False Start [WIP]
Sep. 16th, 2023 03:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosanicusI frequently end up realising several hundred words into a fic that I am writing the part of the fic that is less interesting than what I want to be writing. If it were a novel I was writing I'd probably plough on through but on this occasion I'm throwing the first ~500 words out and putting them here for the enjoyment of the reading public.
The basic premise is some post-Hatchet Fritz&EvS fic, but I started it too early to actually have them interact much in the first part of the fic which isn't what I was gunning for. So here it is!
Fritz had no idea what to make of the airbase.
He’d come through it once before, of course, had a vague impression of a throng of unfamiliar accents and bemused faces, but his memory of the journey towards Sakhalin was already confused to begin with. It had only grown less clear with time, and so it was only now - with his uncle doing his best not to limp as they were shepherded down one corridor after another - that Fritz had the opportunity to form any sort of opinion on the place.
The corridors themselves were featureless and indistinct, built from pre-fabricated materials and clearly not intended for permanent residence. Fritz had little knowledge of the political situation in Japan, at least no knowledge which was untainted by its source. He only knew that it was the presence of the American airbase which had enabled Biggles and his friends to even consider rescuing his uncle. And yet he resented it, a place where every soldier seemed to regard his uncle with either suspicion or a sort of cautious amusement, like a circus-goer watching a chained lion from the safety of the ringside.
Eventually the corridors led their group - himself, Biggles, Pat Manton and his uncle - to a similarly grey and featureless office, where an American officer rose from his seat and nodded at them each in turn.
Fritz did not like the way his eyes glinted in the light. He shifted closer to his uncle, who gave him a warning glance. Fritz shrugged slightly, a faint movement of one shoulder, and took another step so that he was almost pressed against Uncle Erich’s side. He was still cold to the touch, but no longer freezing.
“Very pleased to see you made it back in one piece,” said the officer, addressing Biggles. “And mightily grateful that you brought Manton with you, pilots like him don’t grow on trees.”
“I’ve learnt that lesson many times,” said Biggles. He smiled thinly. It was quite different to the smile Fritz had grown used to seeing. “He mostly brought himself back. It seemed impolite to let him fend for himself.”
The officer laughed, a short sound, then calmed into his previous, closed-off expression. He turned to look at Fritz, who found himself suppressing the urge to cringe. It felt as if he was back at school, called into the headmaster’s office for getting into yet another fight. Then, as if dismissing a thought, his gaze travelled on and settled on Uncle Erich.
His uncle had not yet had much time to tidy his appearance. He was wearing a suit of clothes borrowed from Bertie Lissie, who was almost of a height with him, but after such prolonged suffering it hung oddly from his shoulders and at the cuff. Each time Fritz caught sight of him he felt a pang of melancholy at what had been lost.
“It’s Stalhein, right?” The officer asked. He had his hands clasped together on his desk, his nails neatly trimmed. “You got a good buncha pals here.”
Now I can delete this and get on with Fritz finally giving his uncle a hug.
The basic premise is some post-Hatchet Fritz&EvS fic, but I started it too early to actually have them interact much in the first part of the fic which isn't what I was gunning for. So here it is!
Fritz had no idea what to make of the airbase.
He’d come through it once before, of course, had a vague impression of a throng of unfamiliar accents and bemused faces, but his memory of the journey towards Sakhalin was already confused to begin with. It had only grown less clear with time, and so it was only now - with his uncle doing his best not to limp as they were shepherded down one corridor after another - that Fritz had the opportunity to form any sort of opinion on the place.
The corridors themselves were featureless and indistinct, built from pre-fabricated materials and clearly not intended for permanent residence. Fritz had little knowledge of the political situation in Japan, at least no knowledge which was untainted by its source. He only knew that it was the presence of the American airbase which had enabled Biggles and his friends to even consider rescuing his uncle. And yet he resented it, a place where every soldier seemed to regard his uncle with either suspicion or a sort of cautious amusement, like a circus-goer watching a chained lion from the safety of the ringside.
Eventually the corridors led their group - himself, Biggles, Pat Manton and his uncle - to a similarly grey and featureless office, where an American officer rose from his seat and nodded at them each in turn.
Fritz did not like the way his eyes glinted in the light. He shifted closer to his uncle, who gave him a warning glance. Fritz shrugged slightly, a faint movement of one shoulder, and took another step so that he was almost pressed against Uncle Erich’s side. He was still cold to the touch, but no longer freezing.
“Very pleased to see you made it back in one piece,” said the officer, addressing Biggles. “And mightily grateful that you brought Manton with you, pilots like him don’t grow on trees.”
“I’ve learnt that lesson many times,” said Biggles. He smiled thinly. It was quite different to the smile Fritz had grown used to seeing. “He mostly brought himself back. It seemed impolite to let him fend for himself.”
The officer laughed, a short sound, then calmed into his previous, closed-off expression. He turned to look at Fritz, who found himself suppressing the urge to cringe. It felt as if he was back at school, called into the headmaster’s office for getting into yet another fight. Then, as if dismissing a thought, his gaze travelled on and settled on Uncle Erich.
His uncle had not yet had much time to tidy his appearance. He was wearing a suit of clothes borrowed from Bertie Lissie, who was almost of a height with him, but after such prolonged suffering it hung oddly from his shoulders and at the cuff. Each time Fritz caught sight of him he felt a pang of melancholy at what had been lost.
“It’s Stalhein, right?” The officer asked. He had his hands clasped together on his desk, his nails neatly trimmed. “You got a good buncha pals here.”
Now I can delete this and get on with Fritz finally giving his uncle a hug.
no subject
Date: 2023-09-16 04:20 pm (UTC)This is a lovely snippet, though. I love everyone's wariness, Fritz trying to work out what to make of the American base when his exposure to the idea of America is all filtered through East German education, Biggles not entirely taking to the American officer either, and EvS very proud in his badly-fitting suit <333
no subject
Date: 2023-09-20 05:33 pm (UTC)