**from Tarantino's film 'Inglorious Basterds', I own nothing except my Original Character**
**oc x wicki,**
Aldo grinned as he looked as his men, showing them the profile for their new field medic. "Well boys, that'll do."
It was their final night in the bar before they went to meet up with the OSS agent, who would later lead them down to meet their inside spy, who would give them information on how to win this war. Azalea sat at the table, sipping on a cocktail. The group decided that they would enjoy this night fully because, well, they never knew when it would be the last time they could come to the city and enjoy themselves. They decided on a different bar other than the one in the hotel, just in case they were kicked out for being too rowdy; they found out the hard way thanks to Donny that if you got kicked out of the hotel bar you were kicked out of the hotel too.
Wilhelm sat beside her, their legs touching caused a warm feeling in her stomach. Being sandwiched between Hugo didn't help her case either. Her face was warm, and she enjoyed this feeling. There was tension, she could feel it with the feelings she thought she was beginning to develop. The bell attached to the door rang, causing her to look up from her drink. Her heart dropped to her stomach. Standing in all his cheating, devilishly handsome glory stood Alfred James. Something was different about him, for sure. Instead of his once flawless, chiseled face was a burn. Most likely a fragment of a grenade had left him disfigured, but he was still very handsome.
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Azalea almost felt sick. She hated that man with every bone in her body. Wicki could sense her discomfort, and gently placed his large hand atop her knee. "What's wrong?" His deep voice would've echoed had he not been whispering. Finishing the rest of her cocktail, she swished around the remainder of the glass. "That's my ex-fiancé, the one who just walked in. Cheated on me two weeks before our wedding." It was Hugo's turn to tense, and his eyes narrowed menacingly.
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Wilhelm gave her knee a reassuring pat. "Are you okay?" The ginger nodded, ordering a glass of whisky. "Oh I'm fine, I'm sober right now. Worry whenever I'm drunk." After a couple of minutes, she was getting warm, and relaxed. "Y'know, he really got some French whore in a whorehouse pregnant. Married her, o'course. Imagine being that fuckin' stupid. Glad I dodged that shitty bullet." Her narrowed eyes locked with Alfred's and she almost stood up and threw her glass. She still had much resentment, a lot of unresolved anger. A couple more shots in, and she'd be ready to fight. Not the best thing, because bar fights escalate quickly.
