paradisalogs | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Hans Von Hammer and OPEN
What: A fighter pilot arrives in the castle...
When: Now and when you arrive
Where: A corridor somewhere
Rating: PG, probably

"I am no longer your enemy..."

Those had been his words to the American soldiers, as the Messerschmitt jets exploded behind him. His last act of duty to a dying land, under a tyrant he despised. Then there had been...light. He had thought that death had finally caught up with him, that his turn had finally come.

Then he landed. And it hurt, landing on stone. He rolled on the ground for a moment, gritting his teeth, then sat up suddenly. No, this was neither heaven nor hell - frankly, it had the air of some of the aristocratic homes he had seen over the decades. Interesting, but he was alert - wary for traps.

He stood up, blue eyes surveying the immediate terrain. Anyone seeing him would see a man in a WWII Luftwaffe uniform - but the Pour Le Merite medal hanging at his throat pointed to an older, and very different, origin.

He whipped off the cap, with its hated symbol, and tossed it aside. Time to get to the bottom of this.

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There's an underdressed woman, walking down that hallway.

"I've always liked admiring men in uniform." Have a grin and a wink.

It isn't that he doesn't appreciate the female form. He does - far too little in recent years, more's the pity. But he's a master of the art of survival. Which means you watch the eyes.

And he knows a fighter when he sees one.

He bowed from the neck, formally. He was, after all, nearly the definition of the term 'old guard'.

"Greetings, fraulein. Up until now I was sure I wasn't dead. But they do say something about Vaklyries, do they not?"

Oho. Now he's an interesting one.

"I don't know anything about these Valkyries of yours, but I can tell you that you're not dead. You're in Paradisa, love."

He nodded.

"I had thought not. There is supposed to be a horse, or something of that ilk."

He had never much paid attention to the details. The 'death and glory' routine was not for him. He was, however, now mildly curious.

"Paradisa?"

She's about to say how there are a few horses here and there, but that's probably irrelevant.

"It's some kind of magical castle that kidnaps people for fun. Nobody's quite figured it out yet."

He nodded, accepting this. Without any other evidence, at least, it fulfilled his own observations. Clearly, he had been one place, now he was somewhere else, where beautiful women with eyes like steel were an introduction.

"Fascinating. What year is it, in this place?"

"We don't know that either. The holidays and months are tracked, but the people here seem to be from a lot of different times and places."

Hell, her world has an entirely different system of time keeping.

"I see."

He contemplated this news. Out of time, out of earth. Perhaps it would be better. Just perhaps, there would be no war here.

"Would you be willing to offer me some direction, fraulein? Ah, my manners...do forgive me, this is rather overwhelming. I am Oberst Hans Von Hammer, at your service."

He extended a hand. The only question in his mind was whether to shake it or give it the traditional kiss. Just judging from those eyes, such might be viewed as patronizing, thus he would choose the latter.

She takes that hand, grinning and giving him a firm shake. She wouldn't have minded a kiss, but he would've gotten some (more) sly comments.

"Oberst Hans Von Hammer, hm?" Her pronunciation isn't too horrible, at least.

"I'm Isabela. And I'd certainly be willing to offer you some directions, among other things."

"For the moment, at least, getting my bearings would be fine. And thank you, by the way. It is appreciated."

He looked around for a moment, before looking at her again. Once again, the attention was on the eyes. Really, if he were asked about it, he would say that that was where the truly interesting happened anyways.

"I do apologize if I am accidentally somewhat brusque - I have not dealt with a lady in some time."

He decided, in that moment, to take a small intuitive leap.

"And certainly not one of your capabilities."

She smiles. That's something of a pleasant surprise, though this means she'll have to gauge the situation better. Most men don't look past her chest.

"We're on the [insert floor number here] floor. If you're looking for your room, we can check the list down in the lobby. If you're looking for a drink, there's a handy bar on the second floor."

There's also a copy floating about on the castle intranet, but she doesn't get computers.

He considers his options at this point. Frankly, he had thought he was immediately bound for a prisoner of war camp, presuming the Americans didn't just shoot him dead.

"A room can wait. I could kill for some good coffee. Can we get coffee here?"

For nearly six years, he had been forced to subsist on a substitute made from acorns, of all things. The small but pervasive effect of a blockade.

Hmm.

"I think I've seen something with the words 'Coffee maker' in the kitchen. Think that'll work?"

She's a booze type of woman.

He nodded.

"I suppose it will. Six years since I had a cup of decent coffee. Failing that, a good bottle of wine would not be out of the question, would it?"

He is an honourable man - but he's also a soldier. One scrounges when necessary.

And she'll start leading the way towards the kitchen.

"Now that I know where to get. I'd drink anything, but my friends can get picky."

He followed, a slight smile on his face.

"I seldom have the choice to be picky anymore - but I still remember what good wine was like."

He paused a moment, looking at her.

"Thank you for your help, fraulein. I have little right to such kind help."

She sounds more than a bit amused.

"It's alright here. Back home, you'd have to watch out for every 'helpful' urchin, pick-pocket, and thug on the street - most of whom would kill you for a handful of coppers."

He smiled, briefly.

"I suspect they would need to be swift indeed to put you to any trouble. You strike me as particularly adept, Isabela."

"You don't live very long if you don't figure out these things."

A grin. "Of course, you could also make enough gold to pay off the street gangs, but that's a bit more flighty."

"Naturally."

She certainly had a very nice smile. This was a very interesting person he had been greeted by, it seemed.

"I never had to deal with that. My challenge was not being shot out of the sky on a daily basis."

"Shot out of the sky?"

Such technologies are beyond her.

"Yes," he said, realizing all too late this might be a foreign concept to her, "I am a pilot of flying machines."

He looks around.

"More correctly, I was."

At least she knows about cars, so making the leap isn't too difficult.

"You were? What happened?"

"The war ended. Again."

He was quiet for a moment.

"We lost, of course. This time, I suppose, it could be said that at least we deserved to lose. God help the world had we won."

There's someone wandering down the same corridor as you, Hans. Someone dressed in a uniform, also.

Though John Geary's looks vaguely naval than anything. And that of an Officer.

He pauses, looking over the new person.

"Looks like this place has claimed a new victim."

"It appears so," he said, calmly.

He looked the man over, and out of respect, saluted.

The surprise on Geary's face is evident, but he still salutes back crisply.

"I'm Captain John Geary, Commander of the Alliance Fleet." He pauses. "Probably not any Alliance you know of."

He looks around the corridor. "And this place is Paradisa."

"Oberst Hans Von Hammer."

He thought for a moment.

"Former Luftwaffe, former Luftstreitkräfte - Imperial Air Service. And Paradisa? I would have thought 'paradise' to have more gardens and less cold stone."

Geary frowns, as he can remember ancient historical documents he was forced to look at when on school field trips to the Sol System mentioning stuff like that. He nods. "Impressive service record, Oberst." He says, assuming the latter is a rank.

"Paradisa isn't so much paradise, though."

"I had assumed. The word that most immediately comes to mind,"

He looked around, slowly.

"...is 'prison'".

"I would agree with you there." Geary says, nodding. "But most prisons don't let people wander about, nor have whatever they want apart from an escape."

A pause. "Better word would be 'hostages'" Though he's not happy with that, either.

"Hostages against what?"

He doesn't much like the sound of that either.

"It's the castle that's keeping us here. So, I'm assuming that's what's keeping us hostage."

Geary motions at the walls. "Some people think magic, others think advanced technology." He's a believer of the latter.

"I see," he said, watching the other man carefully.

"What happens if we attempt to leave?"

And from around the corner came a giant red man, seven feet tall, with two sawed-off horns on his head. He didn't initially seem all that interested in this new arrival, probably because he didn't realize he was new, and was about to walk right by with only a casual nod of greeting.

Then he noticed the hat on the ground and did a double take at the man and his uniform, yellow eyes going wide at first and then quickly narrowing in fury.

"Nazi!" he bellowed, instantly breaking into a run, pulling back his giant stone right hand, preparing to just sock him in the chest.

He had turned to watch what was, to him, an amazing, unexpected encounter. The sudden turn to hostility was surprising, but to be expected. And he didn't look ready to let him walk away from this.

And he hadn't survived two wars, and the fascists, by being slow to react. He ducked under the fist, trying to use his weight to knock the being off its feet. Otherwise, against that size, that power, he was a dead man.

Unfortunately for von Hammer, Hellboy was about 400 pounds of solid muscle and power, so he didn't lose his balance that easily. Fortunately, on the other hand, with all that power came not the best reaction times, so when von Hammer ducked, Hellboy just slammed his fist into the wall instead.

Stone yielded to stone, and Hellboy's indestructible fist cracked a hole in the castle wall down to his elbow. With a furious, incoherent noise, he pulled himself free and turned back around.

It had been worth a try. He had very few options, none of them particularly good. And now, after that maneuver, he was literally stuck with his back to the wall. Hellboy blocked any possible retreat, except deeper into a corner.

So this was, likely, it. He straightened up, taking off the jacket.

"Get it over with," he said, meeting Hellboy's eyes. "But I will not die being called a Nazi." And he casually tossed aside the last of the symbols of the party. He stood straight, the Pour Le Merite at his throat. And waited, without fear.

Thinking while enraged about God Damn Nazis: not Hellboy's strong point. So when von Hammer starts speaking and pulling off medals, it takes the ex-paranormal investigator a few long seconds to actually piece together what was happening, let alone what he was saying. Words? What are words?

In these few seconds, Hellboy had advances again, slowly approaching until he was looming down over von Hammer, eyes still narrowed.

"If this is some kind of play for sympathy," he said gruffly, gesturing stiffly at the discarded symbols, "I swear --"

He looks at his would-be killer without anything approaching anger or fear. If anything, there is curiosity.

"Perhaps they did so much evil to the land that punishment took on physical form."

But he shook his head.

"The party burned to death, in the ashes of the country they corrupted and betrayed. As well it should. Though we are all tainted, I was never one of them."

At that, at least, the cold eyes seem to flash. It appears an opinion is strongly held.

Still glaring down, eyes narrowed, Hellboy reflexively balled his hands into fists, the stone fingers of his massive right hand audibly grinding together. He mad.

"No kidding, I'm from the god damn future," he said. "I know you guys got wiped out like you should. But when somebody goes waltzing dressed like a damn stormtrooper, I get a little itchy."

He inclined his head, leaning closer to von Hammer just a bit. "So you're telling me you're not a Nazi."

He nodded. "I was there when it ended. I surrendered my unit to the Americans at the earliest opportunity."

"I was Luftwaffe. Jadgverband 99. Unlike the stormtrooper thugs, we fought an armed enemy, and did so with honour. We did not murder civilians."

As he said that, one clenched fist began to tremble with rage, the only outward symbol of his anger.

"I was forced to bail out over Dachau. As far as I am concerned, if any SS thugs show up here? Kill them. Kill them all. They robbed my land of its honour, its decency, and then let it burn."

He prodded Hellboy in the chest with a finger.

"I did my duty, as I did in the first war. To keep the young pilots under my care alive. I was not - ever a Nazi."

Well, this was all something he didn't really want to hear! He just wanted to punch this guy's lights out, that's all. Why can't you give him this thing, Paradisa? Why? So rude.

Growling, Hellboy swatted von Hammer's hand away -- with his regular, flesh hand; he was still mad, but this guy's story seemed too detailed to just be something he made up on the spot. So he didn't really want to crush his fingers.

Much.

"Fine. I'll buy it for now. But I'm keeping my eye on you, Herr Pilot. And if you so much as twitch -- it's lights out, good night."

He lifted his stone hand and curled it into a fist for emphasis.

"Yes, yes, I can quite see that."

He said it tiredly, really. People had been threatening to kill him for far too long. Threats had little import to him after all this time.

"You see this?" He pointed to the Pour Le Merite at his throat. "I earned this in service to the Kaiser - when we had honour, and duty. When Germany still had a soul. I am a soldier, and I have done my duty. But my war is over. My duty is done."

He stepped around the giant red devil man, fishing a pack of cigarettes from a pocket. He lit one, and proffered the pack towards the red being. Otherwise, it would be rude, wouldn't it?

"And keep your eyes where you will, sir, but if I see any servants of that one-testicled madman? I'll probably kill them for you."

Hellboy continued to scowl down at von Hammer, pausing for a long, tense moment before taking a cigarette. He eyed it for a moment, maybe trying to see if it was poisoned? Which was stupid, but whatever.

He fished his own lighter out of the pocket of his overcoat and lit the cigarette.

"I'm going to hold you to that," he said, taking a puff on the cigarette and then turning to leave.

"A moment, please," he said, lighting his own cigarette.

"I have two questions. First, who are you? And second: what did they do to you to make you hate them so much?"

Hellboy stopped when he was called, though he didn't turn back around, instead just looking over his shoulder.

"Hellboy," he said. "They wanted to use me to loose the Dragon and trigger the end of the world."

He considered this for a long moment.

"I thought they already had begun that process, you know."

He shook his head.

"Very well, Hellboy. Until the next time."

Hellboy gave von Hammer one last, measured look -- maybe if he stared hard enough, he could see if this guy was legitimate as he said he was -- before continuing on his way.

"Thanks for the cigarette," he said blandly, waving over his shoulder before he turned the corner and was gone.

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