"So, let me get this straight and neat," Aldo said, leaning forward on the wooden bench in the kitchen. A steaming bowl of stewed venison was in front of him, which Kagan was eyeing hungrily, waiting for a moment to swoop in and seize it. The others had wolfed down theirs before the officers even left the study, and were now basking lazily in the warmth of the fire in the kitchen. "You sit out here in this eee-state," he drawled, "signin' dear ol' dad's name to all the paperwork, bankin' on the family name—and you don't get hassled none?" He finally took a chunk of venison when Kagan's hand was mere inches from his work, eliciting some mumbled curses.
Adriana shook her head, pursing her lips. Neither she nor the other one, Annie, were eating; so far, they seemed to exist off of whiskey and cigarettes. "I do, sometimes," she admitted warily. "But the Nazis keep their distance. It helps that I'm Swiss. If they want to speak with me, they tend to summon me. I suppose it makes them feel powerful, like they could snatch it all away if they wanted," she pondered, finally stubbing out her dog end of a cigarette and dropping it into her empty glass.
"They're all about the power play," Annie chimed in from the other end of the long wooden table, where she was feeding chunks of stale bread to a large, lolling wolfhound. "If it makes them look big and scary and tough, they'll do it. Why else would they make you go all the way to them, so they can sit at their big desks and wave their flags and march their enlisted up and down for your benefit?" This elicited an appreciative snort from Donny, which made Annie pin him with a hard stare.
"I wouldn't go casting stones about that, if I were you," she drawled to him, gesturing to his bat and raising her eyebrows. Picking up on what she meant, his lazy demeanor turned surly, and his dark eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened to say something that he would surely regret as the other men snickered, Hirschberg elbowing Utivich, who was turning a faint shade of pink from secondhand embarrassment.
Cutting in before the conversation could deteriorate any further, Wicki looked at Annie seriously. "What are you doing here?" He asked, a dark shadow behind his words hinting at a threat, if she cared to look.
She gave him a lazy smile in return, a hint of bite in her own words as she said, very carefully, "My daddy was a communist."
All heads, previously either dozing or only half-listening, swung to face her. Adriana smiled faintly, watching this play out.
"Like the Ruskies?" Hirschberg asked, and wilted when Annie fixed him with a stare that could have melted a hole in a stone wall. "No," she said emphatically. "Not like those nepotistic oligarchs. He helped found the IWW," she added, pride coloring her voice.
Aldo let out a laugh, genuinely amused for the first time all night. "Your papa was a wobbly?" He chuckled. "Got-damn, girl, no wonder Roosevelt ain't welcomin' you back with open arms. Where is he now? Leadin' another peasant revolt?"
Her face flamed in anger from his teasing, and she snapped "No, he's dead. He was falsely accused of murder before he left, so I'm proud to not go back," she declared, earning what seemed like a collective eye roll. "Capitalist pigs," she added faintly, as an afterthought.
"Christ on a bicycle, what a weird fuckin' world it is," Aldo shook his head and muttered to himself, finishing his meal. The two girls were most definitely the only occupants at the moment- excepting what could be anywhere between two and five dogs, he wasn't sure. The house was large and gracious, obviously built on the assumption that there would be a full staff of servants. The oversized fireplaces were proof enough of that, as were the long wooden tables they were sat at. The room was cozy and homely, classic French peasant: herbs and dried meat hanging from the ceiling, copper pots hung over the stove, dogs underfoot. Warm, he thought to himself. Nice. He could see why the Swiss girl decided to take up residence here, especially if the situation was as delicate as she hinted at.
The Basterds seemed to collectively decide to sleep in the kitchen with the fire, though Kagan and Sakowitz had already slipped out for first watch. Adriana rose, indicating she was going to retire; Annie followed soon after. Aldo noted with quiet dread the way Stiglitz's eyes seemed to follow the Swiss girl, not looking forward to discouraging the German. Stiglitz was a dangerous beast, perhaps more so than Donny, because when push came to shove, he wasn't sure if Stiglitz would obey his orders if they ran counter to something he really, truly wanted.
Like a name off of his list. Or a beautiful woman, who, even he had to admit, was on the dangerous side of clever.
Standing in front of her bedroom window, the lantern she used to guide her way up extinguished so she could better see the view, Adriana tensed when she heard a floorboard creak behind her.
"Yes?" She asked, in German, already suspecting who it was, and knowing that she wouldn't have heard him if he didn't want her to.
"Admiring the view?" His gravelly voice intoned, and her hair stood on end when she realized that he was much closer than she thought. She didn't turn, but flinched slightly when she felt his breath on her hair. He wasn't touching her, but she could feel the heat from his body, and just the sense of him being there was enough. He knew it, too, the smug bastard.
"Why not? It's mine to admire," She responded quietly. His faint chuckle at that blew a strand of hair in her face, and she impatiently moved to tuck it behind her ear. "Why, exactly, are you in my bedroom?"
"There are a few reasons, but I don't think you'd like to hear them," he promised lowly, and she bit her lip, schooling herself to not snap at him. "I'm just wondering, a lovely, rich, lonely girl like you," he started, and she could see the faint reflection of his face in the glass. She tried not to look at it, focusing instead on the open, empty pastures and the distant tree line. "You should have Nazi suitors beating down your door. An established company, a big bank account, and a beautiful woman? It's all a bit hard to resist," he smirked, and she looked down, suddenly liking him less.
"I wouldn't presume to know the minds of men," she responded quietly, ducking out from in front of him. "You should rest," she advised as she drifted towards her wardrobe. She didn't hear him leave, but the sudden coolness at her back and vast emptiness in the room told her she was alone once more.
Author's Note: Annie's father is based on the real Socialist leader Big Bill Haywood. He did flee the country after being accused (probably rightly so) of murder, but didn't have any wife or kids. He died, drunk and alone, in Moscow in the late 1920's.