Lost
She was only seventeen years old, unlike his age of twenty-three. Neverthless, she was mature for her age. She was outspoken, impetuous, and not afraid of speaking her mind and the truth. She was a young Finnish girl that Lt. Aldo Raine had volunteered their regement to take under their wing after their Nazi-killing gang -- known as the Basterds to the Germans -- had discovered her, beaten and mutilated by the Nazis.
She had wavy, dirty blond hair. Her eyes were hazel, with a little blue in the right eye. Her accent wasn't too thick, but it was noticeable. Her parents were nowhere to be found, and she had no idea who and where they were.
Sgt. Donny Donowitz hated Cinder McKelley. Donny hated the way she would eye him before he slugged a Nazi's skull in, with his signature and infamous baseball bat, her glimpse giving him a second thought. He never had a second thought about killing Nazis.
Donny hated how seemingly innocent she was, even though she could easily kill a Nazi if you put one in front of her. Those hazel eyes would watch him pleadingly, and he felt like if he didn't watch over and protect her, someone else would gain possession of her.
Donny hated the way the tears slid down her cheeks when she cried, not ever making a noise. It made him want to take his bat and slam it into any fucker who had ever hurt her, especially those fucks who mutilated her in the first place. He wanted to torture them and make them apologize for the wrongs they had done to her.
Donny hated the way she smiled. It was never a full smile. Always a half-smile, as if she knew a secret that no one else knew. He wanted to be the one to make that half-smile a full smile, to hold her tight against him, make her feel protected, something she normally never felt. Donny knew she saw Aldo as a parental or guardian figure, and she trusted him and felt protected by him. But Donny wanted to protect her.
Donny hated how she eyed the Nazi, then Donny, before he killed the Nazi. It was like she disapproved of the way he drove his beat-up, scribbled-on baseball bat into their heads.
He hated the sly way she slid her hand up and down his signature baseball bat, as if she knew how it felt to slam that bat into the Nazis' skulls.
Donny hated how she seemed to feel lonely and unprotected, the emotion in her eyes untrusting and hopeless. He hated the way she replied to every question that was shot at her with quick wit and answers that would shut up even the most intelligent and significant people, including Lt. Aldo Raine.
Donny hated the way she'd sometimes argue with him, even for the littlest reasons. And Donny hated that he was the one to blame for starting the arguments with her, for no reason even. He hated that she had broken through his sadistic, monstorous personality.
But the reason Donny hated Cinder McKelley the most was that he didn't hate her, not even a little.
***
"Holy shit." A man's accent, a Yank's southern accent, yelled, "She's still out cold? Scrawny little thing, ain't she?"
My eyes slow opened, despite my blurred vision. My leg ached in unbearable pain. I was laying on the ground, in a wet mess of leaves and ground. I was so confused, coiled up on the dirty ground, in a dirt-and-blood stained, faded white dress. My hair was dirty and was wet due to the passing rain. I eyed the American who had addressed me.
Looking down at me were three Yanks; the one who had addressed me, a man in his mid-thirties, with a mustache and brown hair. Next to him was a really young man, maybe nineteen, with short brown hair. And the other was a pissed-off looking American, my guess in his early twenties. He had black hair and glossy brown eyes that I couldn't help but glance up curiously at. "Kid, what's your name?" The man with the southern accent questioned me, his brow raised.
"Kuka sinä olet (who are you)?" I questioned him in Finnish.
He arched his eyebrows. He looked at the really young man to his right, then to the pissed-off looking one to his left. "She's sure as hell not speaking French or German. Finnish or Swedish. Ey, Donny. Can you speak Finnish? She has that odd accent going."
Donny, the extremely angry looking American, shrugged, "I used to." The southern man gave him a sharp look, "Talk to her, dumbass."
"Mikä sinun nimesi on (what's your name)?" Donny spoke Finnish, sounding almost fluent. He kneeled down next to me, and I backed away a little bit, untrusting of these men. I blinked at him seemingly innocently, and to the other Yanks; there were much more of them, besides the three who were mainly in front of me. They glanced down at me as though I was some foreign object. I had no choice but to reply, "Cinder McKelley. Kuka sinä olet?"
Donny glimpsed at his fellow gang members. "Lt. Aldo, she claims her name is Cinder McKelley. And she wants to know who we are." The imposed leader; the southerner, apparently named Aldo, shot a dark yet approving glance to Donny. "Tell her who we are."
"Olemme natsien tappajia. Amerikkalaista sotilasta, mutta olemme olleet putki tappaa saksalaiset. Ja me kutsutaan Basterds (We're Nazi killers. American soldiers, but we've been on a streak of killing the Germans. And we're called the Basterds)." Donny replied. "Voitko puhua Englanti?"
The Nazi killers, or known as the Basterds by the German Nazis and their armies. I'd even heard of them. They scalped the Nazis, killed them with baseball bats, mercilessly killing the German soldiers. I eyed the man named Donny with caution and replied, "Kyllä, hieman (yes, somewhat)."
Donny rolled his eyes, "Miksi et puhu Englanti on ensimmäinen paikka? (why didn't you speak English in the first place?)." I shrugged in response, and said in English, "You never asked." Lt. Aldo and the rest of his Basterds' eyebrows raised, surprised I randomly spoke in English.
"Would've been fucking easier." Donny hissed, and I could hear what sounded like a Boston accent in his voice.
Lt. Aldo shot a dark look at Donny for snapping at me bu then kindly commented to me, "I'm Lt. Aldo Raine. You know Donny. This is Pfc. Smithson Utivich"--he pointed to the nineteen year old, who gave a small smile--"Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz"--he pointed to a stern, quiet-looking blond man who also gave a smile smile--"Cpl. Wilhelm Wicki"--he pointed to a sly-looking young man--"and the rest of the Basterds." Aldo pointed to the rest of the gang members, who nodded to me in greeting.
"Now, Cinder, how'd you get here? You look as though you'd been beaten, or somethin'. Who did this to you?" I realized once again that I was lying on the ground and the three men peered down at me. My leg still pained, and I cried out slightly.
I blinked in confusion. I remembered. "Two Nazis; they mutilated me. They beat me after I ran from them. I ran from those dicks because they attempted to violate me." I choked out.
"Are you Jewish?" Donny interrupted, his eyes narrowed in impatience.
"Of course I am." I huffed, "I'm assuming the Nazis didn't know that. I'm seventeen, and I was staying with a friend in Normandie, but after the attacks on the beach, we fled. So, we escaped and split two seperate ways. I haven't seen her, so I assume she was killed by the Nazis. And I was walking alone when two of them came up to me and attempted to attack me. I fought back against them, so they beat me and left me here, where you found me."
Lt. Aldo arched his eyebrow again, "Damn Nazis. I'm sorry to hear about that, Cinder. You look roughed up, darlin'. You have three bruises on your face and a few cuts. We'll have to bring you back to camp. Your wounds could get infected." He skimmed his fingers on my right leg, and I cried out in excruciating pain. "And Donny, help her up. Her leg is extremely broken."
Donny glimpsed down at me. He was tall and extremely muscular, and if I didn't know him, I would have been afraid he'd beat me, he was so tough looking. His jet black hair was tousled and his brown eyes were glossy and tired. He reached down carefully and cautiously, lifting me up. I felt so small under his gaze, I wanted to go and hide. I clutched my hands around Donny's neck, and I couldn't believe myself, that I was trusting this gang of Nazi-killing men titled the Basterds. I barely knew them.
"Olet onnekas löysimme sinut (you're lucky we found you)." Donny commented to me, avoiding my eyes and glancing straight forward. He chose to speak in Finnish so it would be a private conversation, I assumed.
"Olin kauhuissani. Luulin, että natsit olisivat...(I was terrified. I thought the Nazis would...)." I replied, but was interrupted by Lt. Aldo. "Report back to camp, let's go, Basterds."
My first Inglourious Basterds fanfiction. Donny Donowitz/OC. Review?