[Ok, this is my first attempt at a PW/AJ AU. Chaptered no less, ha-ha. I'm framing it against historical events I think will give the characters a chance to shine. I really would like feedback on this. Also, I have no clue if I'm going to get into any pairings or such, that's a long way off. Thank you and enjoy!]
The more he thought about it, the more things seemed alike. It was a consequence, after all. He had been told about it repeatedly from everyone. Setting his camera down, he let out a quiet sigh, the sound being swept up by the wind from the Hotel window and the slow cascade of flat notes coming from the yet to be tuned guitar.
"Come on, would it be so hard to get that thing in tune?" He asked.
"Ah, hush." Came the response from the man who was in firm control of the slightly imperfect musical cavalcade. "Ain't that bad." He reasoned.
It really wasn't, but Kristoph was just looking for something to work as a distraction. He was still reeling from the offerings that his own trusty camera had given life to. He hadn't even remembered taking those pictures and yet…there they were. He let out a small sigh.
"Do you think the good people at Leica meant for their precious cameras to document such…savage things?" The blonde asked, holding up his camera, a Leicaflex, the best that Germany had to offer. From his bed, Neil Marshall shrugged.
"I don't think the camera has anythang to do with it." He said. "After all, it didn't choose to come here. We did." He reasoned, sounding almost profound. "Besides… my Nikon is better than your Nazi camera." The Texan quipped. Kristoph used his full powers to shoot a withering look at his brother-in-film.
"First off, it's not a 'Nazi Camera', remember, I'm from West Germany, the good guys, the one's you lovely Americans sell weapons to via South Africa. And second… of course we came here. We aren't going to win the Pulitzer if we go back to Austin and shoot college football games and the Texas Legislature." The blonde explained, earning a nod from Neil.
"True enough, though… we could make good money working for the Statesman." Neil said. "Plus…we wouldn't be looking at humans turned into ground beef. Leave that to the hardcore guys." He said, voice trailing into a mumble, mainly because of the mention of the professional photographers who came from around the world to document this dreadful farce of a war. At this, Kristoph laughed.
"The 'hardcore' guys… Fuck 'em." He said, enjoying his quick dive into profanity. "Besides… if we die they'll name stuff for us back on campus. Dibs on the Lacrosse field." He said, smiling to himself as he started the tedious process of lens cleaning. His compatriot rolled his eyes.
"Ah, relax. This damn thang will be over in '73, late '73 tops." He declared, fully believing this. He again sought to poke some fun to relax his friend.
"So, a Leicaflex? Nikon and Olympus not good enough?" He asked, eyes and smile peering from under the brim of his hat. Kristoph faked a groan.
"Don't hate me because I'm rich." He declared. Neil laughed. Oh, he knew all about that. He had known the blonde and his family since they had moved to Austin. Same Elementary, Junior High, High School and College. Neil was by no means underprivileged, but Kristoph was just… in the clouds. It wouldn't have been easy for the VC to figure out he was from the West. If the waves of long blonde hair weren't enough, his designer clothes were.
As Neil was about to speak again, Kristoph grabbed Neil's new Nikon F2 and aimed it straight at the gregarious Texan. Not bothering to set the guitar down, he adjusted his hat and threw up a peace sign with both hands, face in a controlled smile. Kristoph snapped a photo that was actually good, he then laughed as he readjusted himself.
"Okay… same smile…different hands." The blonde said as Neil's smile got a little bigger. In a flash, he subtracted a finger from each hand until only his middle fingers remained. Kristoph happily snapped a few pictures. "Well, there's one to send home." He said, laughing as he set the camera down, his mind finally at partial ease. Neil grinned.
"Screw that, send them back to the photo department at UT. Show 'em how their 'bright hopes' are spending time." He joked. "I mean, that's twenty times better than our jungle stuff. Though, you hanging upside down from that helicopter was absolutely priceless. I've got that shot around here somewhere…" He drawled.
"Hey, I had to find something amusing about all that. Not that Marines shooting trees wasn't just… thrilling. Combat is useless if you can't see it." Kristoph declared.
"Though…" Neil began to add. "Any day that doesn't involve us dodging VC booby traps is a good day." He reasoned, earning a nod from Kristoph, who had returned to his lens cleaning. That was probably the worst part of this whole thing.
Truth be told, the two had grown use to the thunder of artillery and the staccato cracks of firefights. They survived because they learned where to stand, though, that was harder than it sounded. The part that continued to strike fear into them was whenever they would be drawn into those God-awful jungles, a level of Hell that very few men truly knew. It had only been a few weeks since Neil had been trapped in one. It wasn't one of the more serious ones, meaning it didn't involve a falling grid of bamboo spikes or a pit in the ground, which, of course, had spikes on the bottom.
No, this was some weird lasso. It caught around his left ankle and pulled him up until he was hanging upside down from a tree. He had only been mildly amused. Though, he learned to find humor in it when he realized he still had his left leg. Simple gifts, he reasoned.
Raising his head to look out at the window, Neil let out a soft chuckle, getting Kristoph's attention.
"It's kinda sad that all this shit has to go down this way…" Neil said. "This ain't a bad Country." Kristoph nodded as he looked down at the calendar. It was October 1972.