Vodquila

Damascus only watched and listened to Kratzer tell parts of his sad past. For once since he had started drinking, he couldn't think of anything to say. He debated walking over to the man and offering a hug, but figured that it might not be appreciated.

One more sad thing, and I'll chance it, he promised himself.

Kratzer shrugged a little, dropping his head and letting his bangs block part of his face in some vain attempt to hide his pain. "It'sh my own fault. Shouldn't have let him get involved in ze firsht plache. I should've protected zem both when I had ze chance instead of blowing it sho I could fight."

Wilson poured Kratzer a glass of her strongest vodka in the house and slid it over to him. She reached across the bar and firmly grabbed his shoulder while giving him a compassionate look.

"It's alright, Kratzer. You answered more than enough questions I'd say for this round. Thank you for sharing, and thank you for your honesty. We're all sorry for all the hell you went through," she said sincerely, patting him. Then, she cleared her throat.

"Well! Now that there's not a dry eye in the house, let's move on!"

And with that, she made a sweeping motion with her arms over to James, whose eyes widened when he realized it was his turn again.

His mouth curved into an unpleasant frown, and he looked at Wilson with a dread-filled glare. He didn't want to get a prying question like Kratzer had. He'd shed enough tears in their presence. He didn't want more.

"Truth," he muttered. "And a drink, please."

Wilson laughed lightly. "Let's maybe try to keep it a little lighter for the mood," she said with a wink as she poured him a small glass, sliding it over to him. He downed it in a second, slapping the cup down onto the bar as he looked out at the others with a dead-eyed gaze. Whatever they were going to ask him he was ready for it (or not, but he was going to pretend he was anyway).

Kratzer downed the vodka in one go and glanced at Wilson with an imploring gaze, plainly begging for a refill.

Oh, I had just the thing to lighten the mood.

"Jamesh," I called out more loudly and gaily than was necessary, "How old werre you when you stopped being a virgin?"

James had thought he was prepared for any question, but he was most definitely not prepared for that. His eyes grew wide and his entire face grew hot, flushing to a deep shade of red. He had to keep himself from hiding his face behind his hands - because he really, really wanted to. He wanted to disappear completely.

But now he had to answer honestly, and he intensely dreaded any sort of reaction from the others, be it positive or negative. He didn't want to hear any of it.

With a stiffening of his jaw he stared out past all of them, avoid all eye contact with set determination.

"I never shtopped," he said plainly, though his voice came out much more timid than he'd intended.

For a moment, Kratzer's obsession with getting more alcohol into his system completely stalled when James said that. He blinked, processing this slowly through his drunken state. Did he just say he was a virgin?

He was pretty sure he'd just said he was a virgin.

"Wilshon...would you get thish man another drink?" Kratzer asked. "Zish one'sh on me."

"Oh," I said, bringing my hand to my mouth in a clumsy attempt to cover my grin, "You musht be waiting for the right lady. That'sh sho precious. That'sh the sweetesht thing I've ever heard."

Wilson nodded with a small grin, giving another drink to Kratzer and pouring another for James. James eagerly took it as something else to look at apart from everyone else.

With his face still red as a beet, he downed the drink just as he did the previous. Things were starting to get really fuzzy. The room felt like it was spinning.

"L-letsh jusht m-move on I don't - I don't wanna keep talking about it," he mumbled. "I anshered my queshtion."

Damascus glanced around, wondering why all the fuss was being made about James' virginity. Honestly, he veiwed James keeping his virginity this long as sort of an impressive accomplishment, not something to be embarrassed by. He opened his mouth to say just that, and then heard what James said about changing the subject.

Frowning, he gave a small determined nod. The turns had come a full circle, which meant that the choice was up to him again. It just made sense to choose truth- he had already done a dare, and answering something honestly really didn't scare him.

"Truwth! Ahy chooshe truwth!" He blurted, not waiting to be asked.

Both Schadel and Edward had gone silent after Kratzer had finished talking, and both were currently staring into their glasses. Schadel was fingering the silver cross hanging around her neck, her eyes brimming with tears as she thought of Adam. She had never truly stopped thinking of him, but it hurt when she realized how similar he was to Kratzer. He hadn't asked to be caught up in the war. Neither had Adam. Sweet, sweet Adam. The war had broken him both mentally and physically, and was only as she thought back on it when she got older that she had realized that.

Edward, on the other hand, had barely been paying attention to the conversations. He was felt absolutely horrible. He had known that things weren't easy for the people in Germany, but he had always told himself that he would have left or fought back - even if it cost him his life. That was what happened in the end, anyways. Dying and becoming a ghost had made that belief grow stronger. He already knew what would happen next, but he had forgotten that most people didn't.

And he had forgotten that not everyone in Germany was like the Nazis.

He bit back tears as he stared down into his glass. He wanted to take his hands out of his pockets out and take another long drink, but he wasn't sure if the dare was over yet - Damascus had said three rounds, but he wasn't sure if that meant three turns or three times of them all going.

I'm so stupid, he thought. He clenched his hands into fists. How could he have forgotten that it wasn't as simple as he thought it was? He had even know a German boy, once, damn it, and he had been a perfectly decent boy-

Wait.

He blinked back his tears - which were already streaming down his face - and looked up in confusion. What was he thinking? He hadn't known a German boy before. He hadn't even been outside of America before the war! But even as he kept trying to deny it - and even as he couldn't come up with a single memory to prove his odd train of thought - he couldn't shake the feeling that he had once met a German boy right around his age at the time, and that the German boy's name had been Engel.

"Oh! Oh!" Wilson piped up, trying to keep the game going. "I have a question for you Damascus. Who do you think is the prettiest person here?"

Kratzer slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew his ebony rosary, running a finger across the crucifix silently. Somehow, despite its associations, it brought him comfort, a bit like his brother always had. His dear old brother. If only Gunther - the first Gunther - could see him now.

His fingers tightened and he tipped his head back, downing the vodka in one go.

Damascus squinted at Wilson, thinking hard. Pretty, as in... beautiful? He considered beautiful a gender-neutral adjective, since he found all humans vastly interesting and full of beauty- it was the reason he was on the run from his authorities in the first place.

"I... I don' knough.. I think ahll uh you are b- beauteeful." He said softly, both hands gripping his head.

He knew that he had to give a real answer- that everyone was waiting on him. Looking around, he tried to decide who would be least embarrassed or disturbed if he selected them. His gaze fell to his left.

"Uhm... Borish. Borish ish theh prettiesht."

Out of the corner of his eye, Edward noticed Kratzer fiddling with a cross. While that was something he normally wouldn't have paid much attention to in the first place - Schadel did it all the time, and was currently doing it just as he thought about - something about the cross caught his attention. He frowned. He had seen that somewhere before, hadn't he? It had been resting on the chest of a boy who was so thin that he had thought he was about to die from how unhealthy he looked-

Engel.

That had been Engel.

The memory was hazy at best, but he was starting to recall exactly where he had met Engel. It had been at a campsite, and he had been so so so scared because he couldn't find his mom and was sure that the only adult there had done something to her. And then Engel had come over and tried to comfort him. He stared at Kratzer. If he looked at him just right, he could see resemblances that he would have never picked up on if it hadn't been for the cross. The same hair color. The same eye color. Even the same basic shape of the face, though Kratzer looked much more healthy than Engel had.

And then the flood of memories came back.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered. He still couldn't put names to all of the faces, but he remembered Engel and he remembered that they had been friends and oh God he had been a terrible person to someone who had only shown him kindness prior to the meeting in the bar and who wouldn't be frustrating when drunk and-

He completely ignored the rules of the game and pulled his hands out of his pants. He reached one out. Rested it on Kr-Engel's shoulder and continued to stare at him.

"Engel," he said. "Your name is Engel, isn't it?"