Let it pour
The story behind how Thalia Spinoza ended up joining the Inglorious Basterds
The morning was cold, as was to be expected in northern France during the early spring of 1944.
Mother’s bundled up their children and husband’s for the chill of dawn.
Many cafe’s kept a good supply of hot coffee and warmed pastries readily available during the early hours of morning light.
And that’s how Thalia liked to spend her mornings.
Sitting at a table tucked away by the window of Maurine’s Patisserie, slowly digging through her third flan with a spoon bent crooked at the handle.
The wind howled against the window panes, creating a low whistle that caused many patrons of the small Patisserie to shiver of what was to meet them outside.
“Here you are, Thalia,”
Maurine herself was an elderly woman, aged by wisdom and kept healthy as she poured her love into every single baked good she made to share with the world in the dark times.
With soft blue eyes and wrinkles that told the stories of a hundred life times.
A soft hum left Thalia’s lips as she nodded in thanks to the older woman.
“Take a seat, Maurine,” The brunette hummed, tapping the chair beside her with soft smile.
“Oh dear,” Maurine mused, smiling gently at the girl before resting her frail hand on the young womans arm, “you’re gonna run me clean out of business,”
Thalia followed her gaze and smiled sheepishly at the sight of three empty flan tins.
Some mornings were meant for flan, black coffee and the company of those who felt like home.
The two spoke quietly, talking about what awaited for them that day - for Maurine, it was helping her husband bring in the days delivery of flour, fruit-and eggs.
For Thalia Spinoza, it was cutting off a German resupply truck on the south-east side of Bogue.
“Window shopping,” was what she told the woman to keep her mind from Thalia’s safety.
The jingle of the door opening left a soft sigh of fatigue leaving Maurine’s lips.
Thalia patted her arm before helping the baker stand, and taking her seat again.
She paid no mind to the door. People came and went - regardless if it was the local French children or the foot soldiers of Hitler’s SS.
Besides, turning around would most certainly put eyes on her back - Thalia had been on the run for nearly a year - but she guessed her luck would have to run out at one point or another.
She didn’t think it would be today or all days.
The brunette swirled the coffee around the mug, bumping it into the crooked spoon.
Thalia apologized to the near by family, turning her body to reach for the spoon - and get a glance at the door.
Eight men walked into the bakery; ages a muddle of late teens to early thirties.
The excitement in some of the younger men’s face’s brought a small, nearly invisible smile to her lips.
“Go get what you want,”
The man clad in the dark jacket was definitely not French. Nor European for that matter.
The smile dropped.
She rooted herself in her chair, turning back to the new flan tin Maurine had placed in front of her.
The heavy American accent caused a sigh to escape Thalia’s lips.
She knew Lieutenant Aldo Raine would find her eventually. He always did.
Their footsteps were heavy in the calm of the Patisserie, getting closer and closer to the brunette until the chairs at her table screeched and the floor and heavy bodies sat beside her.
Thalia looked up, catching Maurine’s worried gaze from across the counter.
The brunette sent her a smile to ease her worries.
And then bright hazel met startling onyx brown.
Her lips parted at the sight of the Bostonian, taking in how disheveled he looked since the last time she had seen him nearly four years ago.
Donny Donowitz sat to her right - broad shoulders hunched ever so slightly, nearly unnoticeably.
To her left, sat Aldo Raine, a grin on his face as he stared openly at the brunette holding a spoonful of flan half way to her face.
“Well, Thalia, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” his Appalachian drawl caused Thalia to close her eyes and lower her spoon.
When she opened them, the pair was still there, joined by four more unfamiliar faces.
“Enough with the flattery Aldo,” the brunette murmured quietly, catching sight of the curious gaze’s being sent their way. “It didnt get you anywhere last time,”
Last time she had ran into the moonshiner from Maynardville, she had gotten caught up in helping him secure a weapons cache on the hills of Sicily.
She guessed they were both lucky that their necks didn’t break during the attempted lynching.
“Why the sour face, Doll?” Donny asked, taking the spoon from her hand and sliding the flan towards himself.
“Get your own-“
“Sharing is caring,” He cut her off, “and I’d say this is long over due,”
Thalia rolled her eyes, fixing the light scarf around her neck as a chill ran over her skin.
“You never laid for my dry cleaning,” She said, “had to get a whole new coat you know,”
“I gotcha this time, Doll,” Donny said.
‘Mhm.’ The brunette mused before turning to Aldo.
“What do you want now, Raine?” She asked quietly.
The Apache leaned back in his chair, throwing his arm around the back of hers.
“Well, Darling,” Raine started, “we need us a lil’ resupply and we heard you were the best in the business,”
“Oh,” Thalia feigned offense, “so you didn’t want to sit down with me and drink some coffee -“
She threw a look at Donny, who was shoveling the flan into his mouth,
“And steal MY flan from me on this gorgeous morning,”
The table chuckled at her mocking tone, smiles on their faces at the stranger the Lieutenant had yet to introduce themselves too.
“We’ll join you tomorrow,” Aldo promised, “how does that sound-“
The jingle of the door opening cut him off, all laughter and chatter cut short as a group of German officers entered the Patisserie.
“Sound peachy,” Thalia stood from the table, gathering the tins and empty cups, “but right now we gotta get the hell out of here,”
Her Chicago accent was gone.
“Guten morgen,” She said in passing to the German officers, sending a faux smile their way as she passed the dishes to Maurine.
“Bis spater, Maurine,” Thalia called lit as she walked towards the door.
“Pass auf dich!” The woman called out, eyeing the blonde German as he stared at the brunette walk past him.
The German’s hand wrapped around her arm, squeezing gently as he stopped Thalia from making her way towards the Inglorious Basterds.
“Entschuldigung,” he began, sending her a soft smile, “Sie sehen heute reizend aus, junge Dame,”
The brunette returned the smile, simply trying to get out of the Patisserie before she stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Danke schon-“ she was cut off as the blonde lifted his hand to her face, moving a curl to tuck it behind her ear.
“Marco-“ he interrupted, “Marco Zubovich”
“Es freut mich, Sie kennenzulernen,” Thalia pulled her arm away, trying very hard to not make a scene in front of the patrons of Maurine’s. “Aber ich muss gehen – mein Bruder und seine Freunde warten auf mich- tschuss!”
Donny waited for her by the door, the rest of the basterds already outside.
“Didnt know you spoke German,” Donny said quietly, glancing back Marco, who was staring at the brunette as they walked away.
“Well the hour we spent together in Boston wasnt really long enough to get to know someone, Donny,”
“Frau!”
She stiffens, both her and Donny stopping mid step to turn around and face the Patisserie.
“Das hast du fallen lassen,”
Marco stood a few feet away from her, holding out her wallet.
Thalia stared at him, eyes narrowing as he held it out to her.
She hadnt dropped it.
She had deliberately placed it on the inner pocket of her jacket.
“Danke Marco,” she said, taking the wallet.
Donny’s face was stoic as he stared at the blonde German. Marco stared right back, looking past Thalia as she tucked it away.
“Keine problem, Thalia,”
The brunette froze.
Her heart started beating out of her chest.
Marco had taken the wallet from her jacket and looked through it.
Maurine was always careful to never speak her name in the presence of the SS - yet the German lieutenant in front of her had simply pick pocketed her wallet and taken a peak at her papers.
“Ich habe dich endlich gefunden, Dolly,” Marco said, lips pressed together to a thin line.
Quickly shoving the officer, sending him toppling over the bench.
“Scatter,” she said, shoving past a couple walking down the street as the Basterds quickly joined them in a life-at-stake game of hide and seek.
Thalia and the Basterds ran, bullets flying into the sky as families ran to cover.
The SS officers had been looking for Thalia Spinoza for a nearly a year.
It had been her own damn fault she was found.
A sharp pain in her arm caused her to stagger, a slow warmth of running down her arm underneath her sleeve.
“Fuck!”
Thalia ran into an alley, not once looking behind her before tucking herself being a dumpster.
“Dolly!” Marco’s tone was mocking as he slowed his run to walk.
The young woman tensed, hand reaching for anything near by that could possibly help her if worse came to worse.
“I know you’re here,” Marco drawled out, his cold gaze scanning the alley.
He watched for movement in the shadows, unaware of the danger that awaited him as he neared the dumpster.
Captain Marco Zubovich had finally found her.
He had found Thalia ‘Dolly’ Spinoza - the woman who had been terrorizing German officers for months without end.
“I see you-“ a brick to the face cut him off, sending him to the floor.
Thalia lunged at him, brick falling to the ground in their scuffle.
Marco reached for his Luger, only for it to be kicked from his hand the moment he found the grip.
“Y’all. Just. Never. Leave. Well enough. Alone!” Thalia grilled the back of his jacket collar as she straddled him on the dirty alley ground.
With her arms crossed over each-other, she squeezed tightly, pulling her face away from his clawing hands as he gasped for breath.
With blood rushing to her ears - all the gun shots. The shouting. Marco’s strangled cries.
They became silent under her own breath.
Thalia backed away from Marco, staring at her hand before she gave his body a good kick.
Her breathing was heavy, hair falling over her face and she hauled herself off of the ground.
Her eyes scanned the scene.
She had mad a mess of a good morning - mow she only hoped the Basterds were doing better than she was.
With one last look at Marco, she grabbed his luger, tucking it into her shirt before walking out of the alley.
The streets had been cleared.
Cars riddled with bullet holes. Broken glass from nearby shops. A few Germans lying face down on the street - bodies stiff.
The once sunny morning grew dark as she stood in the center of the mess she had caused.
Popping her neck, Thalia walked away from the scene.
It would only take an hour and a half for Aldo to find her a few streets away.
A smile grew on his face - glad to see the woman was okay - as he neared her.
Thalia was leaning against a post, not caring that the sky was crying over her.
His brown eyes gave her a once over.
The scarf she once wore around her neck acted as a make shift bandage over her arm. Her hair had been messily thrown into a braid of curls.
Thalia at with her knees brought up to her chest, arms wresting over them with a cigarette hanging loosely from her left hand.
“Spinoza,” she didnt look at him. “Thalia,”
Aldo Raine crouched in front of her, taking the nearly burnt out smoke from her hand and tossing it aside.
His hand found its place on her knee - gently shaking her.
She was cold to the touch.
“Come on sweetheart,” he drawled, “lets get you some place warm,”
Aldo Raine helped her stand - wrapping his jacket around her shoulders.
Thalia Spinoza let him.
Together, the pair walked to the rest of the Basterds.
Thalia’s hand clutching Marco’s luger like a promise of the unfinished.
