Thirty Seven S T I T C H E S [Ludwig!]

[atrb=bor They had taken Der Weihnachten Hügel not but a month and a handful of days ago, after having been forced to start a retreat from Caucasus Ludwig had headed to the battlefield to help there as Tunis was a key position that they needed, and Brigitte had of course followed in tow. Ever since the 'disappearances' started, Brigitte was quickly becoming more and more run down though she made certain to keep that poker face, but if she was feeling so bad, she couldn't begin to imagine the state that Ludwig must have been in, if not physically then mentally at least. Brigitte didn't inquire, but she worry quietly over him as she was prone to every now and then, and because of that the woman had taken to being something of a shadow of his. They had barely managed to come with the reinforcements in time. It had been Christmas Day when they pushed the Allies back and since then they had stayed to get the base in order. It was only a week or so since they had taken a portion of the soldiers, intent on making their way to Stalingrad since things just weren't going according to plan to put it nicely, but the damn snow was slowing them down and they had to set up a makeshift camp for a few days while a few of the soldiers cleared the roadways. Sitting in a building they had basically commandeered to use as a base, Brigitte was reading over some of the news she had gotten from Berlin. More 'disappearances,' had occurred, much much more. Bri nearly ripped the paper as she read through it, at least forty thousand of the Jews in the city were gone now, and she went into a coughing fit at the thought. Grimacing when she saw a few dots of blood on the handkerchief she had pulled from her pocket Brigitte balled it up and tossed it away, she knew exactly what was happening to the Jewish community, she was in the army after all, but they didn't explicitly talk about it with her, and by they she meant the higher ups and Ludwig, there was no way he couldn't know after all, if she knew then he did, right? They danced around the subject, termed it 'disappearances' because it was easier then facing it head on, but the guilt was eating at her and more then that, the large sudden losses were manifesting itself on her body, she was hiding bruises and shallow cuts under her uniform. It was becoming too much though and without much thought she had crumpled the paper up and marched out of the room, intent on facing Ludwig and this issue. Bri had almost made it to the little office room she was sure he was in when a sudden pain laced up her side and she fell into the closest wall, letting out a loud, pained yelp before she could stop herself from making the sound. There was another stab of pain and she bit her lip to muffle the sound, holding a hand to her stomach and feeling the wet warmth of blood start to seep through it. Normally Brigitte would knock on the door and wait before being invited in, right now though she half barged, half stumbled into the room, tears in her eyes and blood already starting to drip down her shirt, there was just so much, "Ludwig! Something's wrong," Something was going wrong in the city, but she didn't know what, it wasn't another pain from the 'relocations' there was too much blood for that. [style=padding: 0px 15px; font-size: smaller;] Date: January 16th, 1943 Location: Little village turned military base Music: Thirty Seven Stitches - Drowning Pool Notes: Some history, little bit of liberties, hope you dont mind ^^;

[/div][/style][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

(i need direction to perfection , )
NO NO CAN'T YOU HELP ME OUT?
- - - - - - - - - - - -

The bandages were wrapped around his head, his torso, his arms and legs. They hung like tattered garlands - stained a raw red, a constant reminder to the war and the hate and the liquid anger that flowed out from the lacerations scattered throughout the French country side. No time to regret though - you've done what has needed to be done. Yes. Yes. Ludwig could feel it. In the burning off his skin and smoke coiling in his lungs. In the ache of his dull old heart and that sense... that sense of utter desolation . It was a feeling that transcended the barrier of normal human emotions. It was the feeling of war and oh how it burned.

He sat, alone of course, surrounded in the musty confines of his makeshift office. He was thinking. Always thinking; about the trials of men and woman and paperwork and disappearances and his brother and sister and Italy --- it was an infinite loop of worries and questions and contradictions and was generally a very messy place. Ludwig hated mess. Couldn't stand it. Even now he was wiping a flake of dust that had found itself on the cuff of his uniform.

As per usual, he was working. He shouldn't have been, but he was. No doubt Bridgette would have a fit if she was to find out he had stopped his resting to continue with his work, but he was sure he could think of an excuse. Like: "It needs to be done, Bridgette". (It needs to be done. All of it. Needs to be done. Well does it?). Ludwig stopped messily scrawling out his signature for the umpteenth time and stared at the paper in front of him. Ja.
It needed to be done. No it didn't.
This is war. This is murder.
Of course, his suspicions are wrong...
They're right for Gods sake, they're right.

Shaking himself, the icy-blue of his eyes seemed dangerous and wild in the dark of his quarters. As if he was an animal, trapped in a corner. No place to run. To hide.

Putting his pen down, he sighed and ran a hand through his perfectly slicked back hair. He was about to shut his eyes - not to nap, obviously, just to... rest his eyes - when the door to his immediate right was flung open.

"Ludwig! Something's wrong!"

He didn't even have to look to know that this was indeed the case - he could already feel it; Bridgette's pain, and his own, intermingling into something that can only be described as torture.

"Bridgette!"

At once he was on his feet, ignoring the daggers that shot along his back and the feeling of old wounds opening up. She was bleeding. Bleeding.
He supported her without a whimper in regard to his own health, concern entirely focused on his capital.

"Do you think you can make it to the chair?"

[sorry that was so short /derp]

[/blockquote]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style, background: url(http://i1095.photobucket.com/albums/i473/shahal_sparda/Rp/brigitte3-2.png) center bottom no-repeat; outline: 2px solid #2a160f; width: 500px; height: 590px; padding: 0px;, bTable] She could practically feel her skin burning, slicing open in other places and oh god it was positively awful. In all her years Brigitte could honestly say she had never felt something quite like that and she didn't know if she could handle it, her knees buckled, feeling like someone was trying to pound her into the ground and she could all but taste the smell of smoke in the back of her throat, tinged with that coppery taste that lingered from having hacked up blood not but a few minutes earlier. One arm on the wall for support so she wouldn't fall flat on her face she closed her eyes and tried to breath, Bri could practically hear the screaming ringing in her ears that was no doubt filling the air of Berlin. Brigitte nearly collapsed into the man from the effort it took out of her to come speeding through the door and the hand that was pressed to her stomach was grasping tightly to the cloth of his jacket, knuckles going white as fresh waves of pain literally blossomed on different areas of her body, they seemed to start in one spot and then ripple out and it was causing her to see spots. She could vaguely hear her countries voice over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears, and honestly she wasn't sure she actually could make it, but either way the blond nodded, bit her lip and forced herself to straighten up as best she could, leaning on the desk for support as she essentially fell into the chair. The woman had been biting her lip against the pain so hard that it had bled and she ended up letting out a loud whine of pain anyway when a particularly sharp stab ran up her spine. Her head fell back against the headrest of the chair, tears leaking out of her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, oh god why wouldn't it end?! Her breathing was short, it was so hard to catch her breath and she whimpered when she tried taking her bloodied hand away from the wound on her stomach because her shirt had started sticking to it and the fabric bulling away from the ragged wound hurt so much when compounded with everything else that she nearly passed out at the feeling, "You, you were working again weren't you?" Of course, she could see that from all the paperwork, some that she had gotten a few drops of blood on, "You....ahh Gott," She clenched her jaw at another blossom of pain, "You should have been resting," Typical, she felt like she was about pass out and yet she was more worried about him then herself. There was blood dripping off her fingertips, why was there so much?! "Ludwig, whats happening to Berlin?" She rasped a moment later, crying a little harder now. Date: January 16th, 1943 Location: Little village turned military base Music: Thirty Seven Stitches - Drowning Pool Notes: shes not all there at the moment, but shes worried, deeply worried [/style]

Your eyes scream the end is creeping in I'll need thirty-seven stitches to keep the pain in