Wax Museum fic preview blurb
So, as some of you may know, today would've been Vincent Price's 100th birthday. And I had originally wanted to celebrate by posting the first chapter of the wax museum Hogan's Heroes fic, as House of Wax was one of Vincent's most famous movies, and the inspiration behind my fic. Unfortunately, I ended up getting way behind schedule in my writing because of Kolchak (I have no regrets, though--it's a wonderful little fandom, and I'm grateful for insaneladybug for introducing it to me).
So, I'm afraid that a preview blurb of the fic will have to suffice. And here it is...
Hogan led his men, followed by Hilda, out of the room as Hochstetter and Burkhalter snarled at each other, and as Klink weakly tried to maintain peace. Now that they were finished with their cleanup work in the entrance hall exhibit, it would give them a chance to look around the rest of the wax museum.
The next door opened into a hall of great German and Austrian cultural icons. A centerpiece in the middle of the room showed a scene from the Niebelungenlied. Goethe stood to the right of the room, a copy of Faust lying open in his wax hands. A few yards from Goethe, young Mozart was at his piano, deep in thought. A few yards from him, Johan Strauss was overlooking a window, out of which-actually painted on the wall-was the Danube.
On the left side of the room, Bach was busily writing some sheet music, across the room from Goethe. A few yards from him, Beethoven was conducting an orchestra made up of well-dressed wax figures, with real instruments in their hands.
Hilda took a look around, shaking her head slightly as she headed on to the next room, leaving the men behind.
“What is this?” Newkirk asked, also unimpressed. “This is all one ruddy propaganda bit for them! In the entrance ‘all, they ‘ad their blooming ‘igh Command, and ‘ere, they ‘ave all these long-‘aired composers and writers?!”
“Newkirk, we’re at war-did you really expect them to have Shakespeare up here?” Hogan asked.
“No, but it would’ve been nice…”
LeBeau nodded furiously in agreement, looking at the obviously biased display with utter disdain. He muttered under his breath that Georges Bizet would have had a place in a real wax museum.
His point proven, Hogan silently stepped over the rope barrier that cut Beethoven off from the area where the public was allowed.
“Hmm, how about that?” he mused, pulling the drum sticks from the wax hands of one of the drummers.
“You wouldn’t…” Carter said, his eyes widening.
The colonel began to tap out a rhythm on the snare drum.
“He would…” Kinch said, suppressing a smirk.
This soon prompted Schultz to come bustling in.
“Colonel Hogan!” he protested, prompting Hogan to take five. “What are you doing?!”
“Just having a little fun, Schultz,” the colonel said, putting on his cheeky grin. “Besides, it helps to drown out that racket out there.”
To prove his point, Hochstetter and Burkhalter’s voices could still be heard arguing outside. Klink had seemed to have just given up on trying to stop them; instead, he just folded his arms and watched with some amount of nervousness.
“Aww, be a chum, Schultzie,” Newkirk said. “Let the colonel play. Besides… you ‘ave to admit, those wax figures can’t ‘old a candle to ‘im, eh?”
Ba-dam-tssh!
“Thanks for that, Guv,” the Englishman grinned in response to the rimshot.
“Colonel Hogan, please!” Schultz pleaded. “You will get all of us into so much trouble if you are seen playing on those drums!”
“All right, Schultz,” Hogan said, placing the drumsticks back in the wax hands. He crossed back over the rope barrier as Hilda suddenly returned to the room that they were in, her eyes wide.
“Colonel Hogan!” she exclaimed. “You… you have to see this!”
The urgency in her voice did not go unnoticed; the colonel’s face sobered at once as he and the others headed to the next room. This was a room dedicated to soldiers throughout Germany’s history.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Look!” Hilda said, pointing to a figure in the far corner of the room.
“Holy smoke!” Carter exclaimed, a mix of excitement and surprise on his face.
“Blimey, it’s déjà vu, ain’t it?”
“I will say the French words, if you please…” LeBeau said, though he couldn’t hide his own amazement.
They all were amazed and bemused, and perhaps even a little amused, too-except for Hogan. The colonel’s eyes narrowed at the figure, his gut instinct telling him that something was very wrong.
The figure was of General von Siedelberg.
So, I'm afraid that a preview blurb of the fic will have to suffice. And here it is...
Hogan led his men, followed by Hilda, out of the room as Hochstetter and Burkhalter snarled at each other, and as Klink weakly tried to maintain peace. Now that they were finished with their cleanup work in the entrance hall exhibit, it would give them a chance to look around the rest of the wax museum.
The next door opened into a hall of great German and Austrian cultural icons. A centerpiece in the middle of the room showed a scene from the Niebelungenlied. Goethe stood to the right of the room, a copy of Faust lying open in his wax hands. A few yards from Goethe, young Mozart was at his piano, deep in thought. A few yards from him, Johan Strauss was overlooking a window, out of which-actually painted on the wall-was the Danube.
On the left side of the room, Bach was busily writing some sheet music, across the room from Goethe. A few yards from him, Beethoven was conducting an orchestra made up of well-dressed wax figures, with real instruments in their hands.
Hilda took a look around, shaking her head slightly as she headed on to the next room, leaving the men behind.
“What is this?” Newkirk asked, also unimpressed. “This is all one ruddy propaganda bit for them! In the entrance ‘all, they ‘ad their blooming ‘igh Command, and ‘ere, they ‘ave all these long-‘aired composers and writers?!”
“Newkirk, we’re at war-did you really expect them to have Shakespeare up here?” Hogan asked.
“No, but it would’ve been nice…”
LeBeau nodded furiously in agreement, looking at the obviously biased display with utter disdain. He muttered under his breath that Georges Bizet would have had a place in a real wax museum.
His point proven, Hogan silently stepped over the rope barrier that cut Beethoven off from the area where the public was allowed.
“Hmm, how about that?” he mused, pulling the drum sticks from the wax hands of one of the drummers.
“You wouldn’t…” Carter said, his eyes widening.
The colonel began to tap out a rhythm on the snare drum.
“He would…” Kinch said, suppressing a smirk.
This soon prompted Schultz to come bustling in.
“Colonel Hogan!” he protested, prompting Hogan to take five. “What are you doing?!”
“Just having a little fun, Schultz,” the colonel said, putting on his cheeky grin. “Besides, it helps to drown out that racket out there.”
To prove his point, Hochstetter and Burkhalter’s voices could still be heard arguing outside. Klink had seemed to have just given up on trying to stop them; instead, he just folded his arms and watched with some amount of nervousness.
“Aww, be a chum, Schultzie,” Newkirk said. “Let the colonel play. Besides… you ‘ave to admit, those wax figures can’t ‘old a candle to ‘im, eh?”
Ba-dam-tssh!
“Thanks for that, Guv,” the Englishman grinned in response to the rimshot.
“Colonel Hogan, please!” Schultz pleaded. “You will get all of us into so much trouble if you are seen playing on those drums!”
“All right, Schultz,” Hogan said, placing the drumsticks back in the wax hands. He crossed back over the rope barrier as Hilda suddenly returned to the room that they were in, her eyes wide.
“Colonel Hogan!” she exclaimed. “You… you have to see this!”
The urgency in her voice did not go unnoticed; the colonel’s face sobered at once as he and the others headed to the next room. This was a room dedicated to soldiers throughout Germany’s history.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Look!” Hilda said, pointing to a figure in the far corner of the room.
“Holy smoke!” Carter exclaimed, a mix of excitement and surprise on his face.
“Blimey, it’s déjà vu, ain’t it?”
“I will say the French words, if you please…” LeBeau said, though he couldn’t hide his own amazement.
They all were amazed and bemused, and perhaps even a little amused, too-except for Hogan. The colonel’s eyes narrowed at the figure, his gut instinct telling him that something was very wrong.
The figure was of General von Siedelberg.