A/N: I DO NOT own Inglourious Basterds. One review per chapter please. Sorry for the eternity between updates, I've been extremely busy. I'm done with school now though, which is just rad and gives me more time for writing.

Brandy Daisy

I clutched Donny's muscular arm as we moved from the car and up the steps of the magnificent mansion of our host.

Bonsoir Monsieur. Madame. the doorman said, bowing his head at us.

(Good evening sir. Mrs.)

I nodded back, giving him a smile before grabbing the bottom of my dress.

The biggest flaw in the plan was the fact that Donny obviously didn't speak French. I had taught him the little I could in the time we had left, but by no means would he be able to hold a conversation.

Leaning over, I whispered into his ear.

"Let me do all of the talking."

He gave a small nod, and we walked into the manor.

The sounds of drinking and socializing reached my ears. Glasses clinking, raucous chuckles and shrill tones echoed throughout the walls and I suddenly became aware of every little sound.

My heart was pounding. My heels, clicking against the floor. Loud noises and boisterous tones, all inter-mingled with one another.

The sitting room came into view, where prominent men and their younger wives and mistresses sat around laughing and acting as though the very men in the room weren't out murdering people during the day.

Several of the men were in uniform, others in tuxedos. The women all were dressed in various evening gowns, each more extravagant than the last.

Cigarette smoke floated across the air, making the room hazy. It seeped into my lungs, relaxing me almost immediately and I smiled.

Ah regardez, des nouveaux visages. a woman said, putting her cigarette down In a nearby ashtray.

(Ah look, new faces.)

Oui, et vous seriaz? I asked, raising my eyebrow.

(Yes, and you would be?)

The room settled into quiet as all eyes turned to the two of us, to see who were these newcomers that dared challenge what I assumed to be a woman of importance.

Frau Wünnenberg, mais je crois que c'est Moi qui devrait demander cette question. she replied, crossing her legs.

(Mrs. Wünnenberg, but I believe it is I that should be asking this question.)

Mademoiselle Gilles DeGoad si vous devez savez. I replied sharply.

(Mrs. Gilles DeGoad.)

Ah, DeGoad. J'ai ÉtÉ attente rÉpondre pour certain temps. another woman spoke up, leaning forward on the couch.

(Ah DeGoad. I have been waiting to meet you for some time.)

I turned to Donny, hoping he would realize that her comment was directed towards him. He simply smiled awkwardly.

Je suis dÉsolÉ, mon mari est vient dÉmarrer plus une maladie. Son voix n'a pas encore de retour. I said quickly, hoping my skin was not heating up.

(I am sorry, my husband is just getting over an illness, his voice has not yet returned.)

Vous pauvrez homme. Asseyez-vous, s'il vois plaÎt. another woman said, scooting over and making room.

(Oh you poor man. Sit, please.)

The women all cooed at once, and their dates exchanged chuckles. The woman I know knew as Madame Wünnenberg scowled over her glass of wine (which I presumed to be made by "our" company), and sat back in her seat.

Je suis Madame Brunner. C'est mon mari Alois.a bright blonde woman said, flashing a dazzling smile to the two of us and pointing across the room to another couch, where a handsome brown-haired man was sitting.

(I am Mrs. Brunner. That's my husband Alois.)

I smiled, and he replied with a slight twitch of the lip, nodding at me. I noticed though, that his eyes lingered on my face, as if studying my features.

Mrs. Brunner began introducing us to everyone around the room, before offering me a cigarette.

I took it gratefully, leaning across Donny and brushing my arm against his lap.

He glanced at me but I pretended nothing had happened, before leaning back and taking a long inhale from the filtered smoke.

Alors, vous Êtes Marion je prÉsume? she asked me, smiling.

(So, you are Marion I presume.)

Oui. I nodded, taking a drag from my cigarette.

(Yes.)

C'est merveilleux finalement recontre les gens qui ont a apportez vous ces merveilleuz vin.

(It's wonderful to finally meet the people who have brought us such wonderful wine.)

Vous Êtes beaucoup top genereuse. I replied.

(You are far too kind.)

It came as a delightful surprise that despite being the wife of a mass murderer, Mrs. Brunner was incredibly kind, as were most of the other women besides Mrs. Wünnenberg.

Donny had declined to go smoke with the other men, and after they left it was just the rest of us women and him. I knew that we would have to start working on his French, for now he stuck to short conversational tidbits.

Hours went by without a sight or even mention of Walter Janussein, until around one in the morning.

We were laughing loudly over a joke a Madame Vallet had told, when the sounds of heavy boots sounded through the hall.

A man entered the room through all of the smoke, standing tall and thin as he came into sight.

Green eyes bored beneath thick blonde eyebrows.

"WALTER!" all of the women cried at once, and it was apparent that he had a somewhat casual relationship with them despite his demeanor.

Hands behind his back, he bowed his head.

Mesdames. he said through a thick German accent.

(Ladies.)

His eyes slowly moved to focus on Donny and I.

Qui devez-vous ici? he asked, eyes settling on me.

(Who do we have here?)

Marion DeGoad. C'est mon mari Gilles. I said, sitting up slightly. Donny sat up beside me as well, surveying Janussein.

(Marion DeGoad. This is my husband Gilles.)

Vous faites tout son parle pour lui? he asked sharply, looking back and forth between the two of us.

(You do all his talking for him?)

Non Monsieur, il a perdu son voix. I replied.

(No sir,he has lost his voice.)

He stared at the two of us before continuing on.

DeGoad dites-vous? Comme les vignerons?

(DeGoad you say? Like the winemakers?)

Nous sommes des vignerons.

(We are the winemakers.)

He stared for another solid moment before turning to the other women.

Je voudrais je pouvit rester mon belles dames, mais il y a affaires je dois assister à. Je vous offre bonsoir. He said before bowing his head and departing the room.

(I wish I could stay my beautiful ladies, but there is business I must attend to. I bid you a good evening.)

As he left, his heavy footsteps continued to echo throughout the walls before fading away completely.

I turned to Donny and we exchanged a quick glance before I took another glass of wine, downing it as my heart pounded.

So that was him. The man we were after.

Janussein stood tall. Maybe a bit over 6'5'' with brushed back blonde hair and an extremely stern face. He was not particularly handsome, but he was not hideous either.

I could tell from the way his boots glinted beneath the firelight that he was one who take care of his uniform. My father was one of those guys. He would spend every morning before he went out, neatly polishing his badges and medals, and making sure every little crease was neatly pressed and straight.

I settled back into my seat. The way he had stared at me made me slightly uneasy, his eyes burning holes inside of me as if he knew. As if he knew I was not who I said I was.

I took another sip of wine, closing my eyes and resting my head back on the sofa. Donny whispered something to me but I ignored him, feeling the light airiness come to my head after a night of drinking.

Turning my head, I looked at the rest of the women, most drunk out of their minds. I fit in great.

Donny put a hand on his arm and I smacked it away.

Several of the women laughed loudly and I sat up, suddenly aware of the enormous pressure on my bladder.

I pushed Donny away, standing up and grabbing my dress as I swayed dangerously.

OÙ est la toilette? I slurred, blinking rapidly.

(Where is the bathroom?)

The women all spoke at once, and I gave up trying to hear what they were saying as the words ran together.

I made my way through the sitting room and climbed up a nearby staircase, grasping my dress and trying not to trip up the stairs.

My vision was hazy, clouds floating across my eyes and blurring every single thing I saw.

Each stair seemed higher than the last, and I closed my eyes, resting my face against the cool banister before lowering myself down onto the carpeted steps.

Un peu de vin peut vait un grand chemin. a voice said, coming to my ears in waves.

(A little wine can go a long way.)

I looked up, to find startling green eyes looking down into my own.

Qui? I whispered.

(Who?)

Before I could say anything else he grabbed me by my arms, pulling me up onto my feet.

J'ai utlise la toilette. I whispered, clinging onto him as my legs threatened to give way beneath me.

(I have to use the WC)

Venez sur. he whispered softly, putting an arm around my waist and leading me down the hall.

(Come on.)

I stumbled dramatically, feeling my heart pound and thoughts swarm in my head as I tried to blink away the alcohol. This was perfect. Absolutely perfect. I had him.

Voici. he said, stopping in front of a gorgeous mahogany door.

(Here.)

I moved my hand to open it but he grabbed me, slamming my body against the wall violently.

Qu'est ce-que vous faites? I asked, suddenly aware of my surroundings.

(What are you doing?)

Vous pensez je ne reconnaÎtrait pas votre visage? he asked, his grip digging sharply into my wrists.

(You think I would not recognize your face?)

Je ne sais pas que vous parlez. I said, trying to pull my arms from his steely grip unsuccessfully.

(I do not know what you speak of.)

Jeune Elise. he said, chuckling darkly.

(Young Elise.)

My old name, back at the brothel.

I could not remember having ever had him as a customer. The nights I spent hoping things would be over though, I had tried to put my mind elsewhere. It would not be a surprise if I actually had him as a client.

Que pense votre mari? Ayant une pute pour une femme? he hissed.

(What does your husband think? Having a whore for a wife?)

At this I felt my mind shift gears. Immediately, I had assumed my entire cover was blown, but if he still thought Donny and I were actually married things might work out to my advantage.

Je ne suis pas une pute. I said, throwing back my head and pressing my lower body against him.

(I am not a whore.)

He stared at me for a moment, before grabbing me and throwing me violently into the restroom door.

Without saying anything else, he left, and I gasped, feeling wetness trickle down my temple where the door had scraped off some of my skin.

Standing up, I opened the door and tumbled in.

That did not go as well as I expected.