Chapter Text
Herbert was the pinnacle of a man. His head reached higher than a skyscraper, on which lay a forest of dark brown locks. From the crown to the toe he was chiseled like a Norse god. Now you may question why not go for Greek god, and that is because Greek is doing him a disservice. He had the body and mind of a warrior, with the peace and gentleness of a dove. But don’t mess with him, or his rigorous, unyielding fury will come out. As such a great specimen of a man, it was only a matter of time before someone tried taking hold of him.
All with a pulse craved Herbert, but only one was able to capture his heart. Juanita was her name, came from Argentina to live in the never resting chaos of Birmingham. Tongue as sharp as the blade of a guillotine, and as fast as it. Rigid she was, never moving, never yielding, so much so even the might of Herbert fell to its knees for Juanita.
A tough battle their first encounter was, a battle of the wills of the heart, but the winner was set before anyone spoke a word.
“Hey, you, I dont know what the fuck I’m doing. How do I get to Kestrel Avenue?”. Already, Juanita set as a precedent her power and control, whilst simultaneously giving so much trust to this man she barely knew, for he could trick her or deceive her. But in Herbert’s eyes she saw kindness and so she insisted.
“How eloquent.” Herbert venomously replied. “It is as dark as a buried coffin, don’t go around admitting you’re lost to strangers. Follow me.”
Instantly Herbert regains control, making a fool of Juanita and assuming her naive. With anyone else that move would have been finishing, but Juanita was not having it.
“You ain’t got nothing on me, sweet boy” she calmly stated. “And if you think anyone can get the better of me, you’ll be in for a surprise, tesoro.”
A record breaking comeback, flirting and assuring her dominance at the same time; she uses the foreign word “tesoro” to personalise it even further to make its mark be left for longer. She was going to get this man pregnant even if it was physically impossible.
“Well, ‘tesourou’, come along. I’m Connors” Herbert proclaimed. He went by his last name due to the shame his first name brought. His father, complicated man that he was, gave it to him right after he was born - which coincidentally was after he was 7 pints down. “Im guessing you’re not from around here, the fire you carry in your soul is not exactly a British staple”
Mocking, teasing and inquiring on the same line. 50 points to Herbert Connors. Mispronunciation would be negative points, but as it was intentional to create effects, it shall be null.
She smirked, the desire almost overwhelming her, but she had to keep composure.
“Argentinian, born and raised. Got a job that required me to travel to this sad, grey and depressing place. And yet, some things here are just so beautiful, it makes the stay worthwhile.”
She locked her eyes upon Herbert, like a tiger upon a gazelle. Herbert had lost, cheeks bright as a sun. Needless to say, he stayed the night at her place, pinned against the floor, placed in submission.
For days to come, Herbert and Juanita grew closer, bonding over their sh- interesting parents, their love for theatrics and drama, the names they were born with and hated, and the growing love they were developing for each other. Herbert was inquisitive, asking a constant barrage of questions about this woman who had suddenly and abruptly entered into his life. Juanita, wanting to keep her prey, answered with full honesty, but there was one question she dared not respond. One question that brought the terror of a traumatised soldier to her eyes. “What’s your job?”. Such a simple question. So harmless. So surface level. Herbert presumed she must be a sex worker, maybe an exploited one, and so he dug deeper and deeper into every club and weird looking alley in the city. He looked through sweatshops when the clubs had nothing to offer. And after that, the cops to see if his date was some undercover agent, anything. All to no avail. All he knew was that whatever work she had was as mysterious as D.B Cooper. All he found out about this mysterious job from his months of research was a flash of purple light and rotting odour that came from Juanita's room one day, which she attributed to said work, a “handmade good” that he never got to see.
Herbert’s job was nothing like this. The man was a veteran, fought in the great British Revolt of ‘54. Turns out, Hitler could only hold England hostage for a decade before it slipped away from him like sand. Now he was 37, now in the crazy 70s. He never understood how the British won after their humiliating defeat at D Day, or for that matter the rest of the world. In 1955 the Nazi regime now suddenly had so many moles and so many weaknesses it didn’t before. Herbert was confused but he dared not question it, for the memories were too painful.
Juanita never experienced any of the side effects of this war and only worked overseas giving foreign aid, which showed in her constant barrage of questions about it to Herbert. Like Juanita did about her job, Herbert was hesitant to give details. Besides, now he worked as a manager for a firm that was in charge of services such as plumbing and electricity. His late best friend, Lukas Schneider, had set this company up to rebuild the country bit by bit at low costs and high quality. He always got prejudiced for his German descent, but he clearly had changed from what the regime told him to be, and without him, England couldn't have defeated the Nazis.
Either way, both Herbert and Juanita were mysterious beyond what even they comprehended about themselves.