-Gilbert Beilschmidt-
"What wanting with only one small roll of bread? Certainly I can do yet more for you, sir?" the Polish baker said in his bad German.
"No. That will be all. Make sure it's fresh."
The baker quickly put together the Prussian's request, eager to get the fully armed and uniformed Nazi out of his bakery. "Have you a good day."
With military precision, Gilbert stalked out of the door. His departure was announced by a slight chime rusted metal, before he felt his taller brother at his side. The cold Polish autumn breeze blew into Gilbert's silvery hair, but the Prussian didn't particularly care. He enjoyed the cold weather.
"Nothing for me this time," the blond fondled the bag briefly and scowled. "You've got to have only a single piece of bread in there. You saving up money for something? I could get us more cards, if you're concerned." Ludwig said.
"Just trying to trim down a bit, that's all."
The taller blond laughed. "Right. In a war."
"Guard work is easier than front lines."
Gilbert lightly punched Ludwig in the stomach and danced away out of reach before his brother could launch a counterattack. "Come on, fatty." The pair of brothers chortled boisterously down the road, attracting the stares of numerous concerned Polish civilians.
The two quarreling brothers at the platform to the railway station to take them from Oświęcim into the camp. Waiting there Gilbert appraised a slim dark form on the track. Roderich Edelstein, who worked in the same division, must have also had leave. Roderich looked somewhat disdainfully upon the two as they sauntered in, mumbling something in his rich cowboy dialect about how acting so while in uniform was a disgrace. Gilbert didn't like the Austrian much, but Ludwig seemed to like him. So out of respect for his brother when he was around, Gilbert decided he would at least tolerate Roderich.
"Hello Roderich, a fine morning, " his brother greeted politely.
"Yes… it would be," the Austrian sighed. "But I was up all night practicing, I am hardly awake today."
Ludwig just nodded amiably, returning to his usually staid silence around people who he wasn't close friends with. Gilbert on the other hand had to hide a snort of contempt. He was vaguely aware the Austrian owned a violin or something. How did such a snob get in the SS anyway? He thought. Probably because of his strict sense of hierarchy and discipline, Gilbert's noted to himself. That was more than could be said for himself.
The three stepped into the train, greeting the other Birkenau overseers with abbreviated salutes. When Ludwig and Roderich turned their heads towards the window after procuring a few seats, Gilbert quietly slipped the roll from the paper bag and slid it inside his jacket.
-Elizabeta Héderváry-
She felt as if the very sinews in her hand were decomposing. Sewing by hand each and every day was harder work than it looked. Her hands were twitchy and so was her breathing. She briefly wondered if it would be worth conditioning herself to learn to sew with her left hand, but was afraid that if the decline in her work quality was too noticeable she would be singled out and… Replaced. The guards couldn't track which workers were sewing the swastikas on incorrectly if it was only three or four defects in every hundred, but they'd certainly be able to tell if one's whole workload was sloppy. And that worker would be terminated without thought nor remorse.
Eliza suddenly felt a presence behind her.
"It appears to me…" a low voice trailed off. It was calm and nonthreatening, almost musical. "That the points of this swastika are facing backwards..."
The female's blood ran cold. What? She hadn't even meant to… Not this time at least! She always did it when the Kapos changed shifts. Had she been distracted and placed it wrong? She felt her friends seated around her stop what they were doing and stare at her with wide eyes. Some wild thing fluttering inside her chest hoped –desperately, foolishly, hoped- that it was the red eyed guard that she had acquaintance herself with before. Any guard could kill her, the red eyed included, but it was likely only he would spare her. Even if for his own foolish amusement at having his very own pet prisoner groveling at his ash covered boots.
But when she turned, it was not him who she met.
It was officer Edelstein. And he had just clicked his revolver.
A/N
I love reviews, I really do. Along with any ideas or criticisms as well. Shout out to the splendidly awesome Hello I'm AWESOME-and-WEIRD and Imogen Color for being the first reviewers.