![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Biggles fic (unfinished), von Stalhein & kid!Fritz
After a discussion recently about Biggles meeting kid!Fritz, I wrote a thing. Which appears to have no actual story to go with, so I'm posting it here until I figure out the rest of this? (Takes place somewhere between Takes a Holiday and In the Blue, probably in the late 40s-early 50s.)
It had been raining all day, a cold winter rain that dripped off the eaves and brought with it a chilly damp that got into everything. At the Air Police operations headquarters earlier in the day, there had been little to do, and by evening a certain restlessness had set in around the Mount Street flat. Ginger was listening to the radio; Bertie and Algy had quarreled over a card game and Bertie had gone off to his room to read. Biggles was trying to focus on a book, but he noticed Algy had just looked out the window for the third time in as many minutes.
Abruptly, Algy said, "There's somebody out there, across the street."
"Probably waiting for a cab," Ginger said.
"Maybe."
Algy sounded uncertain enough—wary enough—that Biggles rose from his armchair by the fire and went to the window as well. After he looked out, he shook his head. "I don't see anyone."
"He was in that space under the awning of the shop across the street." Algy glanced again. "Bollocks, he's gone now. I suppose Ginger's right, he was waiting for someone and now he's gone."
But Biggles was on edge, he couldn't say why. Perhaps it was only the mood of the day and the soft, continued tapping of the rain dripping off the window casements. When the knock at the door did come, it was so soft that at first he mistook it for the rain. Then he was out of his chair and over to the door, pausing along the way to retrieve a gun from the desk drawer.
Algy, who had put up his feet beside the fire, swung them down again. "Biggles, what—"
"Stay there," Biggles told him. He went into the hall and listened at the door for a moment. The soft tap had not repeated, but some war-honed second sense told him he wasn't alone. "Who is it?" he asked quietly.
There was no reply. By this point, Algy had appeared in the hallway behind him. Feeling reassured by Algy's stalwart presence at his back. Biggles unlocked the door and opened it.
The tall figure on the landing was hunched in a dripping overcoat, strangely distorted in the dim light, but Biggles recognized him immediately. "Von Stalhein," he said, astounded.
"What?" Algy said from behind him. "Here? Do we have to move now?"
"Put the guns away," von Stalhein said, and Biggles realized that Algy's hand had slipped into his pocket. In the same moment, von Stalhein moved slightly, shifting his body as if to put himself between Algy and—what? It was only then that Biggles, whose gaze had gone straight to von Stalhein's narrow, austere face under his dripping hat brim, realized that the long gray overcoat was partly draped over someone else, someone much smaller.
Von Stalhein had his arm around a child.
Algy, stunned, took his hand swiftly out of his pocket.
"Yes, come in," Biggles said, falling back so von Stalhein could shepherd the child into their hallway. Biggles noted how he was moving—the silent furtive air, the way he looked behind him— and locked up thoroughly before following them into the sitting room. He came in to see that von Stalhein went straight to the fire and sat the boy in front of it.
He was a pretty child, fair hair damp from the rain, looking dazed and tired. He wore what looked like a young boy's school clothes, short pants, a vest and a collared shirt, all of it soaked and muddy. Von Stalhein whisked a folded blanket off the end of the sofa and wrapped it around the boy's shivering shoulders.
Ginger, the most proactive of them under the circumstances, came back from the bathroom with an armload of towels, accompanied by a curious Bertie—and Towser. The boy, who was clearly in the end stages of exhaustion, came alive at the sight of the dog, giving a little cry of delight. Then he looked immediately to von Stalhein. Biggles, gathering a quilt off the back of an armchair, didn't miss the swift and automatic nature of that look, nor the quick glance that von Stalhein flicked Biggles's way, passing along the question.
"Yes, of course," Biggles said.
Von Stalhein said to the boy in German, "Yes, you may. Be gentle."
The boy smiled, a swift gap-toothed grin that lit up his tired face. "Come here, puppy," he crooned at the dog in German, and Towser—never one to fail to make a new friend—bounded happily into his arms.
Von Stalhein was busy drying the boy's hair and seemed startled when Biggles dropped a quilt into his lap. "You're soaked through," Biggles pointed out.
"Von Stalhein, did you kidnap a child?" Algy demanded.
Von Stalhein's face had an even sharper aspect than usual, cheekbones standing out as if he hadn't been getting regular meals lately, but this made him look up and one corner of his mouth twitched before it flattened out in grim austerity. "Do you think I go around kidnapping children?"
"I have no idea what you're capable of," Algy retorted.
"How about tea?" Bigges said. "Have you eaten?"
He had to give Algy an extremely pointed look before Algy collared Ginger and both of them slouched off to the kitchen, clearly unhappy at being exiled from the interesting events happening in the sitting room. Bertie, quiet and helpful, brought some cushions from the sofa. The boy snuggled back into them, still delighted with the dog, who was licking his pale, tired face.
Biggles crouched beside the fire. "Who have you brought us, Erich?" he asked quietly.
Von Stalhein looked no less tired than the boy. He was nearly gray. But Biggles was fascinated by how wholly his attention was on the boy, wrapping him in blankets and towels, and subtly positioning himself so that he was between the boy and—not the other people in the room, but the door.
"Fritz," von Stalhein said. The boy looked up immediately, and von Stalhein said to Biggles, "This is Fritz. He understands very little English. You used to speak German, didn't you, Bigglesworth?"
"It's rusty, but I can bang it out a little," Biggles said. He switched to that language. "Hello, Fritz."
"Fritz, this is Herr Bigglesworth," von Stalhein said in German. Not looking at Biggles, he went on, with a peculiar intensity, "You can trust him."
Fritz looked up, his blue eyes wide and sandy-lashed. "Herr Biggles—v—vort—" the boy attempted cautiously.
Biggles was aware that his name was all but designed to be a tongue-tangler to those who spoke only German. He suddenly was conscious that von Stalhein always pronounced it with perfect English intonation, even though not all of the sounds existed in his language.
"You can call me Biggles, if it's easier. That name wraps around the tongue in English as well," Biggles told the boy.
Fritz giggled. "I like your dog," he told Biggles, loosening up a bit now that he felt himself understood. "Thank you for letting me pet him, Herr Biggles."
"He's not my dog, he's Bertie's." Biggles gestured Bertie nearer. "This is Bertie; the others are Algy and Ginger." Fritz looked dubious. "Don't worry, no one will mind if you forget. Are you hungry?"
"Yes, very much so," Fritz said eagerly, and then looked swiftly to von Stalhein again.
"We'll eat here," von Stalhein told him. He gestured to Biggles. "May I speak to you?"
Biggles rose and they took a few steps away from the fire. Apart from the distraction of the boy, Biggles could see how von Stalhein moved, the hitching exhaustion in his gait and the way that one of his shoulders was hunched, as if he was injured beneath the heavily draped, wet overcoat. He had given his hair a cursory towel-drying, making it stick up in bristles.
"I must assume you didn't kidnap a random child," Biggles said, smiling slightly. "Whose is he?"
"He is my nephew," von Stalhein said. He raised his eyes, shadowed with weariness, their sharp winter-sky blue dimmed to a sort of muted gray. "My sister's son."
Biggles was taken aback. "I had no idea you had a sister."
"Nor should anyone," von Stalhein said. There was a quiet, wolfish fierceness in his tone, and this made Biggles glance up swiftly to meet the weary gray eyes.
"What are you doing here, Erich?" he asked quietly.
Von Stalhein reluctantly held his gaze.
"Because I needed somewhere to go." His teeth were clenched; it sounded as if the words were being torn from him. "I will leave the boy here—if it's not an imposition."
And with that, he turned, as if he meant to duck out the door. No explanations or anything else. Biggles suffered an instant's shock, causing him to hesitate, but then he caught von Stalhein by the shoulder, lightly gripping the damp fabric of his overcoat.
"You—what? Eat, at least. I can tell you're nearly fainting with hunger. We'll talk over the grub. What's been happening? Why have you come here, when your friends—"
"We are not friends," von Stalhein said, low and fierce, all but tearing away.
"I know that," Biggles began. "But—"
Algy and Ginger came back just then, both of them looking wildly curious, bearing a haphazard assortment of cold meats, bread and butter and jam they had scrounged from the kitchen on short notice, along with a steaming pot of tea. Plates clattered on the table. Fritz scrambled to his feet, setting down Towser with a cursory pat.
"Stay and eat," Biggles told von Stalhein quietly; the spy still looked on the verge of bolting. Biggles smiled despite himself. "It's only for a few minutes. You don't even need to take your hat off."
Von Stalhein seemed to realize he was still wearing it. He looked at Biggles coolly. Then he removed it, and his overcoat, hanging both on the coatrack. He was just as wet underneath.
"Come, Fritz," von Stalhein said in German, taking the boy under his arm. Fritz looked up at him adoringly. Biggles was fascinated; you couldn't fake that. The boy's earnest gaze, the way he leaned into the man who was somehow, impossibly his uncle was more confirmation of von Stalhein's story than words could be. "You will use your best manners."
"Would you like to change before you eat?" Biggles asked. "We have nothing in Fritz's size, but we can provide our best approximation."
The look on von Stalhein's face said clearly that he expected a trap, but then he looked down at the tousled fair head resting against his side, and his face softened in a way Biggles could not help finding unfamiliar and fascinating. "If you have anything to offer," he said.
Shortly, von Stalhein was in the bathroom with Fritz and a mismatched assortment of clothing, and there was a brief huddle adjacent to the table.
"There is no reason why we shouldn't call the police," Algy said, low and tense. "This boy—"
"He's done nothing except to come to us for help," Biggles said. "The boy is his nephew."
Algy opened his mouth and closed it.
"He has relatives?" Ginger asked. "Did we know this?"
"Did some of us know this?" Algy demanded, looking at Biggles
"No, but it's not our business, is it? We didn't precisely have a moment to sit down during the war and quiz each other about our family tree, that I recall."
"Except he's made it our business, old boy, if you see my point," Bertie said mildly. He took out his eyeglass and polished it, gently kneeing Towser away from trying to climb onto a chair to see about the spread on the table.
"Have you actually talked to him about why, exactly, he came here instead of a hotel or any one of many other places he could have gone?" Algy asked pointedly. "No, I thought not."
The bathroom door at the end of the hall opened. Everyone fairly leaped to do something useful around the table, Biggles industriously slicing bread, Ginger conscientiously cutting slices of ham, Algy pouring tea.
Von Stalhein came in with the boy. He did not cut such a scarecrow figure as he should have, in a silk shirt of Bertie's and one of Ginger's spare pairs of trousers; somehow he made the mismatched outfit suit himself, even with one arm held stiff against his side. They'd had nothing even close in size to Fritz, so the boy wore an old set of Biggles's clothes, with the sleeves and cuffs turned up.
They took places at the table. No one was speaking. Biggles settled in for one of the more awkward meals of his life, and wordlessly passed the ham.
It had been raining all day, a cold winter rain that dripped off the eaves and brought with it a chilly damp that got into everything. At the Air Police operations headquarters earlier in the day, there had been little to do, and by evening a certain restlessness had set in around the Mount Street flat. Ginger was listening to the radio; Bertie and Algy had quarreled over a card game and Bertie had gone off to his room to read. Biggles was trying to focus on a book, but he noticed Algy had just looked out the window for the third time in as many minutes.
Abruptly, Algy said, "There's somebody out there, across the street."
"Probably waiting for a cab," Ginger said.
"Maybe."
Algy sounded uncertain enough—wary enough—that Biggles rose from his armchair by the fire and went to the window as well. After he looked out, he shook his head. "I don't see anyone."
"He was in that space under the awning of the shop across the street." Algy glanced again. "Bollocks, he's gone now. I suppose Ginger's right, he was waiting for someone and now he's gone."
But Biggles was on edge, he couldn't say why. Perhaps it was only the mood of the day and the soft, continued tapping of the rain dripping off the window casements. When the knock at the door did come, it was so soft that at first he mistook it for the rain. Then he was out of his chair and over to the door, pausing along the way to retrieve a gun from the desk drawer.
Algy, who had put up his feet beside the fire, swung them down again. "Biggles, what—"
"Stay there," Biggles told him. He went into the hall and listened at the door for a moment. The soft tap had not repeated, but some war-honed second sense told him he wasn't alone. "Who is it?" he asked quietly.
There was no reply. By this point, Algy had appeared in the hallway behind him. Feeling reassured by Algy's stalwart presence at his back. Biggles unlocked the door and opened it.
The tall figure on the landing was hunched in a dripping overcoat, strangely distorted in the dim light, but Biggles recognized him immediately. "Von Stalhein," he said, astounded.
"What?" Algy said from behind him. "Here? Do we have to move now?"
"Put the guns away," von Stalhein said, and Biggles realized that Algy's hand had slipped into his pocket. In the same moment, von Stalhein moved slightly, shifting his body as if to put himself between Algy and—what? It was only then that Biggles, whose gaze had gone straight to von Stalhein's narrow, austere face under his dripping hat brim, realized that the long gray overcoat was partly draped over someone else, someone much smaller.
Von Stalhein had his arm around a child.
Algy, stunned, took his hand swiftly out of his pocket.
"Yes, come in," Biggles said, falling back so von Stalhein could shepherd the child into their hallway. Biggles noted how he was moving—the silent furtive air, the way he looked behind him— and locked up thoroughly before following them into the sitting room. He came in to see that von Stalhein went straight to the fire and sat the boy in front of it.
He was a pretty child, fair hair damp from the rain, looking dazed and tired. He wore what looked like a young boy's school clothes, short pants, a vest and a collared shirt, all of it soaked and muddy. Von Stalhein whisked a folded blanket off the end of the sofa and wrapped it around the boy's shivering shoulders.
Ginger, the most proactive of them under the circumstances, came back from the bathroom with an armload of towels, accompanied by a curious Bertie—and Towser. The boy, who was clearly in the end stages of exhaustion, came alive at the sight of the dog, giving a little cry of delight. Then he looked immediately to von Stalhein. Biggles, gathering a quilt off the back of an armchair, didn't miss the swift and automatic nature of that look, nor the quick glance that von Stalhein flicked Biggles's way, passing along the question.
"Yes, of course," Biggles said.
Von Stalhein said to the boy in German, "Yes, you may. Be gentle."
The boy smiled, a swift gap-toothed grin that lit up his tired face. "Come here, puppy," he crooned at the dog in German, and Towser—never one to fail to make a new friend—bounded happily into his arms.
Von Stalhein was busy drying the boy's hair and seemed startled when Biggles dropped a quilt into his lap. "You're soaked through," Biggles pointed out.
"Von Stalhein, did you kidnap a child?" Algy demanded.
Von Stalhein's face had an even sharper aspect than usual, cheekbones standing out as if he hadn't been getting regular meals lately, but this made him look up and one corner of his mouth twitched before it flattened out in grim austerity. "Do you think I go around kidnapping children?"
"I have no idea what you're capable of," Algy retorted.
"How about tea?" Bigges said. "Have you eaten?"
He had to give Algy an extremely pointed look before Algy collared Ginger and both of them slouched off to the kitchen, clearly unhappy at being exiled from the interesting events happening in the sitting room. Bertie, quiet and helpful, brought some cushions from the sofa. The boy snuggled back into them, still delighted with the dog, who was licking his pale, tired face.
Biggles crouched beside the fire. "Who have you brought us, Erich?" he asked quietly.
Von Stalhein looked no less tired than the boy. He was nearly gray. But Biggles was fascinated by how wholly his attention was on the boy, wrapping him in blankets and towels, and subtly positioning himself so that he was between the boy and—not the other people in the room, but the door.
"Fritz," von Stalhein said. The boy looked up immediately, and von Stalhein said to Biggles, "This is Fritz. He understands very little English. You used to speak German, didn't you, Bigglesworth?"
"It's rusty, but I can bang it out a little," Biggles said. He switched to that language. "Hello, Fritz."
"Fritz, this is Herr Bigglesworth," von Stalhein said in German. Not looking at Biggles, he went on, with a peculiar intensity, "You can trust him."
Fritz looked up, his blue eyes wide and sandy-lashed. "Herr Biggles—v—vort—" the boy attempted cautiously.
Biggles was aware that his name was all but designed to be a tongue-tangler to those who spoke only German. He suddenly was conscious that von Stalhein always pronounced it with perfect English intonation, even though not all of the sounds existed in his language.
"You can call me Biggles, if it's easier. That name wraps around the tongue in English as well," Biggles told the boy.
Fritz giggled. "I like your dog," he told Biggles, loosening up a bit now that he felt himself understood. "Thank you for letting me pet him, Herr Biggles."
"He's not my dog, he's Bertie's." Biggles gestured Bertie nearer. "This is Bertie; the others are Algy and Ginger." Fritz looked dubious. "Don't worry, no one will mind if you forget. Are you hungry?"
"Yes, very much so," Fritz said eagerly, and then looked swiftly to von Stalhein again.
"We'll eat here," von Stalhein told him. He gestured to Biggles. "May I speak to you?"
Biggles rose and they took a few steps away from the fire. Apart from the distraction of the boy, Biggles could see how von Stalhein moved, the hitching exhaustion in his gait and the way that one of his shoulders was hunched, as if he was injured beneath the heavily draped, wet overcoat. He had given his hair a cursory towel-drying, making it stick up in bristles.
"I must assume you didn't kidnap a random child," Biggles said, smiling slightly. "Whose is he?"
"He is my nephew," von Stalhein said. He raised his eyes, shadowed with weariness, their sharp winter-sky blue dimmed to a sort of muted gray. "My sister's son."
Biggles was taken aback. "I had no idea you had a sister."
"Nor should anyone," von Stalhein said. There was a quiet, wolfish fierceness in his tone, and this made Biggles glance up swiftly to meet the weary gray eyes.
"What are you doing here, Erich?" he asked quietly.
Von Stalhein reluctantly held his gaze.
"Because I needed somewhere to go." His teeth were clenched; it sounded as if the words were being torn from him. "I will leave the boy here—if it's not an imposition."
And with that, he turned, as if he meant to duck out the door. No explanations or anything else. Biggles suffered an instant's shock, causing him to hesitate, but then he caught von Stalhein by the shoulder, lightly gripping the damp fabric of his overcoat.
"You—what? Eat, at least. I can tell you're nearly fainting with hunger. We'll talk over the grub. What's been happening? Why have you come here, when your friends—"
"We are not friends," von Stalhein said, low and fierce, all but tearing away.
"I know that," Biggles began. "But—"
Algy and Ginger came back just then, both of them looking wildly curious, bearing a haphazard assortment of cold meats, bread and butter and jam they had scrounged from the kitchen on short notice, along with a steaming pot of tea. Plates clattered on the table. Fritz scrambled to his feet, setting down Towser with a cursory pat.
"Stay and eat," Biggles told von Stalhein quietly; the spy still looked on the verge of bolting. Biggles smiled despite himself. "It's only for a few minutes. You don't even need to take your hat off."
Von Stalhein seemed to realize he was still wearing it. He looked at Biggles coolly. Then he removed it, and his overcoat, hanging both on the coatrack. He was just as wet underneath.
"Come, Fritz," von Stalhein said in German, taking the boy under his arm. Fritz looked up at him adoringly. Biggles was fascinated; you couldn't fake that. The boy's earnest gaze, the way he leaned into the man who was somehow, impossibly his uncle was more confirmation of von Stalhein's story than words could be. "You will use your best manners."
"Would you like to change before you eat?" Biggles asked. "We have nothing in Fritz's size, but we can provide our best approximation."
The look on von Stalhein's face said clearly that he expected a trap, but then he looked down at the tousled fair head resting against his side, and his face softened in a way Biggles could not help finding unfamiliar and fascinating. "If you have anything to offer," he said.
Shortly, von Stalhein was in the bathroom with Fritz and a mismatched assortment of clothing, and there was a brief huddle adjacent to the table.
"There is no reason why we shouldn't call the police," Algy said, low and tense. "This boy—"
"He's done nothing except to come to us for help," Biggles said. "The boy is his nephew."
Algy opened his mouth and closed it.
"He has relatives?" Ginger asked. "Did we know this?"
"Did some of us know this?" Algy demanded, looking at Biggles
"No, but it's not our business, is it? We didn't precisely have a moment to sit down during the war and quiz each other about our family tree, that I recall."
"Except he's made it our business, old boy, if you see my point," Bertie said mildly. He took out his eyeglass and polished it, gently kneeing Towser away from trying to climb onto a chair to see about the spread on the table.
"Have you actually talked to him about why, exactly, he came here instead of a hotel or any one of many other places he could have gone?" Algy asked pointedly. "No, I thought not."
The bathroom door at the end of the hall opened. Everyone fairly leaped to do something useful around the table, Biggles industriously slicing bread, Ginger conscientiously cutting slices of ham, Algy pouring tea.
Von Stalhein came in with the boy. He did not cut such a scarecrow figure as he should have, in a silk shirt of Bertie's and one of Ginger's spare pairs of trousers; somehow he made the mismatched outfit suit himself, even with one arm held stiff against his side. They'd had nothing even close in size to Fritz, so the boy wore an old set of Biggles's clothes, with the sleeves and cuffs turned up.
They took places at the table. No one was speaking. Biggles settled in for one of the more awkward meals of his life, and wordlessly passed the ham.
no subject
Also, kid!Fritz is the cutest thing ever. HERR BIGGLES. <33 I love all this so much.
no subject
Clearly what this fandom was missing was some kidfic. ;D
no subject
Tiny Fritz! Tiny adorable Fritz and TOWSER, how perfect! EvS sternly ordering Fritz to use good table manners! Everyone going very straightforwardly for drying off and getting warm and having food first, and then trying to figure out what's going on! Miserable soggy EvS thinking that he should just deposit Fritz and run, and Biggles making him stay for food and dry clothes at least. Algy wondering if EvS is going around kidnapping strange children, and everyone's shock at discovering that he has family!
I am now delightedly picturing Algy and EvS as the most unexpected allies ever in jointly trying to persuade Biggles that it is definitely in no way Biggles's job to go with EvS to help him with whatever dire situation he is dealing with.
EvS: this is not your business
Algy: this is DEFINITELY not your business, and it's probably criminal too
Biggles: and what are we going to tell this cute kid if his uncle doesn't come back safely?
no subject
Maybe even:
EvS: this is not your business
Biggles: yes, this is none of my business, and by the way, you said they were Soviet? So--
Algy: this is DEFINITELY not your business, and it's probably criminal too
Biggles: Oh don't get in a flap, it's not like I'm going to immediately drop everything and help. But think about what are we going to tell this cute kid if his uncle doesn't come back safely?
no subject
:)
no subject
EvS: Bigglesworth, I brought you this child to keep him safe, not so you could--
Biggles: brb, packing
Erich's first mistake was thinking that he's EVER going to be able to untangle himself from Biggles's crew now that he's introduced them to his adorable nephew and proved definitively that he has a heart.
no subject
♥♥♥
no subject
Also Biggles' fascination at seeing this softer side of von Stalhein. So different from the face von Stalhein usually presents. Biggles knew that von Stalhein had goodness in him, but did he realize there was this kind of softness?
no subject
no subject
no subject
He brought Fritz to the best and most trusted person he knows T_T
This is so cute I want to smush it to my chest and roll around in the feels for approximately 50,000 more words.
no subject
This does need another 50K and I am in NO WAY prepared to write it right now, but I want it to exist.
no subject
This got me so badly. Just an absolute delight of a vignette, obviously I hope it grows longer at some point but even as it is, it's SO good. Fritz and Towser <3 EvS being the beloved uncle to Fritz while Algy and Ginger attempt to suss out whether he's done a kidnapping. "a quiet, wolfish fierceness" !!!!!
Also I liked EvS's vehement 'we are NOT friends', which is both about the Soviets and also sort of about Biggles, although he is of course protesting too much. There's only so many times you can fail to kill your nemesis before you become friends by default.
no subject
Algy et al: I really think we should ask more questions about where this random child came from and whether we need to call the police about this
Biggles: are you okay, have you eaten, here's some dry clothes, is there anything else you need
Erich, who hasn't slept in about 3 days: what is happening
Fritz would LOVE having a dog around, they'll probably be inseparable.
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Nor should anyone," von Stalhein said. There was a quiet, wolfish fierceness in his tone, and this made Biggles glance up swiftly to meet the weary gray eyes.
Oh dear...
"Have you actually talked to him about why, exactly, he came here instead of a hotel or any one of many other places he could have gone?" Algy asked pointedly. "No, I thought not."
Think of it this way, Algy, if Fritz stays, then you will know, and von Stalhein will know you know, how von Stalhein does all the voices when reading.
no subject
And oh NO, now I really need Biggles quietly watching von Stalhein reading to him, and melting a little bit inside ....
no subject
no subject
This would also help them communicate, since Biggles is really the only person in the house who can easily talk to him, so I could see Algy doing this to also help the poor kid feel less isolated while Biggles is undoubtedly off with EvS indulging in a little day-saving.
no subject
And depending on ages, it could even be a book that Erich gave to Fritz's mother when it first came out, and then she gave it to Fritz, making it even more important as a connection to everything. (And baffling Algy with the thought of Erich in 1929 getting his little sister a book)
no subject
Algy finding an inscription on the flyleaf of Fritz's book, something like "To Hanna for Christmas, love, Erich" or the like ...
(I do wish we had a canonical name for Erich's sister, but in its absence I will simply have to make things up.)
Biggles and Erich come back from their spy mission to find Fritz leaning trustingly on Algy while Algy reads to him in English, Fritz understanding maybe one word in four but completely captivated anyway.
no subject
Now I’m picturing Bertie putting Fritz up on a pony in Hyde Park, and Ginger disassembling a radio with him...
no subject
and possibly gets himself killedbut instead, Fritz ends up with four brand new honorary uncles and has an absolutely amazing week of being pampered and played with and taken to Bertie's estate to ride the horses and taken to museums ... he's really not going to want to go home after all of this.no subject
He's really not, considering how adult!Fritz says "do not imagine we like it there"
T_T
no subject
Algy: I would have preferred not to know that von Stalhein's family was like mine, thanks.
(Emil and the Three Twins is apparently based on Kasnter's last holiday on the Baltic coast, in the summer of 1914)
no subject
AAAAAAAAA...AAAAA...AAAAA-!
no subject
(I want this.)
no subject
no subject
Ahh, I’m so late to reading this but I love it so much! Biggles getting to see EvS being soft with Fritz + realizing Erich must obviously be a great uncle because Fritz adores him is iddy perfection, this is the best. <3 Especially delighted by:
-- Erich telling them to put the guns away and putting himself bodily in front of Fritz! (And Algy immediately doing it, even though he’s not sure exactly what the situation is, because of course he does. <3)
-- The pronunciation details! Biggles making it easy for Fritz, and thinking about Erich making the effort to pronounce his name correctly <3
-- The hint of what’s happened in how fiercely Erich reacts on the subject of people knowing about his sister!
-- This whole paragraph, my heart: «"Come, Fritz," von Stalhein said in German, taking the boy under his arm. Fritz looked up at him adoringly. Biggles was fascinated; you couldn't fake that. The boy's earnest gaze, the way he leaned into the man who was somehow, impossibly his uncle was more confirmation of von Stalhein's story than words could be. "You will use your best manners.”»
-- And THIS, Erich being compelled to let down his guard a little, ahhh: «The look on von Stalhein's face said clearly that he expected a trap, but then he looked down at the tousled fair head resting against his side, and his face softened in a way Biggles could not help finding unfamiliar and fascinating.»
Tl;dr I love every word of this, thank you so much for sharing <33
(P.S. Totally unsolicited extended comment on the language/intonation thing, speaking as a bilingual with no accent in either language: full-on switching intonation mid-sentence between languages with mismatched bases/manners of articulation is excruciating, I’ve never actually met anybody who regularly does this! E.g. Russian doesn’t have “w” or “th” sounds either, but if I need to say “Bigglesworth” while speaking Russian I’m never going to say it the way I would when speaking English, because that would require me to stop, fully switch to the English articulatory setting, and then switch back. Instead I’m going to do that terrible half-way thing where the “w” and “th” sounds are present but spoken as though with a thick Russian accent *g* Which clearly just goes to show how much effort Erich is putting in! :-D)
no subject
And thank you for the language notes, that's really interesting to know and I appreciate the extra insight!