[The name of my OC is Lydia Romanoff and is made up by me.]
What the symbol stands for will forever make me cringe. Of course I speak of the Swastika, one of the most feared and hated symbols in the modern world, which now occurred in front of my eyes more than allowable. Red, black and white has never had such a horrible meaning, as in this bent, symmetrical cross.
I've been a guarded inmate in a nazi organization called Millennium for three days now. The reason they have captured me is that I am one of the trainees in the service department at the Hellsing organization. The soldiers stare shamelessly. Because I am a woman and a member of Hellsing.
When I got kidnapped I was surprised. I know that Millennium prefer Hellsing guards, soldiers and murderers, but what is there to prefer about a mere trainee?
All the same, I've now realized that being a part of Hellsing is a strong epithelium to bear. Here Hellsing has a smell of enemy. But things could have been much worse than this. For example, instead of rotting in a prison cell, I was standing in line, simply just waiting to leave my plate that I almost licked clean from leftovers. The prisoners get the exact same food as the war force and the other staff members on board the airship. Although I hate to admit it, the proviant here is fantastic.
Even though my hands are restricted in handcuffs and I'm surrounded by adult men with alarming faces and eery facial expressions, there's not much more to complain about. Well, other than being forced to witness large displays of swastikas that are visible on the walls everywhere within this huge blimp, which name I have a hard time remembering. With a lump in my stomach, my eyes examined the vast tapestry that hung above the counter where people eagerly wanted to leave their dirty dishes. It was watching over everyone in the entire dining room like a big evil eye.
My heart was beating slowly and timidly while the same forbidden name unwillingly infected my thoughts: Hitler. Hitler. Hitler.
It was almost like I was ashamed of it. To find myself amongst these people, and to even eat the same food that was been mended to them. All I could think about while being a prisoner here was old history class and the documentary films about World War II that we had to watch. When my gaze left the strange looking cross I forced myself to think about something else. I looked around the dining room like an owl and saw some of my former colleagues that I had practiced with last week when everything was normal. It was a horrible thought, but I am so glad that I wasn't kidnapped alone. Our small staff with trainees consisted of six people. Each one was distributed to a specific task in the service department. It feels safer to have some familiar faces in a place like this, despite the fact that the soldiers doesn't like seeing us together. "They're grouping." they will say, and then separarate us like in a billiard explosion.
I frowned. What's taking so long? The line had been strangely quiet, and only grew longer and longer. When complaints began to be heard in line, in harsh German and poor English, a short skinny man with a stubble beard raised his voice, waving a rag of some kind like a judge on a soccer game. "I apologize for the wait, gentlemen!" he shouted. "The misery refuses to collaborate!" cackled his voice as he mentioned to a big machine behind him and lifted a high pile of plates off the bench to make room for new ones. Me, just like the others in the line, sighed unhappily. Some of the men began to stomp impatiently, and some simply walked away and tossed their plate on a random table somewhere.
The lump in my stomach returned. I knew there were a lot of intolerant people behind me, more than eager to walk over me or shove me aside, but I kept my calm while I was holding the plate against my chest. The handcuffs made their presence felt on my wrists and hurt against my skin and bones. The large bulky-necked man in front of me turned around in lack of excitement. His eyes landed on me and he began examining me from head to toe in a disturbing precision. Slowly, an acknowledge-needy smirk formed on his thick lips. Offended, I turned my head quickly to the side and my eyes flickered to the floor.
And that's when I see a pair of brown dress boots.
In all things that are strange, I forgot all about the gawking man right in front of me. The fact that the sight of a pair of spotless, fancy shoes just brought me a sense of security was so odd. They looked exactly like the normal shoes worn by the uniformed men onboard, only a few sizes smaller. My eyes wandered up the owners body in curiosity, seeing black knee high socks covering the calves underneath two bulky, boyish knees and black shorts, with a tucked yellow dress shirt with chest pockets. A black tie completed the uniform, along with a leather strap across the chest and - of course - the taboo cross on the upper arm. Swastika. Hitler.
The person wearing the Hitler-Youth uniform had ash blond hair and cat ears. Cat ears. Like seeing a child in nazi clothes wasn't absurd enough, to top it all, he actually had furry animal ears right on top of his head. My own head remained tilted to the side after trying to figure out his eye color which was too light to be red, and too dark to be pink. I wanted to believe that they were in fact natural brown, or deep chestnut, or any kind of warmer shade like any other pair of eyes, but they weren't. They were in fact the color of light crimson.
I didn't just see things did I? And I was definitely not colorblind. He could be wearing contacts, but why on earth would he do that in a place like this and why did he stand here next to me? It was not uncommon for these guards to follow you as a tail as soon as you were moving, but this one stood out from the crowd like a red nail. He looked so young, appearing to be 14, and I had never seen him before in my life. Perhaps he wasn't even a guard. Perhaps he wasn't even a soldier. Perhaps he was a trainee just like me. With a soft smile, he amusedly watched the older men in front of us who moaned and complained about the poor dishwasher who certainly didn't get enough charge to receive this much crap.
I discreetly took a closer look at the boy. Maybe he wasn't so young as he appeared? But the youth uniform... Now, I think I understand. He must be the son of one of the other soldiers on board. Right now in this rebellious age, where it is common that you're experimenting with new styles and phases. That must explain a couple of things about him. The uniform simply looks out of place on him, because he normally belongs to a particular fashion style, sort of like a punk rocker in a mailman uniform. Although he may look like a kid in a Halloween-costume, he appeared so mature. Apart from the mischievous expression on his face, and the cat ears of course, he stood straight as a pine, and his arms were tamely placed behind his back, his posture stationary. Did he carry a weapon? I couldn't see what was tucked away at the end of the leather strap that ended at his side. He could have anything hidden from sight. His ears suddenly twitched, just like he was listening to my thoughts. My eyes widened. I'm sure I saw them moving! I'm certain of it.
Does he even know about them himself? Of course he does. Does this place make me crazy? Have I gone mad? Should I ask him about them? I looked down hesitantly. One small question wouldn't hurt. It couldn't be completely forbidden to speak with the soldiers, guards or trainees, right? I bit my lip in consideration. I looked around and suddenly, I became nervous about this. It was so odd. It was like I was more afraid of not asking him, in case I would regret it and never see him again. Luckily, the man in front of me with the bulky neck was no longer looking at me like I was a piece of meat. Maybe that was a sign. Not even maybe; that's when I decided. I decided to ask him. I was about to burst my inmate-bubble and do trespassing on enemy's territories. The system cannot punish me for being curious.
Before I knew it, I leaned in towards the boy's side and spoke to him, perhaps a bit too intimately.
"Are those real?" I asked in a silly whisper. That was the very first thing I had said to a member of Millennium. My question was gentle, and almost envious, like I was confronting a lady about her diamonds. Are those real?
When the boy turned to look at me, I looked attentively at his ears so that he would understand what I was referring to. Then I got a bit embarrassed. Maybe he was wholeheartedly German and didn't understand anything of what I just had said. If this was the truth, then my trespassing will be declared as in vain, and I must return to my inmate-bubble. Immediately. Forever. Until another creature succeeds to awake my curiosity, which I doubt will happen any time soon. At first he looked amazed that I suddenly interrupted his little examination, but it didn't take long until the mischievous expression returned to his face.
"If you really think about it, what is really real and what is not?" He asked and I could hear a German accent sneak between the words. He was whispering just like I had done, and his voice was just as young as his features. Before I could think of anything to answer, his voice did no longer whisper anymore and I could hear it loud and clearly.
"Yes, ma'am." he answered with a kind grin. He had been smiling this entire time.
He puzzled me, this boy. I was so blown away by him that I no longer cared about his cat ears or red eyes, or even the Swastika on his arm. I don't know if it was because he had called me "ma'am", or because how such a grin could look that good on a person, or because he actually spoke to me like we were on the same level. He just puzzled me. I smiled back at him, not understanding why I was so nervous talking to him at first.
I always wanted a younger brother, and he made me think about that wish of mine.
He was younger brother-material and he was well-mannered and he asked me:
"Are those real?" And I thought 'What?' And my eyes looked confusedly at his which focused on the plate held against my chest, and there's one thing I was certain of; he wasn't referring to my handcuffs.
I never answered his question. If I was more clever, I could've simply said "What's real and what's not" or whatever it was that he pulled on me earlier and use his own words against him, but my mind was completely unfilled at the moment and all I felt was offended. Instead of answering his question, I was just staring at him in disbelief and I could feel how the inner panic within me started to multiply.
Nobody had heard our little conversation, yet I immediately regretted my decision to talk to this stranger. It was my own fault, after all. I was shocked and mad at myself and my curiosity. I suppose this kind of people exist everywhere, no matter what their age is and no matter the location and surroundings.
I slowly returned my gaze forward; my eyes crept away from his, as if our eye contact never had been.
There. He was just a memory now. My eyes had never looked at his being. I had never seen him. Instead, my eyes focused on the man's bulky neck in front of me. I clenched the plate harder to my breasts, feeling the small pervert's eyes on me.
How come I felt so disappointed? Why did I even bother? He was obviously much younger than me so why was I acting so sensitive? Why was I acting like a child? Why didn't I talk back at him? The older, the better, isn't that right? Perhaps the right thing to do was ignoring him, being the bigger person.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I never noticed that the people in front of me had started moving. I felt someone push against me from behind.
"Mooove inmate!" a masculine voice roared.
Just like that.
Mooove.
I got a glimpse of the man behind me. He didn't look as scary as some of the other soldiers did but he was still a soldier, a soldier with a weapon and a duty, and short auburn hair and green eyes. He looked to be a few years younger than my dad and a few years older than me.
He was in the middle age, and he was grinning, being a tease, and probably proud of his own comment.
"Sorry." I squeaked, half irritated, half frightened, trying not to get too caught up in the fact that he actually sounded like a cow. I could hear laugher as I hurried after the others. A blush began to take form on my face as I stood as close as I could manage behind mister bulky-neck without making him aware of my being.
I didn't want to be here anymore. I started to feel really uncomfortable. I almost joined the group of men who stomped in their places on the floor like bulls.
Maybe I should just leave. Is it okay for an inmate to toss their plate somewhere else other than in the dishwashers face? Strangely enough; that idea was more appealing to me than remaining in a line full of middle-aged Nazi soldiers.
Thank lords (or the skinny dishwasher) that the machine was miraculously fixed and mister bulky-neck walked forward along with his other fellows. This time, I didn't hesitate to mooove.
I was more than eager to escape from the earlier scene with that naughty cat-kid and mister bulky-neck and let's not forget Sir daddy-moo, and head back to my cell and sleep, finally about to end my first proper weekend at the Millennium Organization.
I smiled a crocked smile at the dishwasher and awkwardly put my plate on top of the high pile he was just about to carry away. My hands felt free, even though they were still stuck in the chains. I strutted promptly towards the exit, where a guard probably was waiting to escort me to my room, but I got stopped before I even got halfway through the dining room.
"The walking-rules, Sorry." I said quickly, remembering the rules and also trying to avoid the never-ending confrontation. I'm aware that it is forbidden for inmates to more than walk in this place, but it's also easy to forget that sometimes.
"Walking rules?"
I had to look up when I heard the familiar young voice. It was him again. The blond boy with the red eyes and the cat ears and the Swastika on his left arm.
"Yes. I'm just allowed to walk here." I told him, to which he chuckled.
I glared at him and frowned, obviously disturbed by his presence once again.
"Shouldn't you know, you're a guard, after all, aren't you?" I asked, irritated that he out of everyone had to confront me. I don't know if I was taking any risks, speaking quite rudely to him. The kid may be younger and look more innocent than the others, but his facade hid a person who could make my life an even more living hell if he wanted to.
Insolence could have a high price on board. But he only stood there with his cat ears and his continuous smirk, completely unaffected by my irritated tone.
"I was only joking, you know." he said. I could only assume he was referring to his earlier comment. I don't know if I should be embarrassed or grateful that he brought that up again, but I suppose this was his way of apologizing to me. I gave him a strange smile. He was being the bigger person.
His eyes lit up at my gesture and he took this opportunity to introduce himself.
"I'm Schrödinger." he said. He was looking at me curiously, awaiting my response.
Schrödinger was an odd name for a boy his age in this century, but I didn't tell him that. I only told him that my name was Lydia, and when I told him that, his smile never left his face.
"You're not from here, are you?" he asked, looking at me like he knew something I didn't. I nodded, even though I feared that this conversation was going on for too long.
"Inmate." I stated with an unjust chuckle, used to my new name. I raised my hands to show him my captivity. His eyes widened a bit and his ears pointed upwards like antennas on his head. The reddish orbs of his moved between the chains and my face like they were following the ball in a ping-pong game.
Schrödinger acted like this was something incredibly new to him, and all of the sudden he grabbed hold of the chains between my hands, pulling me towards the exit with him.
"Here I'll escort you." he decided then and there, and he didn't bother to wait for my acceptance. I felt ridiculous as he dragged me through the dining room. It was like he was leading out a horse from a stall.
"I'm just allowed to walk, didn't I tell you that?" I asked him when noticing his hurried pace, careful not to get any unwanted attention. He didn't answer me, and spoke to the guard at the entrance instead, who eyed us suspiciously.
"I'll take this one." Schrödinger said to him in a confidence rare in children his age. The guard glared at me before turning to Schrödinger with a slow nod.
Another pull at my handcuffs, and I got dragged out in the middle of nowhere. The strange boy headed off in a random direction and I wasn't even sure where we were anymore. When we arrived to a completely unfamiliar area on the airship, I had to stop and pull him back to a halt.
"H-Hey!" I said gently, trying my best to not sound rude. He stopped at the sudden brake and glared at me as he let go of the chains.
"Where are we going? I don't think this is the right way to my cell." I explained, taking in the new environment.
"Oh, I guess I got a little carried away, huh?" he said, looking intensely at me with a fresh grin.
"To be honest, I didn't believe them when they said we had real inmates onboard. I thought it was a rumour, and I never believe in rumours." he tilted his head slightly. "What did you do then?" he asked, curious eyes getting suspicious.
"What?" I asked.
"What in the world did you do to get here?" he asked and began walking around me slowly, arms properly behind his back. He examined me in a 3D-manner, refusing to look away from me. I shivered as he now stood by my side, pulling me down by my arm so I could feel his warm breath on the side of my face.
"Did you murder someone?" he whispered so intensively that I almost could feel him lick my ear. In instinct, I moved away from him. "I was kidnapped." I stated, as I shrugged off his hand from my arm. I glared at his contented face.
"How old are you?" he suddenly asked.
"Much older than you." I answered, despite not knowing if that was true or not. He looked a bit startled, just like he did before in the dining room when I told him I was an inmate.
"Oh, but exactly how old are you then?" he asked. I told him my real age. 21.
"That's not old at all." he said with a charming smile. But before his compliment could flatter me, I realized just how odd this was.
"Hold on a minute." I said as I stepped away from him and gave him a suspicious look.
"What was that?" I asked.
"That?" he asked.
"That stunt in the dining room. Did you drag me all the way out here just to ask me about my age?" I asked, probably raising an eyebrow.
"I did not." he took a step towards me, but that was all he did.
"Then why did you?" I asked, but he didn't give me an answer. I sighed and smiled half-heartedly.
Kids these days.
"Well, I guess I'll just go. That way?" I pointed towards the direction we came from and started to walk away from him, not finding him as interesting as I once did.
"Rape." he called after me, and I stopped, dead in my tracks. I turned around. His eyes that earlier was drilling holes into my back was now doing that to my face.
"What?" I breathed in disbelief, not believing the word that just had left his lips.
"The men." he continued, like that would make me understand.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, hearing how serious my voice suddenly became. I was no longer talking to a kid, but an adult. His eyes never left mine and his grin wasn't as sincere as it was before.
"I've seen them do it and I don't want to see you like that." he said with a seriousness that I haven't noticed in him before. But I still had a hard time to completely understand what he was telling me.
"Schrödinger..." I said quietly, checking our surroundings in case someone had heard him and in worst case, would interfere.
"If you want to have an easy life here, then stay close to me. I'm not like the others." he explained calmly, being a perfect contrast to my newly concerned being.
"I don't understand." I said, not wanting to believe in any of this.
"Unless that's something you want." he implied, almost in a happy chime.
"Of course not!" I scolded at him.
"Then listen." he said in a much more collected voice than my outrageous. I was about to say something but he lifted his finger in order to prevent me before I did. The look on his face was way too astonishing to belong to a child. Again, he looked like he knew something I didn't.
"I'm not like the others." he said again, but more in a whisper. His finger that was still raised in the air surrendered to create a soft fist that started to approach my face. Before he would touch my cheek – the part he was aiming for - I gently grabbed his hand and moved it down slowly and whatever he had in mind doing that close to me never happened. This was the first time we touched each other purely, apart from when he touched my arm and almost licked my ear. I never even noticed that he wore gloves until now.
"Is this appropriate behavior for a guard?" I asked him, still holding his hand.
I didn't know if I could trust him or not.
"I already told you" he said and grinned and snatched away his hand from my light grip. The sudden movement surprised me and made my heart sink for an unknown reason. In less than one second of time he was beyond my gaze, and nowhere to be seen.
"I'm not like the others."
I grabbed my head, hearing his words hammer on the walls of my mind. The discomfort caused me to back up against a nearby wall in a stumbling manner and slide down sitting on the floor. I closed my eyes tightly, as if that would help me out of this situation. It didn't work. I could still hear him.
"See? I'm everywhere-"
The echo thinned out into the open air and ended up outside of my mind.
"And nowhere." he finished, talking from the "outside", meaning that I could hear his voice like I normally did, before when everything was as it should be. I felt less dizzy but it would take a moment for the discomfort to leave me completely. I opened my eyes slowly and gazed wobbly into two reddish eyes. He was now sitting in front of me, bending forward with the same everlasting smile pasted on his face.
"What is inappropriate behavior anyway, Miss Lydia?" he asked all of the sudden. "Where goes the line?" he asked.
The reddish eyes seemed to get closer and closer and my back straightened up against the wall behind me. When our noses almost touched each other and I could feel the unchanged warm breath on my face, I put my hands on his shoulders.
"Here" I said as I pushed him gently away from me. I couldn't let a little boy succeed to get me more flustered than I already was. I managed to stand up on my feet and turn away from him, struggling against the blush that spread like a wildfire on my face.
"Are you really telling me the truth?" I asked, trying to get over my embarrassed self and his mind tricks.
"About men raping prisoners? Then yes." he answered calmly. I could hear shuffle behind me. He was also standing up. He called my name and I turned around to face him.
"I want to show you something." he said in excitement.
"What do you want to show me?" I asked. I couldn't resist a small smile forming on my face. I couldn't resist being curious around him.
"Come." he held out his hand to me and without a second thought, I grasped it.