Of course she knew the Gestapo much better than anyone here. She couldn't say she had very many run ins with the police of the Reich. Nor was she looking for any opportunity to be acquainted with them. The situation of mentioning them here was highly inappropriate; however, it must have been the waitress's overt German attributes that made Verena question it so. The state rarely called on women to act in such rules. It wasn't unheard of though. An informant had ratted out her neighbor back when she was in Berlin. It was a terrible sight to behold.

Verena's lips creased down as she listened to the last words parting from the waitress's mouth. It was the Red Cross's obligation to help any prisoner of war or civilian that was included within the Geneva convention. They were to give aid however they could. Being from the German branch, however, complicated things a great deal. Would it be so bad to follow the girl? What if she had more nefarious aims than what she let on? Leaving the German controlled zone frightened Verena so. But she signed on to give aid. Why cower from the duty now? Because I'm German she thought to herself. Regardless if she wore the red cross on her sleeve, it wouldn't matter to the angered man or woman looking for an outlet. 

Clasping her hands and fidgeting, a terrible habit when she was nervous, her lips creased downward. "What you're going to show me..." she finally said. She couldn't help but notice the other patrons blatantly looking at her now. It was as if she were a cornered doe amongst a pack of wolves. She sighed. "How long will we be? Will we be leaving the German occupation zone?"