wecanavenge | ✘ | 012

[The video clicks on, showing an uncertain eye and not much else, because the video is held much too close. The camera flips and jostles a few times, before it's held back enough to see a young boy. He looks much younger than he really is, rake thin in a very unhealthy way, but still more than skin and bones. He's pale, and he's scared. When he speaks, it's all in German; which, usefully, is the only language he knows.]

H-hallo? [Tosh has already assured him that Herr Doktor is not around and there won't be any tests of any kind today but...he isn't entirely convinced and is more than a little nervous to direct more attention to himself. So he's hesitant, but tentatively giving into some curiosity?] Is this one of the SS buildings? [He pans the camera around the room quickly; partially visible, as he tries to gesture with his other hand, is the silver helmet he holds.] I have never been here before.

[And he heads to a couch, looking uncomfortable, but...maybe a little pleased. This is more comfort than he's known in - well, ever. He manages a little smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, and falters at the edges.] It's very nice. Thank you for letting me stay here.

[His attention drops back to the helmet, now in his lap, and he holds it up for the camera after a moment - the look on his face says he probably shouldn't play with it and he's sorry, but he's drawn to it nonetheless.] Does this belong to someone?

(OOC: And tags will come from

einzweidrei because I'm a bad person. :c Blanket content warning, again, for possibly in depth discussion of the Holocaust.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[There was a moment where he wasn't certain of that, because it felt all wrong, seeing all this food laid out and no one policing what was being taken - but his stomach wanted to believe, and soon he propelled himself forward with Charles, dropping his friend's hand in favor of grabbing a plate.]

I don't even know where to start.

[Charles grabs a plate of his own plate and smiles, not sure if his relative ease with the situation is a good thing or bad thing for Erik, but he knows it's not normal for people to deny others food, and he doesn't want his friend to be nervous about it.]

Wherever you want. I hope there's pineapple.

[Well, all right then. Erik hesitates a few moments longer, but it isn't long before he's piling his plate high with eggs, oatmeal, pancakes, waffles - he even takes a piece of bacon, because it smells strange and delicious and it's been so very long since he's had it. He wasn't supposed to, but Papa always liked it, and Mama always chided him and made it anyway - Erik didn't know why they weren't supposed to eat it, or why they did anyway, but it made him think of home.]

[Charles helps himself to some waffles and fruit, but doesn't go anywhere near as overboard as his friend, but he was glad Erik seemed happy and he didn't have any reason to think this might be a bad idea.

Once Erik's set, Charles heads over to take a seat at one of the tables, glancing back to make sure his friend was coming.]

Do you want syrup?

[How wrong they were going to be. Erik followed his friend to the table, eyes still wide at how much he was allowed to take, at how much everyone was allowed to take.]

Syrup? [Erik paused, trying to remember the last time he'd had syrup, then nodded eagerly.] Yes. Yes, please.

[Charles grins and retrieves some before taking a seat and passing it over to Erik, stabbing at a strawberry with a fork before saying anything else.]

Why do you suppose a grown up checked on you, but no one's come to see what I've been doing?

[Erik thanks him for the syrup, and piles it onto the pancakes, still staring at the mound of food like he can't believe it. And he can't, really, and he probably won't for a while. When he starts to eat, he doesn't stop, not even to answer. He hasn't had a meal in so long, and he's always so hungry, and all he wants is to feel full, for the first time in much too long.]

I don't know. Maybe because you weren't afraid?

[Charles watches him for a bit before he starts making progress on his own breakfast, not pushing him for an answer. When he does, the telepath considers the answer for a few moments before responding. That could be it, maybe, but he did kind of have the feeling that he was supposed to be here and that he was supposed to maybe be looking after someone, but it was a thought that was fragile and sort of distorted, like a soap bubble, and it felt like if he paid it too much attention, it would burst and be gone.

Besides, he was looking after someone, and so his attention was brought back to Erik easily enough.]

Maybe. You don't need to eat so fast, no one's going to take it away.

Oh. [But Erik couldn't quite understand that; he was starving, his food could be gone at any minute, and all that mattered was shoveling it into his mouth, even after his stomach clenched, even after he felt too, too full. He'd be hungry later, he needed to eat now, and keep eating, because when would he have the chance again?]

[Charles frowned, worried, but let him do it anyway, not really sure how to actually convince him no one was going to come and take it away. Even if they were going to, Charles could make them leave before Erik even realized that was what they were planning on. Maybe after he adjusted to it here, in however many days they were going to be here for he'd slow down.]

[At the very least, this was a terrible learning experience for them. Erik's eating slowed and ground to a halt after a moment, even though only half his plate was gone. His face was growing pale, and for a moment, he lifted his fork, stabbing a bit of pancake to eat - but he put it back down quickly, and he was definitely pale now.]

I don't feel-- [He didn't get to finish, though, because he bent forward, away from Charles, and threw up.]

Erik? [Charles shoved his chair back and stood up, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder, completely and utterly at a loss for what to do. He didn't know how to take care of someone who was sick, and didn't know why it was happening now. Erik hadn't seemed sick, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with the food.]

Erik, are you alright?

[He groaned in between heaves, and when the worst of it passed, he shakily got to his feet.]

Bathroom, [he croaked, and swallowed past the awful taste to keep his stomach from rebelling again. It was clenching up, hurting, and oh, he never, ever wanted to eat again (but he did, this wasn't fair, what was wrong).]

[Charles carefully held on to his arm, offering support and tried to tell him to calm down, that everything was going to be alright and not to panic as he started coaxing him back out of the mess hall and towards the nearest bathroom.]

Come on, it's alright. [Nevermind that Charles himself was honestly pretty terrified and didn't know what was going on, but he felt like if he let on how scared he was, this was going to get a lot worse.]

[He was a good friend like that, and Erik tried to keep his thoughts on putting one foot in front of the other, instead of the roiling in his belly. He wanted to throw up again. He needed to throw up again.

They got to the bathroom just in time, and Erik made a bee line for the toilet as the rest of his stomach's contents made their exit. It was a few moments before he went to the sink, rinsing out his mouth and splashing water on his face so he'd feel less clammy. Then he sat, right there in front of the faucet, and looked up forlornly at Charles.]

You're not sick?

[Charles hesitated out of the way, not really sure what to do with a sick person and wondering if he should get an adult, like Toshiko, but he didn't know how to get in touch with her and he couldn't leave Erik here by himself to go look for her. So he was relieved when it seemed like he'd stopped for now, even if he still wasn't sure what had happened.]

I don't think so. [He certainly didn't feel sick, although he definitely wasn't hungry anymore. He came over and carefully crouched down next to him, still worried and concerned and completely at a loss for what to do.]

Are you alright?

[He nodded slowly; his stomach still hurt, and his throat burned, but he didn't think he was going to throw up again. What could it have been? Erik pressed his hands against his stomach; it had felt bloated, when he'd clutched it on the way here, much much too big. And he wondered.]

Maybe I ate too much? [He still frowned, though; could people throw up from eating?]

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