Flaneur ✅💋

1. La Recherche

March 25, 1942

It was an invasion in its own right. They never stood a chance once the Nazis came marching down the streets, pounding on doors, pulling people from their homes, and swiftly going from persecution to genocide. It should have terrified her, but it didn't. She was always thinking of ways to stay ahead of the game. Even when they stormed up to her front door and pounded on it, demanding entry, she kept an impassive attitude.

"May I help you, gentlemen?" She asked from her doorway in her beautiful native language. She practically purred the words at them, leaning against the alabaster stone that made up the exterior of her luxurious home in Paris. A cigarette dangled from her painted red lips that upturned into a small smile, polite and enticing, as the group of a dozen or so soldiers stood on her porch.

"We need to search your home, by order of the Führer." The one in front claimed in English. Likely not trained in many languages. She guessed they only spoke theirs and English. He was a ratlike little man with lack of facial hair. His white blonde hair rivaled her own, though hers was immensely more well kept. Hers was down in pincurls, framing her face and adding contrast to her blue eyes that made them gleam brightly under her black lashes she had painted that morning.

She deliberately took her time to respond, pushing up her bust as she took a deep drag and let it blow over the men. "By all means." She opened the door wider and motioned for them to enter. Her skintight maroon dress hung loosely off her shoulders, plunging low, almost as low as the eyes of the passing soldiers that raked over her as they barged inside. The shuffling of guns and boots echoed throughout the foyer. "You'll be either delighted or disappointed to know that I don't get involved in politics. That includes concerning myself with enemies of the state. You're welcome to look around," she took a seat, crossing her legs so that her dress slipped up to reveal her milky thighs while she smoked, "but I'm afraid you won't find anything of interest unless you have a fetish for art." She gestured to her walls where nude portraits hung around her. "I posed for those myself." She smirked.

A few of the men gulped, looking nervously down at their boots while the others did their best to conduct a search without looking at her. "I'll need to see your papers." The one who had announced the search commanded.

"Of course." She nodded happily. "I keep them upstairs in my room."

The soldier waved for her to show him the way, to which she obliged with swaying hips. She made sure to lead the way, leaving the soldier to trail behind her and undoubtedly fixated on her backside. She continued to smoke up the curved staircase, her nude kitten heels clicking neatly in her wake. "I don't normally bring men up to my bedroom on such short notice." She cooed once they reached the door. The soldier remained stoic, but she could visibly see the sweat on his brow. "Forgive me, if its a bit of a mess. My previous maid was Jewish and I was forced to turn her into the proper authorities. Its been difficult to find a good housekeeper since." She opened the door to an immaculately kept room. Neutral earthy tones from floor to ceiling, save for the red accents in the form of throw pillows and fresh roses from her garden. Her bed was large and draped in ivory silk sheets that shimmered in the artificial light.

"So you've housed Jews here?" He checked in an accent so thick she had to strain to decipher the words. She was fluent in German though, among many other languages that landed her the career she held.

"I've house a Jew." She corrected, crossing the room to her dresser and opening her drawer that stored all of her intimate garments. "Liza Rosenberg. I'm sure you'll find records of her arrest somewhere should you feel inclined to look. She was excellent at making the bed sheets fit so tight." She emphasized her statement by bending over the bed and tugging at her loose fitting sheets. "I can't do it like she did." She peered over her shoulder at the soldier and was pleased to see her work was going smoothly. He wasn't looking at her face any longer. His eyes were glued to her backside. The way her dress was cut out with her back exposed, resting just above her buttocks. It was almost too easy.