SNACK TIME [ Ludwig ]

Technically speaking, Feliciano probably should have been back in the mess hall helping serve the nights dinner. That was, however, only a technical thing. Any guard who'd been there more then a few months knew that every Monday, Feliciano snuck right out of the mess hall with a serving of dinner for whoever happened to be up in the guard towers. It wasn't as if they'd starve if he didn't, of course, but whoever got stuck with what had been dubbed 'the worst shift of all' ended up arriving to dinner several hours late and being served cold leftovers. There was really nothing good about the shift - it was dark, cold, and everyone else was eating, which meant a lot of extremely boring time alone in the tower. Feliciano hated it, and while he'd had to endure it a few times when he first arrived, he'd managed to more or less work his way out of having to do it since. Mostly it fell on the new arrivals, those who hadn't been there very long, and Feliciano had long ago decided that making sure they got some warm food was probably the best way to make sure they didn't go crazy.

It was made even more important, tonight of all nights, because tonight was the night that they served beef. Beef was so damn rare, and having an actual side of beef to work with had been a treat. It was no steak, for sure, but it was both nutritious and tasty, served on something that was intended to approximate a plate and covered up by a pan he'd flipped over.

Feliciano had no idea how he managed to get up the ladder, but he always did, a horrifying combination of fear and balance leading to him stepping up the rungs backwards, using a single hand to balance the plate as he backed his way up. At the top, he knocked lightly on the ladder to let whoever was up there know before popping his head out. "Dinner!"

Ludwig was four hours into his shift on the watch tower, and he still had two more until he could finally stop and call it a day. These long stretches up in the towers were deathly boring, with nobody to talk to, no distractions, no jobs or orders to carry out; all he could do was stand here watching out for trouble makers and escapees, though none of the prisoners were quite stupid enough to attempt anything in full view of the watch towers. And now as dusk was falling and hungry guards filed to the mess, the scents from the kitchen wafted up to him on the cold evening breeze, he felt even more bitter about being given this shift. He thought his superiors were probably just testing him, picking on him as the new recruit, as this was the third time this week alone he'd been forced to miss a meal because of his shift. He wouldn't complain though- he could handle the hunger and the boredom just fine, and he knew that if he persevered, he could earn his superiors' respect and he wouldn't be given these godforsaken shifts anymore.

He couldn't sit down or relax- it was his job to remain vigilant, even when guards and prisoners were busy eating, it was exactly at times like this when guards were expected to be lax that he needed to be most observant. He saw someone run from the mess, but a glance at the uniform quickly reassured him it was a guard, not a prisoner, so there was no need to worry. He looked out over the dark forest outside the fence. There was always a chance that a prisoner had someone on the outside, looking out for them, trying to help them break out. Suddenly his attention was caught by a creaking noise. He whipped his head around, looking out over the camp for the source of the disturbance. It was getting louder, closer. Someone was climbing the watch tower. A prisoner? Did they plan to overpower him and make their escape somehow? He reached for his revolver without a second thought, pointing it at the trap door, waiting for the would-be escapee to reveal himself.

There was a knock, and then a head popped up, shouting 'Dinner!' and Ludwig jumped a little, lowering his gun as he recognised the infiltrator as the cheery little Italian always working in the kitchens. "Y-you... What are you doing up here? My shift doesn't end for another two hours."

Feliciano was grinning wide when he popped out of the little opening, but when he opened his eyes, the grin was rapidly replaced by fear. He let out a tiny shriek, ducking down back into the hole with the plate quickly thrust overhead like a shield, and if not for the flipped over pan holding the head in, it likely would have gone flying. "Don't shoot, don't shoot!"

Thankfully, the guard went right on to lower his gun, and Feliciano slowly peeked his head back over the edge. "I was just bringing you some food. I'm not on duty until tomorrow." He said, voice still very, very soft, because there was still a gun in the guards hand - even if he had no idea who the guard really was. He didn't think he'd spoken too him, really, and he was rather new. Maybe a few words, but not much beyond that.

He frowned when the guard screamed in fear. Well, it was natural to be frightened when you had a gun pointed at you, but such a cowardly reaction didn't fit a soldier. He replaced the gun in his holster. Clearly he'd been too eager for action. "I'm not going to shoot, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were a guard." He tried to sound calm and reassuring, but his tone was frustrated. He'd wanted a prisoner. He'd wanted to catch him and reprimand him and feel like he was doing something. But no. He was back to being useless.

He raised an eyebrow at the guard's explanation. "Bringing me... You're not supposed to do that." He frowned. "I'm still on duty, so I'll come down to eat later."

Well, at least the other guard had calmed down - mostly. As he put the gun away, Feliciano very, very slowly edged his way upwards, finally getting off the ladder with a precariously balanced tray in one hand that he quickly stabilized with his now free hand.

Had... he just turned it down? Feliciano was forced to stand there, considering for several long seconds. No one had ever turned it down before. Everyone always took it, and was happy they had some warm food in their belly. Maybe the guy was new enough he thought it was a trick or something?

"Well, it's already up here, and if I have to take it all the way back to the kitchens, it'll get cold. You'd better just eat it." See? Nice and logical. If he didn't eat it now, it'd get cold, and that'd be a shame. "I'm Feliciano Vargas, by the way." He said, his German fairly obviously foreign. Despite all his practice, he'd never quite got the knack for the language, and was doomed to stand out eternally.

Despite his clear refusal, the guard remained, silent for a little while. He was about to tell him to leave, when he started trying to persuade Ludwig to eat anyway. It struck him that this might be a bribe or some kind of system of favours- if he were to accept this food, he might have to repay the favour to him at some later time. He'd rather not involve himself in that kind of thing. "You can heat it up again once you get back to the kitchen, can't you?" He folded his arms, resolute. "Doing this is breaking the rules, so please take it back." He ignored the guard's introduction, hoping he would leave soon so that he could get back to watching the camp.

Feliciano was having issues. Simply put, he just couldn't get why the guy was saying no. No one ever said no. It was good, warm food, and it was still being turned down. Feliciano's face fell slightly, although he managed to at least catch that it was something about 'breaking the rules' that was making him turn it down. "Everyone's gotten a meal before. Everyone does it, so it's not that bad, right?" Well, almost everyone. Everyone who'd worked the shift since not long after Feliciano had gotten there, anyway.

He really did want to eat- he was starving, and the smell from the kitchen was so good, and if everyone else took it, then he wouldn't get in trouble for it if he got caught right? But as tempting as it was, he still knew he shouldn't, so keeping a straight face, he continued to decline it. "Just because other people do it, doesn't make it okay." He knew the more he protested, the harder it would be for him to break and take the meal anyway. He'd look like a hypocrite if he took the food now, so he was even more determined to turn it down. "... It's really kind of you to offer, and to go out of your way like this, but I'm not supposed to have any distractions up here- I have to keep my eye on the camp."

Feliciano was finding himself a little bit upset over the whole thing. Why did this guard have to be so difficult? Why couldn't he just eat it like everyone else? Really, it was bothering Feliciano far more then it should have, but as the guard was nice enough to thank him, he was even more determined that the guard was going to end up eating it - one way or another.

Finishing his climb up the ladder, Feliciano leaned against one wall, pulling the top of the pan off to release that downright delicious smell. "Well, if you're not going to eat it, I wouldn't want it to get cold on the way back. It'd be a real shame. I'll just have to eat it, and help you guard." Maybe the guard didn't know how bad he was at guarding - that would be nice for once. Maybe he'd actually do well.

The other guard didn't seem to be relenting either, even going so far as to come and join him in the watch tower. Ludwig was aware that with every minute he wasted arguing with this persistent guard, he was slacking off his duties. He needed to get rid of this distraction, and his patience was waring thin- he was about to let his temper get the better of him, shouting the Italian down from his tower, when he removed the upturned pan from the plate, releasing the strong, mouthwatering scent of the meal he'd prepared. Ludwig's stomach growled greedily in response to it, much to his embarrassment, face burning red. He could feel his resolve quickly dissipate. He hadn't eaten anything in about seven hours, and he'd been on his feet for four of them- what harm could it do to eat it? Oh, but now the other guard was threatening to eat it instead. "W-wait..." he protested feebly, feeling angry with himself for breaking so quickly.

Feliciano's plan had not been very subtle. Really, he was just going to eat, say, a quarter of it, and then say he was full, and that if someone didn't eat the 'leftovers', it would have to go in the trash. He wouldn't have put it in the trash, really, but it would have given the other guard a nice excuse. His plan was unneeded, though, and he grinned widely as the other guard seemed to protest.

Feliciano held it right out, passing it over with the crude fork. "Eat away. I can watch the camp while you do." Which was probably the worst idea ever, because he was a terrible guard, but he was sure he could manage for however long it took the guy to eat. Maybe.

"Thank you." he murmured, taking the plate and cutlery from the other guard before tucking into it ravenously. He'd been a lot hungrier than he thought, clearly, and this food tasted sublime to his deprived tastebuds and hunger addled mind. He really was grateful for it, though he still felt weak for accepting it and not doing his job.

He looked up at the other guard (Vargas, did he say his name was?) who had cooked this for him and had offered to watch the camp while he ate. He seemed like a kind, generous man. Probably the kind to be too soft on prisoners. He'd have to thank him properly for this somehow, without letting on he'd broken the rules like this.

He finished his meal quickly, not wanting the Italian covering his post for too long (and also because he was really starving). "U-um... thank you very much for the meal." He couldn't tell his rank, but he assumed he was a lieutenant like himself, so he didn't require any great formalities. "I should get back to my post now though."

Feliciano was a very, very bad guard. The other guard hadn't even been eating for five minutes and he was already bored, staring out over the compound with only the smallest of glances. Guarding was a boring job, and he was happy that he was only rarely on shift. Mostly it was blamed on the fact that he was not technically a German soldier (along with the occasional insinuation that he was a 'lazy Italian'), but it was also because he was simply far more useful in the kitchen, making meals that were tasty rather then just edible.

He grinned widely at the thank you, giving a little nod as he turned around, leaning forward slightly. "It wasn't a problem! I try and drop off food every so often so that the guards don't go hungry - or die of boredom." It was a boring job, the very worst.

"I don't think I caught your name." Actually, it was kind of rude the guy hadn't introduced himself, but Feliciano was a forgiving person.

((I'M SORRY, CHRISTMAS WEEK WAS HELLA BUSY))

He found the guard's cheerful demeanour... not unsettling per se, but certainly out of place in a prisoner of war camp. Nevertheless, it was somewhat refreshing after all the misery and anger among both prisoners and guards. He smiled at the Italian's joke, though increasingly aware that the longer he stood here chatting inanely with him, the longer he was slacking off his shift. When he alerted Vargas to this, he seemed to ignore his need to return to his post entirely, continuing their conversation. At his enquiry, Ludwig was embarrassed to realise he had never given his name. He knew that he wasn't particularly friendly, but he expected better manners of himself than that. "Uh, I'm sorry, my name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, Lieutenant." He stuck out his hand stiffly, not really sure of protocol for small talk and introductions between soldiers. It didn't matter though, Vargas seemed friendly enough, and Italians were famously open and good natured.

In truth, Feliciano did not have a post to return to, at the moment. His shift had ended when he'd finished cooking, and he was up the tower on his own time - not something that many could admit too. Going back to the barracks meant wandering into every single guard who was off duty, and while Feliciano could get along well enough with single guards, groups of them made his clearly accented German stand out. It was more comfortable alone, after all.

"Ludwig?" He didn't even make a try at the last name - far, far too German, and the last time he'd tripped over a German last name, he'd gotten yelled at for it. Better to stick with Ludwig. He returned the shake with none of the stiffness that Ludwig held, shaking it enthusiastically. He was vaguely aware of the protocol, but had long ago chosen to ignore it. "You're new to the camp, right? Why aren't you at the front lines?"

Feliciano had all the tact and grace of a freight train.

"Uh, yes." He'd prefer to be addressed by his rank or his surname, but he was only a lieutenant, he couldn't exactly demand to be addressed respectfully, so he let it slide. He was alarmed by the enthusiasm with which Vargas shook his hand, as if he was trying to dislocate his arm from his its socket.

He frowned at the Italian's question. He didn't really have a prepared response for this question, though he was sure it was one he'd encounter a lot for the duration of the War... and even for years afterwards. The superiors at the camp all knew his situation and reasons not to fight from his paperwork, and the other guards had been reserved and tactful enough to ignore the issue. Vargas clearly was neither reserved nor tactful. He didn't owe this man, who was essentially a stranger at this point, any kind of explanation for not being at the front, but telling him so would make him come across as cold. It wasn't that he wanted to be rude and distant, but his reason for not fighting was embarrassing.
"Because I can't fight." he replied flatly, hopefully in a tone that didn't beg any further questions. He didn't want to get into a conversation about this, and would rather he be left alone in peace for the rest of his shift, as grateful as he was for the meal.

Couldn't fight? Feliciano gave a knowing look. He couldn't fight either, although he had a feeling that Ludwig had meant something different then 'fighting scares me'. "Lucky. You get to stay off the front lines!" Yup, that was lucky in Feliciano's eyes. He didn't want to be on the front lines, and getting 'trapped' at the camp was working out pretty good for him.

Needless to say, he was also highly oblivious of the fact that Ludwig wasn't enjoying his company. Why would someone not enjoy it? When he was on shift those few short times, he'd always loved having someone visiting him.

For a brief moment, Ludwig thought he might have found someone in the same predicament as him, someone prevented from fighting by unfortunate medical problems, somebody who wouldn't think of him as weak for his condition. That stupid idea was of course shattered by the Italian's response.
"This isn't lucky!" He replied bitterly "I'd much rather be on the front line, fighting for the Fatherland. To consider not being able to fight a piece of luck is cowardly!" He was getting the impression that Vargas might be a conscientious objector, a coward. By the sounds of it, he could fight just fine. "What about you, then? You're not fighting either." He folded his arms, straightening back to stand at his full height. Perhaps if he continued to come across as severe, he could scare the nuisance into leaving him alone.