Hey, it's a thing without robots. How weird is that?
Title: The Night Train to Paris
Fandom: Hogan’s Heroes
Pairing: Marya/Tiger
Summary: Contains icky girls femmeslash.
Rating: PG for kissing and Marya being Marya.
Disclaimer: Hogan’s Heroes and its characters do not belong to me.
Author's Note: Many thanks go to athena_crikey for translating the French for me, she is awesome and you should read her stuff too. Crossposted to hogans_heroes and the slash-specific inthetunnels.
The Night Train to Paris
Tiger stared out the train window, huddled up in a worn skirt borrowed from an underground woman and a tattered jacket borrowed from her less than sympathetic father. None of them matched-matched each other, anyway, they matched Tiger fine. Ever since the Nazis marched into Paris she’d been living her life in tattered bits and pieces, constantly in transit and on edge, answering more readily to Tiger than her real name. While everyone else in the car enjoyed a pleasant ramble across the countryside a small part of her mind stood on edge in case the driver came to ask for a ticket she’d never bought.
There had been one cold evening in a German farmhouse when her contacts had gone around in a circle, naming the first thing they’d do after the war was over. Kiss their wives, have a glass of wine, eat a full dinner, stand on a rooftop and sing La Marseillaise at the top of their lungs. The first thing Tiger would do, after the festivities died down, would be to get a full night’s peaceful sleep.
Transluscent against the dark shapes beyond the window moved Marya’s reflection bound up in thick amber furs. “Why such a sad face? I thought you’d love going home, dahling.” The Russian flashed a coy smile as a telephone pole crossed her face. She brought out her ebony cigarette holder and began twisting a far too expensive cigarette into it.
Tiger turned away from the window.“It’s not home anymore. It won’t be home until those filthy boche are gone, just a shadow of itself.” At least when she was away she could still hold Paris pure and shining in her mind.
“We’ll make the shadow a bit brighter, at least. You can’t pretend to be my aide if you dress like that.” The Russian sighed at the air, giving the cigarette another firm twist. “We’ll find you some nice dresses, we’ll go to the hairdresser, get makeup, it’ll be a day out on the town. Just us girls.” She gave Tiger a friendly nudge that nearly cracked the Frenchwoman’s head against the window.
“We are meeting a German spy,” Tiger scolded after she’d caught her balance again. If the Russian played this rough, she didn’t want to know how she fought.“We don’t have time to go playing dress-up like little girls.”
“On a German general’s budget? It’s practically a contribution to the war effort to spend his money.” Marya ran her hand over Tiger’s thigh, tracing over several patches of soil and grass stains on her rough skirt. “You’ll feel so much better once you’re dressed for high society,” she soothed. “It always does it for me.”
Tiger was starting to get the impression that a lot of things ‘did it’ for the eccentric Russian.
“The high society of the Germans,” she said sternly. “And secretaries aren’t high society. I'll be there as your servant."
“You’re so depressing, Tiger.” Marya lit her cigarette, pouting like a child who’d be told she couldn’t have a third sweet. ‘You’re French. You should be passionate and full of life.” Her cigarette inscribed hazy circles in the air as she waved it about.
“Si j’étais si passionnée que vous, je serais accusée de collaboration¹,” Tiger spat, frustrated back into her native tongue.
Marya smiled and shivered, as if Tiger had said something particularly moving rather than accusing her of interfaction indiscretions. “Mmm. I love hearing French. It’s so much more beautiful than German. I mean, it’s not Russian, but it has its own flair.” She flicked her hand dismissively at the window and the German peasants beyond. “You have Froy-lein, and then you have Mad-mwa-zel.” She said the former in an irritating, nasal tone, then made a wide circle with her fingertips as she savored the syllables of the latter. “Talk more to me, Tiger darling.”
“Vous êtes une femme extrêmement étrange, et je n’ai aucune idée comment vous avez reussi à devenir une espionne.²” This brought another shiver from the Russian and she leaned against Tiger’s shoulder with an expression of ecstasy.
“Don’t you speak French?” Tiger added in bemusement, trying to wiggle out from under the larger woman.
“Bits and pieces, darling, but it’s not the same without the accent.” Marya nudged her shoulder with the mouthpiece of her cigarette holder. Her furs felt soft and warm against Tiger’s thin jacket. “Again.”
“Avez-vous l’intention de prendre meme une partie de cette mission au sérieuse?³”
Marya gave up a soft groan and stretched upward to nuzzle Tiger’s cheek, then further back to rest her head against the French agent’s chest. Tiger stared at her, feeling the Russian’s thick jasmine perfume overwhelming her as Marya cupped her head in both hands. “Strong features,” she noted. “I’m sure you’ve got the best kind of bumps on your head.” The tips of her exquisitely manicured thumbs caressed Tiger’s cheeks before she leaned in to engulf the French agent in a deep kiss. The jasmine perfume went from overwhelming to stifling. Tiger gasped, finding she could barely breath with Marya’s weight on her chest and her warm hands gently but firmly holding her head still.
As calmly as she’d come, Marya slid back and sat facing away from Tiger, lighting her cigarette. From behind she looked a massive pile of fur, which seemed apt to Tiger, who felt as if she’d just been run over by a large Russian bear.
“...Quois?” she managed after a few moments of stunned staring.
“The war is long and life is short.” Marya leaned back, resting her furry hat in Tiger’s lap. She slipped the cigarette holder between her lips, seeming to find no other explanation necessary. “By the way, since you slipped onto the train without a ticket, we’ve only got one bunk between the two of us. You’re quite free to sit out here all night, but where would the fun be in that?”
Marya smiled, and Tiger wondered if there was a set of fangs hiding beneath her painted lips.
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¹ “If I was as passionate as you, I’d be accused of collaborating.”
² “You are a very strange woman and I have no idea how you became a spy.”
³ "Do you have the intention of taking even one part of this mission seriously?”
Fandom: Hogan’s Heroes
Pairing: Marya/Tiger
Summary: Contains icky girls femmeslash.
Rating: PG for kissing and Marya being Marya.
Disclaimer: Hogan’s Heroes and its characters do not belong to me.
Author's Note: Many thanks go to athena_crikey for translating the French for me, she is awesome and you should read her stuff too. Crossposted to hogans_heroes and the slash-specific inthetunnels.
The Night Train to Paris
Tiger stared out the train window, huddled up in a worn skirt borrowed from an underground woman and a tattered jacket borrowed from her less than sympathetic father. None of them matched-matched each other, anyway, they matched Tiger fine. Ever since the Nazis marched into Paris she’d been living her life in tattered bits and pieces, constantly in transit and on edge, answering more readily to Tiger than her real name. While everyone else in the car enjoyed a pleasant ramble across the countryside a small part of her mind stood on edge in case the driver came to ask for a ticket she’d never bought.
There had been one cold evening in a German farmhouse when her contacts had gone around in a circle, naming the first thing they’d do after the war was over. Kiss their wives, have a glass of wine, eat a full dinner, stand on a rooftop and sing La Marseillaise at the top of their lungs. The first thing Tiger would do, after the festivities died down, would be to get a full night’s peaceful sleep.
Transluscent against the dark shapes beyond the window moved Marya’s reflection bound up in thick amber furs. “Why such a sad face? I thought you’d love going home, dahling.” The Russian flashed a coy smile as a telephone pole crossed her face. She brought out her ebony cigarette holder and began twisting a far too expensive cigarette into it.
Tiger turned away from the window.“It’s not home anymore. It won’t be home until those filthy boche are gone, just a shadow of itself.” At least when she was away she could still hold Paris pure and shining in her mind.
“We’ll make the shadow a bit brighter, at least. You can’t pretend to be my aide if you dress like that.” The Russian sighed at the air, giving the cigarette another firm twist. “We’ll find you some nice dresses, we’ll go to the hairdresser, get makeup, it’ll be a day out on the town. Just us girls.” She gave Tiger a friendly nudge that nearly cracked the Frenchwoman’s head against the window.
“We are meeting a German spy,” Tiger scolded after she’d caught her balance again. If the Russian played this rough, she didn’t want to know how she fought.“We don’t have time to go playing dress-up like little girls.”
“On a German general’s budget? It’s practically a contribution to the war effort to spend his money.” Marya ran her hand over Tiger’s thigh, tracing over several patches of soil and grass stains on her rough skirt. “You’ll feel so much better once you’re dressed for high society,” she soothed. “It always does it for me.”
Tiger was starting to get the impression that a lot of things ‘did it’ for the eccentric Russian.
“The high society of the Germans,” she said sternly. “And secretaries aren’t high society. I'll be there as your servant."
“You’re so depressing, Tiger.” Marya lit her cigarette, pouting like a child who’d be told she couldn’t have a third sweet. ‘You’re French. You should be passionate and full of life.” Her cigarette inscribed hazy circles in the air as she waved it about.
“Si j’étais si passionnée que vous, je serais accusée de collaboration¹,” Tiger spat, frustrated back into her native tongue.
Marya smiled and shivered, as if Tiger had said something particularly moving rather than accusing her of interfaction indiscretions. “Mmm. I love hearing French. It’s so much more beautiful than German. I mean, it’s not Russian, but it has its own flair.” She flicked her hand dismissively at the window and the German peasants beyond. “You have Froy-lein, and then you have Mad-mwa-zel.” She said the former in an irritating, nasal tone, then made a wide circle with her fingertips as she savored the syllables of the latter. “Talk more to me, Tiger darling.”
“Vous êtes une femme extrêmement étrange, et je n’ai aucune idée comment vous avez reussi à devenir une espionne.²” This brought another shiver from the Russian and she leaned against Tiger’s shoulder with an expression of ecstasy.
“Don’t you speak French?” Tiger added in bemusement, trying to wiggle out from under the larger woman.
“Bits and pieces, darling, but it’s not the same without the accent.” Marya nudged her shoulder with the mouthpiece of her cigarette holder. Her furs felt soft and warm against Tiger’s thin jacket. “Again.”
“Avez-vous l’intention de prendre meme une partie de cette mission au sérieuse?³”
Marya gave up a soft groan and stretched upward to nuzzle Tiger’s cheek, then further back to rest her head against the French agent’s chest. Tiger stared at her, feeling the Russian’s thick jasmine perfume overwhelming her as Marya cupped her head in both hands. “Strong features,” she noted. “I’m sure you’ve got the best kind of bumps on your head.” The tips of her exquisitely manicured thumbs caressed Tiger’s cheeks before she leaned in to engulf the French agent in a deep kiss. The jasmine perfume went from overwhelming to stifling. Tiger gasped, finding she could barely breath with Marya’s weight on her chest and her warm hands gently but firmly holding her head still.
As calmly as she’d come, Marya slid back and sat facing away from Tiger, lighting her cigarette. From behind she looked a massive pile of fur, which seemed apt to Tiger, who felt as if she’d just been run over by a large Russian bear.
“...Quois?” she managed after a few moments of stunned staring.
“The war is long and life is short.” Marya leaned back, resting her furry hat in Tiger’s lap. She slipped the cigarette holder between her lips, seeming to find no other explanation necessary. “By the way, since you slipped onto the train without a ticket, we’ve only got one bunk between the two of us. You’re quite free to sit out here all night, but where would the fun be in that?”
Marya smiled, and Tiger wondered if there was a set of fangs hiding beneath her painted lips.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
¹ “If I was as passionate as you, I’d be accused of collaborating.”
² “You are a very strange woman and I have no idea how you became a spy.”
³ "Do you have the intention of taking even one part of this mission seriously?”