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120_minutenChallenge: Gay or European
Fandom: Hogan’s Heroes / Ein Käfig voller Helden
Charaktere: Andrew Carter, Peter Newkirk, Louis LeBeau, James Kinchloe
Wörter: ~ 530
A/N: Ich… habe keine Entschuldigung, außer dass ich grade eine Folge gesehen hatte bevor ich die Challenges angeguckt habe und… I’ll show myself out.
“What did you do to this poor bird?” Newkirk was pulling a face as if the – frankly delicious – fricassee was trying to crawl back up his throat. LeBeau rolled his eyes.
“That’s fricassee de poulet a l'ancienne, it’s a recipe of my grand-mère, way better than you deserve!”, he declared indignantly and grabbed for Newkirk’s plate. Naturally, the Englishman was quicker than him, getting the plate out of range easily.
“Now, now, can’t go wasting grub, there’s a war going on, Louie!”
LeBeau answered in agitated French and Newkirk drifted off into that ridiculous slang of his that he insisted was actually a form of English.
Carter just tilted his head, watching the pair. There was something about them… something he hadn’t quite figured out yet. There’s a lot of that, mate, Newkirk would have said to that and he’d probably been right, Carter didn’t get a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. And LeBeau and Newkirk…
“Don’t you think there’s something off about them?”, he finally asked Kinch when they were alone at the radio after a mission gone south that had ended in LeBeau twisting his ankle and Newkirk practically carrying him back to camp, alternating fluidly between fussing and bickering.
Kinch furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing! Not a thing! And if I was, I wouldn’t mind, why would I mind, they’re my friends! But I’m not implying, never would, but, say, just if I did, theoretically speaking...”
“Andrew.” Kinch shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t go ‘round implying things like that.”
“But I don’t!”
“Good.”
Carter twisted his cap in his hands. “It’s just. Back home, you know, the grocer, real nice fella, and my uncle Bob, he always said that you could just tell, not just because he was never married, but because he had this gait and was waving his hands around, just like Newkirk always does. ‘Course, he also had a lisp, the grocer, not Newkirk, obviously, so that might be how uncle Bob could tell, you know what I mean?”
Kinch was giving him a look that was equal parts amused and concerned. “I certainly don’t. But don’t worry yourself, kid. Newkirk’s a showman, a carnie. They’re bound to be a bit larger than life.”
“But they’re all queer, aren’t they? Auntie Sarah...”
“I don’t think that’s how that works. Also you’ve heard Newkirk go on about girls, haven’t you? He’s just as bad as LeBeau...”
“Yeah, but LeBeau’s French!”
Kinch laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Carter wasn’t exactly sure. But… Being French certainly would explain most of LeBeau’s mannerisms. The cheek kisses, for sure. The agitated gesturing, maybe. The hand resting reassuringly on Newkirk's arm. The sewing. “Kinch?”
“What is it?”
“Do you think European boys are taught to sew in school?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just… maybe they are just raised differently over here...” Newkirk’s condescending smirks. His arm draped around LeBeau's shoulders. The puckered lips when assessing the fit of one of his disguises…
Kinch nodded hastily. “Of course they are! They play soccer even if they’re not holed up in a POW camp!”
Carter sighed in relief. That made a whole lot of sense. Probably. Somehow. Maybe.
Fandom: Hogan’s Heroes / Ein Käfig voller Helden
Charaktere: Andrew Carter, Peter Newkirk, Louis LeBeau, James Kinchloe
Wörter: ~ 530
A/N: Ich… habe keine Entschuldigung, außer dass ich grade eine Folge gesehen hatte bevor ich die Challenges angeguckt habe und… I’ll show myself out.
“What did you do to this poor bird?” Newkirk was pulling a face as if the – frankly delicious – fricassee was trying to crawl back up his throat. LeBeau rolled his eyes.
“That’s fricassee de poulet a l'ancienne, it’s a recipe of my grand-mère, way better than you deserve!”, he declared indignantly and grabbed for Newkirk’s plate. Naturally, the Englishman was quicker than him, getting the plate out of range easily.
“Now, now, can’t go wasting grub, there’s a war going on, Louie!”
LeBeau answered in agitated French and Newkirk drifted off into that ridiculous slang of his that he insisted was actually a form of English.
Carter just tilted his head, watching the pair. There was something about them… something he hadn’t quite figured out yet. There’s a lot of that, mate, Newkirk would have said to that and he’d probably been right, Carter didn’t get a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. And LeBeau and Newkirk…
“Don’t you think there’s something off about them?”, he finally asked Kinch when they were alone at the radio after a mission gone south that had ended in LeBeau twisting his ankle and Newkirk practically carrying him back to camp, alternating fluidly between fussing and bickering.
Kinch furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing! Not a thing! And if I was, I wouldn’t mind, why would I mind, they’re my friends! But I’m not implying, never would, but, say, just if I did, theoretically speaking...”
“Andrew.” Kinch shook his head. “Don’t. Don’t go ‘round implying things like that.”
“But I don’t!”
“Good.”
Carter twisted his cap in his hands. “It’s just. Back home, you know, the grocer, real nice fella, and my uncle Bob, he always said that you could just tell, not just because he was never married, but because he had this gait and was waving his hands around, just like Newkirk always does. ‘Course, he also had a lisp, the grocer, not Newkirk, obviously, so that might be how uncle Bob could tell, you know what I mean?”
Kinch was giving him a look that was equal parts amused and concerned. “I certainly don’t. But don’t worry yourself, kid. Newkirk’s a showman, a carnie. They’re bound to be a bit larger than life.”
“But they’re all queer, aren’t they? Auntie Sarah...”
“I don’t think that’s how that works. Also you’ve heard Newkirk go on about girls, haven’t you? He’s just as bad as LeBeau...”
“Yeah, but LeBeau’s French!”
Kinch laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Carter wasn’t exactly sure. But… Being French certainly would explain most of LeBeau’s mannerisms. The cheek kisses, for sure. The agitated gesturing, maybe. The hand resting reassuringly on Newkirk's arm. The sewing. “Kinch?”
“What is it?”
“Do you think European boys are taught to sew in school?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just… maybe they are just raised differently over here...” Newkirk’s condescending smirks. His arm draped around LeBeau's shoulders. The puckered lips when assessing the fit of one of his disguises…
Kinch nodded hastily. “Of course they are! They play soccer even if they’re not holed up in a POW camp!”
Carter sighed in relief. That made a whole lot of sense. Probably. Somehow. Maybe.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-31 06:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-03-31 08:32 am (UTC)Aber danke. :) Und knock yourself out, deinen Vorsprung krieg ich eh nicht ein.
no subject
Date: 2018-07-10 08:22 am (UTC)Dieser Text ist so wundervoll. Du triffst die Charas total super und auch den Ton der Serie und es ist einfach so amüsant. Herrlich!
Und dank' dir weiß ich jetzt auch endlich, wie Kinch mit Vornamen heißt *lol*