Bridgit - Mother of Runaway Twins
“You will help me.”
“I can’t.” The Burgomeister’s head shakes back and forth, and his flabby cheeks exaggerate the motion.
The determined mother steps close to the man, backing him towards the corner of his opulent office. “You can, and you will.” Her voice is steel, the sound of someone forcing a rebellious child back in line.
Felix smoothes his vest, brushing imaginary flecks of dust from it, avoiding eye contact. “Bridgit, good woman, I have no idea where your boys have gone.” He clears his throat and looks around his office for moral support. A large portrait of him hangs on the wall behind his large oak desk, and expensive decorations, certificates, and letters of recognition all herald how important he is.
You pompous windbag.
Bridgit has no time for men of his ilk, cowardly opportunists who are incredibly skillful at pretending to be useful while actively dodging any activity that might actually help others.
“They are just 14, Felix, surely a knowledgeable, powerful, man such as yourself can locate a pair of young troublemakers in your town?”
The sarcasm riding her words is not lost on the overly proud man, and he sniffs in resentment. “I have bigger problems, in case you hadn’t noticed. Something about a foreign army invading? Or hadn’t you noticed?”
Fire flashes in her eyes, and if he had yet found the courage to actually look at her, he may have sensed danger.
Instead, he slides even further into a dismissive tone, “But don’t you worry your pretty head about it, Ma’am, I’ll handle the affairs of the town, you know, the well-being of a thousand souls or so. You could help, of course, by doing your job as a mother and keeping a handle on your- OWW!”
He recoils from her strike, his hand moving instinctively to protect the ear she just hit with a cupped hand.
“Bastard.” Lightning-quick, she gets him on the other ear, deftly battering both the sides of his head and his ego despite her smaller stature.
“Ow! Stop it, woman!” He does look at her now, and the strength of her will rocks him harder than her well-placed blows.
“Busy are you? Busy licking the German’s boots, maybe! Too much to do here,” she gestures at his carefully arranged domain of petty power, “to help your lowly subjects when they need help?”
He wants to refute her words but is too busy stepping out of range. His back hits the cold glass of a window, and a curtain billows against the side of his face, the smell of velvet as oppressive as the weight of the fabric.
Relentless, she backs him further into the curtain’s bulk, her blazing eyes inches from his own. She hisses through clenched teeth in a forceful whisper, “They are going to try to kill the Germans, Felix. You must find them before they do!”
Genuine alarm arrests his semi-panicked retreat, and he frowns. “SHHHH! They will do no such thing. Not another word, you’re gonna get us killed.”
She keeps her voice low to match his own and presses him even further into the curtain. “They will. They want to avenge their father. They may even get a few of the bastards, and then they will die, and you will have hell to pay.”
Felix grabs her shoulders. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know that Antoine is dead. The army surrendered.”
Sorrow, temporarily buried by her worry for her sons and anger at the petty politician, is suddenly thick in Bridgit’s voice, “I know in my heart he’s dead. He will have fought them and died. My Antione had the courage you sorely lack, as do my foolish sons.”
Emotions battle on the Burgomeister’s face, irritation with the problem she presents, fear of the Germans, and resentment of her accusations of cowardice and collaboration. However, his kind are ruled primarily by fear and greed. With his life and position potentially now at stake, fear easily wins out.
He curses, pushes her bodily back, and stands to his full height. His jaw sets in a mixture of anger and determination. “Where do you think they may have gone? Quick now, I need to know everything.”
“I can’t.” The Burgomeister’s head shakes back and forth, and his flabby cheeks exaggerate the motion.
The determined mother steps close to the man, backing him towards the corner of his opulent office. “You can, and you will.” Her voice is steel, the sound of someone forcing a rebellious child back in line.
Felix smoothes his vest, brushing imaginary flecks of dust from it, avoiding eye contact. “Bridgit, good woman, I have no idea where your boys have gone.” He clears his throat and looks around his office for moral support. A large portrait of him hangs on the wall behind his large oak desk, and expensive decorations, certificates, and letters of recognition all herald how important he is.
You pompous windbag.
Bridgit has no time for men of his ilk, cowardly opportunists who are incredibly skillful at pretending to be useful while actively dodging any activity that might actually help others.
“They are just 14, Felix, surely a knowledgeable, powerful, man such as yourself can locate a pair of young troublemakers in your town?”
The sarcasm riding her words is not lost on the overly proud man, and he sniffs in resentment. “I have bigger problems, in case you hadn’t noticed. Something about a foreign army invading? Or hadn’t you noticed?”
Fire flashes in her eyes, and if he had yet found the courage to actually look at her, he may have sensed danger.
Instead, he slides even further into a dismissive tone, “But don’t you worry your pretty head about it, Ma’am, I’ll handle the affairs of the town, you know, the well-being of a thousand souls or so. You could help, of course, by doing your job as a mother and keeping a handle on your- OWW!”
He recoils from her strike, his hand moving instinctively to protect the ear she just hit with a cupped hand.
“Bastard.” Lightning-quick, she gets him on the other ear, deftly battering both the sides of his head and his ego despite her smaller stature.
“Ow! Stop it, woman!” He does look at her now, and the strength of her will rocks him harder than her well-placed blows.
“Busy are you? Busy licking the German’s boots, maybe! Too much to do here,” she gestures at his carefully arranged domain of petty power, “to help your lowly subjects when they need help?”
He wants to refute her words but is too busy stepping out of range. His back hits the cold glass of a window, and a curtain billows against the side of his face, the smell of velvet as oppressive as the weight of the fabric.
Relentless, she backs him further into the curtain’s bulk, her blazing eyes inches from his own. She hisses through clenched teeth in a forceful whisper, “They are going to try to kill the Germans, Felix. You must find them before they do!”
Genuine alarm arrests his semi-panicked retreat, and he frowns. “SHHHH! They will do no such thing. Not another word, you’re gonna get us killed.”
She keeps her voice low to match his own and presses him even further into the curtain. “They will. They want to avenge their father. They may even get a few of the bastards, and then they will die, and you will have hell to pay.”
Felix grabs her shoulders. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t even know that Antoine is dead. The army surrendered.”
Sorrow, temporarily buried by her worry for her sons and anger at the petty politician, is suddenly thick in Bridgit’s voice, “I know in my heart he’s dead. He will have fought them and died. My Antione had the courage you sorely lack, as do my foolish sons.”
Emotions battle on the Burgomeister’s face, irritation with the problem she presents, fear of the Germans, and resentment of her accusations of cowardice and collaboration. However, his kind are ruled primarily by fear and greed. With his life and position potentially now at stake, fear easily wins out.
He curses, pushes her bodily back, and stands to his full height. His jaw sets in a mixture of anger and determination. “Where do you think they may have gone? Quick now, I need to know everything.”
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