Me: HOORAY~ I FINALLY UPDATED~ :D

Tintin: Yes, indeed. What have you been doing all this time? :I

Me: UGH. School and stuff. :I

Tintin: Oh. Well, that sucks for you~ c:

Me: ... it sounds like you're relishing in my suffering, waffle~ :)

Tintin: Oh, what gave you that id- WAIT, WAFFLE?! D8

Me: AHH! Well, you ARE from Belgium, after all~ ^^''

Tintin: ... :I

Me: ... Eh heh heh... ^J^''

Tintin: Just do the damn disclaimer. :I

Me: (WHOA LANGUAGE TINTIN *shot*) Fine! I, AkuRoku18, do not own Tintin, or the characters. Except for a couple. c:

Tintin: Good. Now, you people go read already. :I *pout*

Chapter 3

September 15, 1940

It was nearly sunset by the time Tintin and Snowy reached Lascaux. They followed the train tracks from the Nazi camp to the town. Lascaux was a small town with a couple of buildings and houses. Tintin quickly located the hotel Nestor had arranged for him and tried to get into his room for the night. His papers and wallet were taken by the Germans, so he had no money or identification.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Tintin. I can't let you go to your room here if you have no identification," the desk attendant said solemnly.

Tintin sighed, "Very well. I'm sorry to have wasted your time, sir." He walked out of the building and said to Snowy, "Sorry, Snowy. I think we'll have to sleep outside tonight." The little dog whimpered and stuck his tail between his legs. Not paying attention to where he was walking, he accidentally walked into another person.

"Oh!" the man exclaimed. He wore a long, dark brown trench coat and a black beret. His hair was black.

"Ah, I'm sorry, sir. I wasn't watching where I was going," Tintin apologized quickly.

"Oui, oui. It is fine, my boy…" The man examined the young reporter in front of him. "I say, aren't you Tintin?"

"Er, yes. I am," Tintin replied.

The man grabbed his hand and said excitedly, "My name is Gaël Cyril, editor of the Le Figaro. I am a huge fan of your adventures, Mr. Tintin. "

"Oh. Well, thank you, Mr. Cyril," the reporter said. Then he thought of something. "You… wouldn't happen to have a couple of Francs on you, would you? I mean… my friend's butler reserved me a room there… but I don't have any identification."

Gaël laughed merrily. "You want to get a room for the night, eh? I'm willing to accommodate, mon ami!" He clapped Tintin on the shoulder and led him back to the hotel. "This place isn't that expensive. I should be able to get you a room for the night. Under my name~"

"Thank you very much, Mr. Cyril!"

"I would think that someone of your caliber would have enough money to afford a hotel room, Mr. Tintin," Gaël said as he pushed the door to the building open. He noticed the long, red scratch on Tintin's arm as they walked in. "What happened there?" he asked, pointing to the young man's arm.

"Well, I was on the train from Loir-et-Cher, and the train stopped at the De Marcation line. All of the passengers had to have their papers checked, and when I gave mine to the man who was checking them, he led me to a Nazi base," Tintin explained. Gaël took out a note pad and a pen. "There, I was held there for the majority of the night. But, since the guards were asleep, I snuck out of the base. I was climbing over a barbed wire fence and my hand slipped, cutting my arm."

The older male stared in awe at Tintin. "Capture by Nazis? A daring escape under the cover of night? The managers at Le Figaro will love this!" Gaël said enthusiastically.

But, Tintin crossed his arms and said quietly, "Actually, I would prefer the public not knowing about this."

"How come?"

"I don't need to draw attention to me right now."

"Understandable." Gaël went to the desk attendant and started talking to him in French. Eventually, he said, "Alright! Your room is taken care of, mon ami."

"Great! Thank you again, Mr. Cyril," Tintin said, shaking Gaël's hand again. Snowy barked happily.

"Anytime, my boy. Now, then, I must be off!" The editor lifted his beret and walked out of the hotel.

Tintin took his room key from the attendant and went to his room. Snowy followed closely. When he got to his room, he opened the door and quickly found his bed. He flopped onto it like a ragdoll. He sighed, "What a day… all of last night and all day today walking. It's shocking that no-one caught up to me…" An exhausted Tintin drifted off to sleep.

September 16, 1945

The next day, Tintin awoke feeling refreshed and ready to start his actual report. The Germans had held onto Tintin's suitcase as well, so he decided he'd just have to wear the clothes he'd been wearing for a couple days straight. I may stink a little… but, eventually, I'll get back to Marlinspike and wash these… He sighed. "But how are we going to get back to Marlinspike, Snowy?" he asked. Snowy whined softly and nudged Tintin's legs. He scratched the little dogs ears and said, "That Nazi… von Gottfried… he can't chase me forever." He and Snowy went to the first floor where they heard some loud voices in the lobby.

"Und… you're sure you haven't seen zhis boy before?" a German accented man asked the desk attendant. Tintin stopped dead in his tracks and peered around the corner. Some Nazis were standing there with his picture and his wallet. The one with the photo had a cross on his helmet.

The desk attendant said, "Oui. If I'd seen him, I'd have known."

"Let us see your list of reservations. Now," the cross helmeted German said threateningly, putting a hand on the pistol at his side. "We have reason to believe zhat he reserved a room here prior to his travels." Tintin gulped. Nestor told him that he'd gotten him a room at this hotel.

"Ah… here's his name… room 103 on the second floor." Tintin sighed in relief. That room was under my name… the room that I'm in now is under Mr. Cyril's. Lucky break.

"Gut. Men, let's move." The Nazi squad marched down the opposite hall while Tintin tentatively walked into the lobby from his hallway.

The desk attendant looked Tintin's way and said, "Hey… aren't those guys looking for you?" He had a look of fear and shock on his face.

"No. I'm not Tintin… I'm…" Tintin thought for a minute. "Thibault. Thibault Cyril. My father rented me a room here last night." The desk attendant looked doubtful, but didn't say anything. Tintin gave him an earnest wave and walked out with Snowy. When outside, he sighed. "It seems I won't be able to travel around Lascaux with all the Nazis crawling everywhere." He saw some laundry hanging out to dry, probably belonging to the house across from the hotel. "Well… I do hate stealing… but I'll return these." He snuck over to the laundry line and took a dark brown waist coat, a black beret, and a black trench coat. Snowy barked softly, as if mocking Tintin for his choice of fashion. "I don't have much better options, do I, Snowy?" He glanced at the rest of the hanging clothes; most of them were dresses and corsets. "D'you want me walking around in a corset?" he snickered. Snowy grunted. The two headed off into town, hopefully to avoid Nazis and find Claude Augustin to get the report done and overwith.