently behind him. He waited, but it seemed his attacker was hesitant as well. Finally Stefan spun around, wavy blond hair flipping with his quick movement. His eyes quickly caught sight of the frying pan held menacingly in the shorter male's hand, and he grabbed the raised arm swiftly, stopping it from slamming into his skull. His other hand, thankfully free since his rifle was slung over his back and resting against his back, slapped the frying pan away, sending it clattering to the ground.

"Stop," he ordered gruffly, but not in the same aggressive tone he used with his soldiers. This tone was softer, more reassuring. The redheaded man was what seemed almost a full foot shorter than Stefan, and skinnier too. Stefan had buffed up since he had been drafted, he doubted he had much body fat left since it had all turned to muscle, and it came in handy too. He twisted his attacker's arm behind his back in an arm lock, so that the male was facing away from him. Stefan leaned in closer, whispering his ear.

"I won't hurt you, I won't hurt you," he promised before letting go, shoving the boy away just in case he decided he would still try to attack Stefan, hand on hand combat style. He took a step back, but didn't grab his gun, not yet. He quickly surveyed the figure in front of him: ginger hair, that was different, and large, doe like blue eyes. Plump lips and a boyish face, he looked still in his teens, definitely no older than twenty. The leader of the rebel camp Stefan belonged to, Lola, who has now what he figured to be his best friend, was only eighteen, and the attacker looked about her age.

Stefan glanced around, making sure there was no one else. Sure, Stefan was strong and had more adequate weapons, but he knew not to underestimate what he didn't know. If there were more with this boy, he could be outnumbered easily. But it seemed they were both alone on the outskirts of the abandoned town. For a moment if the male had a family, if they were dead or in a camp. Stefan had no idea of the location of his own family, which was only his parents, as his first priority when he was drafted was to have them sent off on a boat to Sweden and their records burned. When he signed up for Hitler's army he listed himself as an orphan. That way, if he was ever caught for being a rebel and given the traitor's execution, they were safe.

In the distance somewhere, something howled. He figured it was either a stray dog turned coyote or a wolf, neither uncommon in the towns closer to the Black Forest, such as this one. It made Stefan feel more empty inside and he was almost caught off guard by this sudden wave of emotion, but he quickly regained himself and set his jaw.

"Don't attack me. I won't hurt you if you don't attack me. What's your name," he tried to reason with the other man in front of him. If anything, he could try to take him to the camp. If not, they could part way. Stefan didn't want to resort to the last option. He had to do enough killing to keep himself alive, to keep his job, he didn't want to add to the list if he didn't absolutely have to. He had enough sins on his slate as it was, too much for any god to wash away.

Bruno was becoming uneasy with the girl’s reactions, and he debated shooting her. After all, Nazi soldiers weren’t well liked, and he didn’t like the idea of being murdered by some angry Jewish girl. He decided on leaving his gun where it was. There was no point in hurting her as long as she was no threat, but he didn’t want to underestimate her either, so he fingered a large dagger in his pocket. It was his hope that if the girl tried something, he could pull out the knife and kill her before she had a chance to do any real damage.

As Lola decided to step out of the water, Bruno looked away, waiting for her to dress as he was sure she must have been taking a bath and he didn’t want to be rude by looking on her if she wasn’t modest. He swallowed nervously while staring at his food. He didn’t normally do well in dangerous situations such as these. He’d seen many men die because they’d trusted a stranger, and he didn’t want to be one of those men. “How dangerous could she be?” He whispered in his mind, trying to calm his nerves. War had a way of making even the strongest men nervous.

As the river girl, that’s what he’d decided to call her until he found out her name, sat at the fire with him, he offered up a warm smile. Her clothing rather caught him by surprise, but he didn’t say anything and tried not to stare. He wasn’t even sure how old she was for one thing, and he didn’t want to be a pervert for another. He did however determine that she must have been a gypsy. Most normal Jewish girls were very modest due to their religious views.
She seemed confused for a moment, and he frowned. Did she not speak German? It would be a pity if she didn’t. He had found himself looking forward to having some company other than violent ruffian Nazis. She cursed lowly in what he assumed was French due to the soft curve of the language. He sighed softly in disappointment. He did not speak any French which meant he could not communicate with this girl, but his sorrow was short lived when she managed to use a bit of somewhat rusty German. His face brightened into a mischievous smile. “I am completely alone.” He said in an attempt to reassure her she was safe. “I sent the other’s home already so I could have some time away from them. They can be savages and sometimes I need a break.” He sighed in relief and comfort. “I haven’t had a conversation with a pleasant human being in months. The men in our barracks are so rude and most of them are quite disgusting. I’ve taken to staying in abandoned places so I don’t have to sleep with the other soldiers. They snore.”
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, that’s quite enough about me! It’s quite nice to meet you Lola. I’m to guess you’re from one of the nearby Gypsy camps?” He smiled kindly. “I know food is probably hard to come by these days. You are welcome to the rest of mine if you’d like it. I promise it isn’t gross, and I don’t have germs, so I’d love to share?” He wasn’t sure if she liked him or not. His guess was on not. He didn’t really blame her though. His uniform made him the enemy, and he knew she wouldn’t just let her guard down because he was being nice to her.

Bruno pushed the food over towards Lola, giving her the choice to eat it or not. He placed a few more pieces of wood into the little camp fire and pulled his jacket off. He had a long sleeves shirt underneath, and he eyes Lola curiously. “Are you cold?” He inquired. “You can borrow my jacket if you’d like.” It wasn’t exactly cold outside, but he didn’t want to ask her if she was uncomfortable being so exposed to him. Phrasing it that way seemed rude and uncalled for.

Aaron was caught by surprise as the officer whirled around towards him. His eyes widened considerably and he tried to strike, stopped by a large hand and a strong arm. His uttered a soft wail of fear and anguish. ‘This is it. They’ve caught me, I am going to die.’ He thought, trying to keep his eyes from watering. The Nazi’s voice didn’t sound cruel, but he chose not to trust it, panicking. He chose to writhe, attempting to get out of the grasp the man had on him.

As Aaron was shoved away, it was all he could do not to fall flat on his bum. He swayed slightly, his wiry frame almost collapsing. He’d never been so thin in his life, or so hungry. He gazed up at the other man in misery, his large eyes taking on a tortured look. Like prey. “I won’t trust you.” He stated blandly, spitting at the solder’s boots in disgust. “I hate you all. You’re a horrible man in a horrible army. I hope they shoot you.” His voice went shrill. “No! I hope they skin you alive and fry you just like you horrid bastards did to my poor sister!” He didn’t notice that he had tears running all down his dirt smeared face. His shoulders quivered and he looked away, staring at his hands and picking at the dirt under his grubby nails. He was a mess and he knew he must look pitiful to this well dressed officer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a bath, and he was glad the smell of wine covered any odors.

After a few moments of rebellious silence, Aaron determined he was done fighting. He would much rather go by his name than a number if he was going to be taken away or killed. “My name is Aaron.” He answered in defeat, wiping his runny nose and glaring up at Stefan. “Don’t you dare call me a number like a damned sheep either! I want you to remember my name and remember it well, because when you go to hell, I want you to remember that my blood is on your filthy, disgusting hands, do you hear me Aryan filth?” He was repulsed by the ugly uniform he was gazing at, though the man in said uniform was not unattractive. He appeared kind enough, and Aaron let his features soften down some, letting go of his anger for the moment. “What are you going to do with me?” He asked nervously.

Having sat on the ground, criss-cross applesauce style, Lola continued to keep her attention fully on Bruno, watching the way his strong jaw moved up and down as he spoke. He was very talkative for a soldier, and it was casual conversation too. It was so odd to her that it almost made her uneasy, but she listened anyways. Most soldiers went by their last names, but here he was, first name and all, talking like they'd known each other for years. The dagger poked sharply into her leg but she didn't so much as wince.

She glanced at the food on the ground, weighing over his words. He called the other soldiers disgusting and it nearly made her scoff. Apparently their sleeping habits and mannerisms were enough to send him away, but he was just fine returning for the killing. Her lip started to twitch into a sneer but she fought it. She wouldn't let her guard down, but her curiosity had long sparked. So instead she continued to listen to him.

"So you are of high rank, ja," she assumed. If he was giving orders he had some importance. He'd probably make for a good hostage, a part of her brain whispered. But that would possibly be determined later. For now, she grabbed the food he pushed out towards her. She set half of it on her towel, which wasn't damp at all since it hadn't been used, so she could bring it to the camp for the others. With the rest of the portion before her, she took a small bite of an apple, holding it in her hand after.

For a moment they watched each other, and Lola noticed him give her the good once over. She knew her clothing wasn't the most covering, but she planned to spend the night by a fire. It was nice to have some male attention anyways, especially since she refused to have any romantic relations with the other rebels. Not only did it chance making things hard if something bad happened, but it wasn't appropriate for a leader.

Lola wasn't short, she was a lengthy height with a dancer's lean build, a gypsy's trait, but because of recent circumstances, she had whittled away slowly. Her curves were not as prominent and her thighs had lost some muscle, but the rebel gypsies came across just enough food to keep them from being skin and bones just yet. Her fingers were long and thin, her hair long and usually barely tamed in wispy waves, and lips slightly chapped but still full and pink. Her dark golden skin, often patterned with scrapes and bruises, and chocolate hair often gave the misconception of her being Jewish, a very unlucky characteristic to have, but her emerald eyes were the one distinguishing feature that didn't.

The Gypsy gave the soldier a once over of her own as well as he removed his jacket. She had already assessed him as a danger, taking note of his tall and muscled figure that could possibly snap her like a twig if she wasn't careful, but now she noted his other features. A strong, sharp jaw, typical Nazi buzz cut of blond, possibly dirty blond, hair, and soft eyes. They weren't as... cold, as the eyes of other Nazis. She quickly shook the thoughts from her head, refocusing on his question of where she was from.

"More or less," she answered vaguely. She didn't dare look behind her, in the direction of her camp. If something happened to her, she would do everything in her will power to keep them safe. And in truth, her answer wasn't all that unclear. The camp wasn't a purely gypsy camp, in fact most of the rebels outnumbered the original gypsies, and they often usually locations anyhow. Maybe it was a mistake letting them get as settled as they had in the forest.

Only when he mentioned the jacket did she remember her clothing. She glanced down at herself, a faint blush sweeping across her defined cheek bones as she noticed the way the bra cupped around her breasts, pushing them slightly up with a deep enough dip in the middle to draw eyes. Though it was slightly long on the bottom, and the lace was thick enough to still leave a lot to the imagination, she figured it wasn't the most modest of clothing. She started to nod her head at his jacket, but then she remembered what he was. Her brows furrowed in disgust and she almost made a venom laced comment, as was her habit, but instead she bit her tongue and relaxed her facial features.

"No, thank you," she replied coolly. She wasn't very uncomfortable at how much skin he could see, if anything she could later use it to her advantage if she did have to kill him, and she would stubbornly refuse to wear Nazi clothing. She took another bite of the apple, her eyes briefly flickering closed at its mouth watering freshness, and licked the juice from her lips. She watched Bruno over the firelight, slowly chewing. She remembered him saying he was drafted, he must still be young then. The draft targeted the young men first, saving the elderly for last resorts if they didn't join on their own. "How old are you, Bruno," her light voice questioned. She finished the apple, tossing the core into the fire. There was still food left that he had offered her, but she reached into her pocket, the one not holding her weapon, instead and pulled out a small cardboard box.

Her fingers flicked the lid open and pulled out a slim cigarette and a metal cased lighter. She put the short stick between her lips, opened the lighter's lid and gave it a flick, lit the end of her cigarette, and breathed in. She had picked up the bad habit from a soldier two year's prior, before things got as bad as they were, and hadn't quit. She believed she deserved a little treat in this godforsaken place. As she pulled the cigarette from her lips and inhaled air, letting the smoke drift to her lungs, she held out the pack to the soldier, a peace offering of her own. She slowly exhaled, the fog of smoke briefly making Bruno's face hazy behind it.

-

Stefan watched silently as Aaron spit on his boots. It didn't bother him, he'd spit on his own boots if he wouldn't get killed for it, so he let him rant, noticing the change in pitch as emotions over took him. Stefan wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he suspected he'd probably get bit or something of the like. So instead he took it, raising a dark eyebrow when the boy stopped talking. He frowned at the mention of his sister. Stefan knew what that was like, kind of. He had a best friend, a Jewish girl, growing up, that he had taken in under his wing as his own sister since he didn't have siblings. He taught her everything, from reading to riding a bike to how to stay away from boys because they had cooties, maybe that one was unnecessary, but he wouldn't let anyone hurt her.

But he did. He had watched her house, the one right next to his own, get ransacked and raided. Had watched as she and her family, a mother that baked Stefan cookies, a father that called him "son", and another sister that had a childhood crush on him, were dragged away and thrown into a large car full of others, Jews, gypsies, you name it. And though he was a little younger then, he didn't do anything to stop it, not that he really could without getting killed, but that didn't take an ounce of the blame away.

"I'm... sorry," he murmured, but he wasn't so sure he was heard over Aaron's tears. It seemed he was about to go on another tirade as he finally relinquished his name, and Stefan flinched at the mention of blood on his hands. He didn't need this small, orange haired man to remind him of that, Stefan did that all on his own, from the moment he woke up to the moment he laid his head on his pillow to rest. But he said nothing, instead reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red handkerchief. It was his mother's, but he offered it to Aaron to wipe his tears.

"I'm Stefan... Zoerner," he added. He figured it would be of some comfort if Aaron knew his last name. He hoped the male would take note of that. It was extremely dangerous for Stefan to give away his last name. He could be reported for not shooting Aaron right then and there, and that would be treason. But Stefan wanted to help this boy. A part of him hoped that what good he was trying to do would make up for the bad he had been forced to do, and a part of him just wanted to show some kindness. It didn't seem like Aaron had been shown much.

He smiled briefly at the Aryan filth comment. "I'm half Hungarian, actually. Not exactly pure blood," he tried to joke. He figured the Jew wouldn't find it that funny, but it was worth a shot. "And nothing, if that's what you'd like. I can take you to a safe camp, it's mostly rebels and gypsies, and you can stay there or they can help you find a boat to leave country within the next week or two. It's up to you," he let the offer hand, sticking his hands in his pockets, he always had trouble with proper posture, even after being drafted.