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Dreams, such things we try to determine their meaning when the morning comes and yet their slip away from our memory like sands through our fingers caught in the winds. A piece or two might remain but not enough to build from. Such dreams have you been plagued with. You can feel the heat of the sun on your skin and the rasp of the dry air in your throat. Wandering, trudging, dragging each step through the sands as they fall deeper and deeper into the endless sight before your tired eyes. Would would think that one would want to struggle free of a dream in order to get more rest from blinking their eyes than when their head rests on a pillow?

"'Ayamkinuk samaei?"

A voice caught on the winds but do you understand what it is saying? Some might but many will not. The language is not known to all but there it is, in your ears and in your mind. Turn which way you wish the vision is the same. Dunes of sands getting caught up in the wind. More and more as it curls in the air like snow dancing. How you long for such cold right now, a gentle reprise from the sweltering heat that bakes you currently.

"'Ayamkinuk samaei?"

The voice comes again.

"'Ayamkinuk samaei?"

And again.

"Wa'ana 'aelam 'annak tasmaeuni. Tajduni. Aikhtabarani fi alqahira."

It burns, your hand it burns. Look, look with those eyes that are searching to see anything but sand and sky. Do you see? Yes, yes you must see. There on your hand you see it, blazing in gold like the sun you see it upon your finger. It is there. Then it is gone. Then you awake.



You can barely recall what your dream was that first night. It happened before you even came to Cairo but perhaps it meant nothing then. For some you have had the dream for years, for some only days. Though once you settled in Cairo it came more often. Have some of you even slept through the night in the last week? Each time it is the same and now you can recall it as any other memory and you can still feel the heat on your skin when you do.

Why is this happening? Is it happening to others? No one is speaking about it. Why? It is just a random dream you are having, isn't it? It means nothing. Sure, people dream the same thing over and over again for days; for weeks... Yet some have been plagued for years. Perhaps it is just the booze.


The winds kicked up around the make shift outpost, where it was few knew. Frayed threads moved back and forth against the posts as maps so gloriously old that could have turned to dust if one was not careful were pinned down carefully within the confines of the tent. Brazen hands pressed down on the parchment as such pale eyes gleamed over them. A dark hair man shook his head as he let out a dry breath, a hand reaching up and scratching the stubble on his chin.

"Nahn fi mawqie khati," he muttered under his breath. Closing his eyes and letting his lids moisten the dryness. This wasn't right, something was wrong and he knew what that was. A shadow fell across the interior of the tent, casting long in the setting sun the west. He looked up slowly as his hands rested against the edge of the table, turning back so his fingers could curl against the underside of the wood.

"Now I wouldn't be doing that lad," a low-browed British accented voice said as an older man with worn skin stepped into the tent. Sighing he pulled his hands out from beneath the table and held up the blade that had been resting beneath it before tossing it onto the table next to the treasure of maps and parchments.

"Did you acquire it?" the "Lad" asked as he lowered his hands.

"Oh I acquired it, where is me payment?" he snickered as he held it up. Then he gasped and withdrew his hand as cat clawed at his skin suddenly and took the item in its jaw before purring over to her owner. Pulling his gun he pointed it at the feline which now turned to hiss at him.

"Daeh yakun," her master said, his hand reaching and running down her back to smooth out the hairs standing on end as he cupped the pendant in his other.

"My payment..." the man whose hand was now bleeding demanded, only to be caught in the chest with a wad of bills. It was enough to sate him for now, turning and leaving while uttering curses on the cat and its owner as well.

Holding the pendent up, pale hazel eyes flickered and a smile curled along the line of his lips. "'Akhiraan."

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"The great carved mace; heads of Hierakonpolis have been the subject of much careful study, especially in the case of the second and third, which are now in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. The first has received less attention, owing to its damaged condition. It is broken into several pieces, but though a great deal has been preserved, the surface of the stone is corroded in many places, and flakes have split off, so that much of the sculpture is irretrievably lost. The sculpture thus left falls into three groups, of which two are on the largest fragment," Vera mumbled to herself as she walked through the main hall of the Egyptian Museum. Her nose firmly planted in the book which resided in her hand and pressed against a stack of more supported by her other underneath.

Ancient Egypt And The Rest, a book of course about Egypt. One that had been compiled by Achceol and Philol over the last three years was a collection of others research and observations. Currently she was on an excerpt about Hierakonpolis written by M.A. Murray. It wasn't her normal reading material, well the subject matter was, but normally she found more dated texts more to her liking; though she had to admit this one would do for a quick stroll down the hall. Stumbling over her own two feet she looked up quickly and glanced over her shoulder before she turned her attention back to the short work in her hands.

"Pity," she said to herself more than anyone around her about the condition of the artifact in which she was entrenched on learning about. So many items were poorly excavated that it was hard to find out as much as one would have if one could have just been a tad more gentile with them. Long she walked, turning down one hall way after another. That was until her face planted into a cool piece of rough pottery causing her to gasp out as he started rocking back and forth along its pedestal. Her books flying from her grip as her hands flung out to try to steady the ancient piece.

"Oh nononononononononono you don't." Grabbing the piece and stopping its near tumble to the marble floor below. "Whew..." she said with a quick breath as she glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed her collision and there was no damage done. All was right with the world. Kneeling down she began to gather her books one by one and stacking them back up.

"Sons of the Pharaoh! Can you not walk from one place to another without nearly destroying a priceless artifact?" a voice chimed in aggravated from behind her causing Vera to jump out of her skin and spill out onto the floor, lading on her rear as she once again dropped her reading material. Cringing inwardly she turned to look over her shoulder as she slowly pulled her glasses from her nose only to see that it was Dr. Senbu Khons, the museums curator standing there above her tapping his foot.

Standing up quickly Vera pulled her glasses down slowly. "I am truly sorry Dr. Kohns. I must have gotten caught up in my reading. It won't happen again," she said quickly before the curator leaned down and picked up her books; shoving them in her arms. He did not say anything else, knowing good and well it would happen again. As he walked away Vera let out a little huff which sent her bangs flipping out for a moment. Turning she nearly ran right back into the piece of pottery before stopping herself. "Ack," she exclaimed before stepping around it and continuing on her path, trying her best not to stick her nose right back into the book she wanted to finish reading.

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"Thlatht 'ashhur almutaeaffinat fi hadhih alkhallia," Abbas mumbled under his breath as he fiddled with the dirt. Sitting down on the ground, his only seat or bed for the last three months. Looking out of the bars of his cell he glared towards the noose that swung in the center of the courtyard. His and the rest of the cells circling it and overlooking it, a constant reminder that where he was actually sitting was better than where he was supposed to be. His neck in the noose and swinging lifeless from side to side.

Reaching up he rubbed his neck and cringed. He had to get out of here. He had to be careful though, the warden had forgotten about him: the only reason he was still breathing. He had been working on the guards over the days, weeks, and months. Listening to what they say, finding where their soft spots where. For most of them it was money and that was something he didn't have but that didn't mean he couldn't make them believe otherwise. The guards bored easily watching the prisoners. Playing a game of cards and loosing put him on their good side. Playing hands and winning put them in his debt.

Today would be the day, well tonight anyways. He would break free of this place, it was arranged. At least he hoped it was. He didn't trust a one of them. Not that they should be trusting him but it seemed a few of the younger ones were fools enough to believe his story. That he was falsely arrested, branded unjustly. Newer revolution types who wanted to break free from the past were more likely to listen. They worked there for money, like most, but they still tried to help a poor misjudged traveler. If they only knew just who he really was.

Oh well, was not his problem. Come morning he hoped to be free and he hoped them dead. Hey, don't judge him, he is just trying to survive. It isn't that he loves what he does to survive but he just doesn't have a problem if it is someone else's neck in the noose in place of his. They'll understand, they would do the same would they not? Well if they wouldn't that was their problem. Some people just had more balls than brains and Abbas made sure to exploit those types as much as possible.

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With the sun beginning to set it was that time of day again. Aziza had spent most of the day relaxing or shopping out in the merchants square; always on the look out for something new. Nothing sparked her interest today but browsing was enjoyable enough for the most part. Pushing her way into the Alf Leyla Salah over on Opera Square she glanced around; nodding to her co-workers with a smile before she made her way into the back to change for the evening. She rarely spoke to anyone before her first dance, it was just her way to center and get into the right frame of mind.

Back behind the curtains and in her dressing room she changed; chiffon flowing layers for her skirt and her hip scarf, both which allowed just enough of her intricate ink work to be seen to be enticing. Each piece she dressed in was meticulously chosen and hand created these days instead of the rags she had begun in. That seemed like a life time ago some moments and then just as if it was yesterday at others. Slipping her feet into her sandals she checked the time before going back stage and waiting for the current act to complete their set.

Smiling as she watched, they were less experienced but they had a fire in them as they danced. It was ensemble dance before her set. One which Aziza had done many times before she became a solo act a few years back. No a days though she never went on stage with anyone, it was her and her alone; the only others were the musicians who were set up along the edge of the back end of the stage. She had worked hard to become the premiere act for the club, it was not something that the owner passed out lightly but Aziza had proven herself time and time again with the way she entertained the crowd that she was worth the decision.

As the act finished she slipped her shoes off and waited a moment before stepping onto stage, a gentle smile on her lips as her eyes flicked in the light of the stage. It was still early in the evening, so something less sensual and a little more fun was called for. She had made her selection the night before and as the music began so did she. The first dance of the evening was always one of her most treasured. Before the customers had to be smiled to, before the drinks had been overly poured. It was just her and the music right then. She would not sing with this number, that would come later. Right now it was her and the dance.

Aziza knew her art form well. A say of the hips, a flick of the wings, the way she would smile as she glanced this way and that as her skirt fanned out around her. Her hands would clap together to get the customers into the act, bringing them into the dance with her as it were. A bounce here, a spin there, snake like movements with her hips that slithered up her body. Each one precise. The dance went on, though only around eight minutes in length one could easily tell that the dance, while appearing effortlessly in his execution, was anything but as her body began to gleam with a thin sheen of sweat.

As the dance concluded she held the last movement for a moment, breathing deeply before a bright smile broke on her lips as she relaxed. Turning she bowed as she pressed her palms in front of her, the sound around her told her that the customers had enjoyed the dance. She could not see as of yet who was there besides the front row thanks to the lights. Turning she was gone from the stage as quickly as she had entered the light. Shaking out her body a little from the tense muscle contractions needed for the dance before drying off and slipping her shoes back on.

Moving passed the back stage curtain she wandered over to the bar, exchanging various greetings before she was able to get to the bar and take her seat on a stool near the end; perching on it as she waited for her after dance glass of water. "Sands of the Sahara, will be welcome when the heat breaks," she said as she looked over towards the bartender and smiled.

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*<sub>Translations will not be provided in this RP - so do NOT use them - Those of you will characters that can read/write languages other than English, you will be provided with the translations via PM to what your character is able to figure out. If you end up using a foreign language in your post, PM only those that would understand it what the translation is. We want to keep this authentic and metagaming to a minimal. Those with R/W Ancient Egyptian, Decipher Hieroglyphics and such - PM for me your set of translators.

Each character will have had the first dream 1 month prior to coming to Cairo. Since the first dream they have grown in frequency. Just periodically at first but over the course of the last three nights; if you slept it was all you dreamt of.</sub>

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“None of us would ever be the same after what we had endured. To some degree that is true, of course, of all human experience. But something in me died in those long years. Perhaps it was a childish innocence that accepted as faith the claim that man is basically good. Possibly I lost faith that politicians in high places, who do not have to endure war's savagery, will ever stop blundering and sending others to endure it.” Leaning back from his typewriter, Harry sat in silence for some time. Writing about the war had never been an easy thing to do, there was always so much to remember, such an intense series of events, as if centuries of one's life had passed in the span of three years.

It always came as images first, first the good, playing soccer with the Ottomans on Christmas day, stealing cigars from the Officer's bunker to share with the lads, decent memories. Then came with the bad, pictures of the dead, the wounded, the scared and the broken. These lingered longer and there was never quite a way to force them from his mind, and as they stewed then came the feeling. His ears began to ring as he felt the sharp stabbing at his shoulder. The shortness of breath, his neck tightening and the smell of mustard. They were never confined to dreams alone, such a reality where Harry only remembered such horrors in his sleep would have been a luxury to the man, but such a luxury was never to be.

He recalled along with each feeling the instance in which it had been his own, the stabbing feeling in his arm when he was first struck, fallen back off his horse into the warm sands below, stained red with his own and the blood of others, never to be truly washed clean of its desecration at the hands of man. In that moment Harry was convinced he had reached his end, as the fury of war raged around him he allowed himself a moment of peace to come to terms with what he believed his inevitable death, the release from the madness which had engulfed his life. There are things men can do to one another that are sobering to the soul. It is one thing to reconcile these things with god, but another to square it with yourself.

Reaching up to his shoulder, Harry ran his fingers over the jagged scar which still remained, the mark which would forever be with him as a reminder, the only one visible to others, while a thousand more lay hidden, deep inside. He let his gaze drift to the window, it was later than he had anticipated. That was something about wandering in one's own mind, it was easy to forget and ignore the real world around you, especially when that world and the one in your mind had once been one and the same. Pushing himself up to his feet, Harry left his work as it was, still unfinished, still with so much more to be written, as he moved to the door, reaching up to take his jacket and place it on as he moved out.

After the walk to the Alf Leyla Salah, moving inside washed all memories from Harry's mind, all phantom pain, all dreaded and miserable pictures which lingered, forced away by the sound of music and the joyful flow of dance, conversation and drink. Aziza was already in her dance, toward the end, Harry usually arrived sooner, but writing had taken a toll that day greater than usual. He blamed it on the lack of sleep. He watched the dance idly from a corner, encapsulated with the image of her, the sound of the music flowing through him as he allowed a soft smile to split his lips, finally fitting in to the moment of peace.

As her dance ended, and Harry watched Aziza make her way out and to the bar, he smiled, moving over himself as he pulled out a stool beside her, taking a seat and ordering two glasses of whisky. Both were for him, though in the instance she assumed and took one for herself, he would not particularly care. "You really must show me that dance some time." He smirked. Harry generally started their conversations with a joke, perhaps it was an ice breaker of sorts, perhaps it was to remind himself of the normality of the situation, of the safety. Either way, the reasoning remained a mystery as his eyes focused onto her, a smile softly resting over his lips.

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A morning of excitement was often met with an evening of boredom in William's life, at least, that had been the case recently since he'd started making his brief expeditions around Cairo's outskirts. He'd set off early that morning for a tomb he'd overheard an archaeologist at the museum mention discovering late into his digs the evening before, and William had hoped to get there before the team showed up to snatch up something good. Well, snatch up something he had. It wasn't anything particularly fancy, certainly nothing like what he'd been dreaming of recent, but the small, jeweled scarab was enough to sate the man.

Nevermind the fact that his expedition into the relatively unstable tomb had caused part of it to collapse spectacularly, likely creating considerably more work for the poor archaeologist who actually had uncovered the site. But Drake hadn't known him, and this was a victory in his book, one of many on the path to finding more and more ancient treasures of the Egyptians. Fiddling with the scarab in his hand, Drake moved into the Museum. He felt he never usually did fit in with many of the others there, so many well-dressed, scrubbed up historians and archaeologists, many posh and intellectual. With his casual, sand-dirtied clothes and shoulder holsters, he looked like quite the Rogue.

As he wandered through the museum, William halted and jumped immediately back behind a wall as he turned a corner. He'd spotted her, the dreaded woman who had been assigned as his liaison at the museum, and in his mind essentially his 'baby-sitter'. He peered back around the corner, stifling an amused snicker as she walked right into the piece of pottery and almost sent it crashing to the floor. He stuck where he was, watching the exchange quietly and from a reasonable distance until she and the curator moved off. Part of William urged him to ignore her completely, to get some work done on his own before he was forced to deal with the girl. But another found a considerably greater desire to mess with her.

Making his way after her as quietly as possible, he didn't seem to particularly care about where she was going, focusing on keeping his presence as unknown as possible as he came up behind her. Once close enough, he reached out, snatching the book from her hand and taking a few steps up ahead of her as he opened it up. "Now what book is your head stuck in this time..?" He'd ask rhetorically, a smug smirk on his face as he'd flip through the pages, not particularly interested in the content itself, more reveling in the childlike enjoyment of snatching her book.

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Pling

"Kairo-Orientens Metropol" Pling "Det første en vil oppleve når man trer inn i Egypts hovedstad, Kairo, er følelsen av å følge i de fotspor tusener av mennesker har gått; Fra faraoene som regjerte i årtusener til erobreren Alexander den Store, til Osmanerne av Tyrkia og de britiske forsvarerne av Suez. Man trår nedover Historiens allé, omringet av gatemusikanter og boder fulle av all slags frukter, mens arkitekturen reiser seg milevis over hodene..." The clicking of the letters on the typewriter turned silent, the words appearing on the white sheet of paper ceasing to continue as Haakon sighed. He ruffled his hair, drops of sweat making contact with his palm and running down his wrist.

"Nei...det føles fortsatt ikke riktig." The man with bags underneath his eyes stood up from the desk, stretching out his arms and back to hear it quietly crack into place. Haakon had been sitting at that desk for the entire day, trying to write a new article to publish back home; it had already been a week since he sent his last paper, and he knew that if didn't get anything published soon, he wouldn't get payed for sitting on his bum in the middle of excotic Cairo. He chuckled at that thought, he hadn't even wanted to be there in the first place, in that all-too warm city of sand and more sand.

It was with a sigh of relief that Haakon could remind himself of the fans that cooled down him and the room, the kind of luxury a man of his past was not used to at all. Especially not in the burning heat of North Africa for a man that was used to skiing in April. Other than that, he frankly enjoyed staying in Cairo; it was a buzzling metropolis of different cultures unlike his hometown, and he'd even met up with quite the lady of a movie star. He was even payed to stay there, as long as he wrote something worth printing. It was all well enough, had he only been able to get some sleep. The past three nights had given him very little of that, and it was showing with the bags under his eyes. The dream, or nightmare you could call it, had gotten all the more frequent the past nights, not normal for Haakon. And the fact that he still remembered it so vividly troubled him.

Haakon shook his head, trying to get those silly thoughts of his head. Of course it was just a dream, dreams didn't mean anything other than your mind playing tricks on you. The image of the ring - Egyptian of apperance - surely was just his mind remembering one of the many merchandises he saw the street-vendors selling. He poured himself a glass of water, surely he needed something to drink and some fresh air after having spent the whole day inside. Haakon looked outside the window, watching Opera Square buzzling with passing cars and carts as he realized it was already time for dinner. "Vel, en sulten journalist er en dårlig journalist."

He grabbed his satchel from the edge of his bed, opening it to see if everything was still there; it was, his pencils, wallet, camera and notepad. As he closed it, his eyes briefly caught sight of what he'd drawn on his notepad; the ring he'd seen in his dreams. But then it was gone again, buried in the satchel slung over his shoulder as he grabbed his iconic fedora and exited his room. With a clunk, he locked the door behind him and made his way to the reception, hoping for directions to a respectable, but cheap restaurant.

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Josephine fanned herself while she sat in her bedroom at the corner table. She cracked open the window that overlooked the outside city and listened to the sounds coming from it while she read over the script of her next movie. She never imagined she would find herself in Egypt of all places. Sure, she wanted to be a seasoned traveler, but she expected more romantic cities like Paris, Rome, or London. However, having spent a small amount of time in Egypt, she found herself liking the city a lot. Though nowhere near as modern as Hollywood back home, she was not without some luxuries. The people didn't recognize her all the time, and she was somewhat thankful for that as she wanted to keep a low profile while the heat back home died down. However, it was getting boring with no one wanting to see her, no fans screaming or cheering. And this heat was something else entirely.

The weirdest thing though was that vivid dream. She had weird dreams before, but not one that continued to play in her head over and over. At first she assumed the stress of everything was getting to her, but after it continued she wasn't so sure. It was so real what she saw. It wasn't like it was a bad dream, but she couldn't help but feel a bit tense at the thought of it. She barely got any sleep. Not that she ever needed much anyway, but some would be nice.

She set the script down with a sigh. She wanted to do something fun, something to get her mind off of that dream. Maybe she would take in a show or go to a bar or something. Did they have bars here? Surely they wouldn't be without alcohol? She got up from her chair and picked up her handbag that had her essentials. She double checked just to be sure. Her money, make-up, perfume, and of course her grandfather's gun. One mustn't be too careful, after all. She thought about her grandfather, she missed him terribly, but perhaps he would come visit.

With a broad sweep of the room, she exited and made her way downstairs and decided she would go get something to eat first.

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Lauren slowly sat up from her small little hotel room she had been spending in for the past two weeks since she arrived in Cairo she sighed slightly as she ran a hand through her hair she missed her family back in Philadelphia especially her daughter. Lauren looked at the clock on the wall, she needed to get up and get ready to go to Alf Leyla Salah for her shift. She worked a few odd jobs here and there before she actually got hired as a bartender there. And she knew that her friend Aziza would most likely working there already, she enjoyed going out and shopping with her. Lauren quickly got out of her bed and grabbed the keys to her hotel room and made sure that she had locked the door to her room.

Lauren took a deep breath as she looked up at the sky seeing that the sun was starting to set, it was still very warm out for her which she still hadn't fully adjusted to the heat in Egypt. She started walking along the streets occasionally stopping by the small merchant stands, though she didn't buy anything. Still something kept bothering her as she kept having this dream over and over in her head she didn't know what it was. But Lauren always just shrugged it off as she continued to make her way towards Alf Leyla Salah for her shift at the bar she managed to get.

As Lauren stepped into the building she could see Aziza already doing her first dance of the night and smiled slightly as she stood there for a moment watching the woman's moves. They were always very interesting to watch as Lauren made her way over towards the bar she started to serve up the first customer. Lauren looked over her shoulder as Aziza finished her dance and made her way towards the bar, then she looked towards the man who had asked one of the other bartenders for some whiskey and spoke to Aziza.

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Nora sighed, turning the page of the latest novel she had procured for herself. She'd always been desperate to read it as a young child, yet her father had condemned it as improper. The family had been scandalized when her uncle read it in The People's Periodical and Family Library growing up, and eventually, ended up cutting all ties with the fellow. Her brother's wife, Fannie, enjoyed imagining that he had left for America and took on a life of crime. Nora had no patience for such theories. Why bother focusing on what was not real?

Ladies and gentlemen - I fear that what I am going to say will spoil your appetites; but the truth is beautiful at all times, and I have to state that Mrs. Lovett's pies are made of human flesh!

Nora chuckled a bit, smiling as she turned the page of The String of Pearls: The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance. Penny Dreadfuls were her guilty pleasure, despite the cheapness of them and the sensationalist attitudes. They were the only departure from reality that Nora condoned, mostly because she found that the presented their own form of truth. Black Bess remained her favorite, though the intriguing murderous barber fascinated her. Had she been in London at the time, she would've booked tickets the see the play for herself, having been introduced to the stage just fifty years prior. Egypt was a mecca in its own right, of course, and English habits were always so frightfully dull and rigid...but so was Nora.

Sipping delicately from her cool beverage, Nora set the book aside, instead grasping her pocket notebook. The dream continued to torment her, a side effect she assumed from her assisting her uncle. Despite not doing much more than collecting papers and cleaning his clothing, she did, on occasion, get a moment to put her mathematics degree to use. The words, as she originally supposed, were likely some form of code. She sketched out variations in spelling each time she had the dream, but had made no progress so far.

Glancing outside of the pristine window of her apartment, Nora witnessed the sun hanging low in the sky. Soon enough, the temperatures outside would be one that she could tolerate. Setting both her notebook and novel aside, Nora arose from the bed, stretching idly. Her father had deemed it improper for an unmarried woman to live alone, yet the scandal of her living with another man seemed even more fearful to him. The apartment had been a compromise, with Nora largely using the spare bedroom for reading, the other spare room for smoking, and her bedroom for sleeping. Lighting a cigarette, Nora placed it within its holder, and took a soft drag.

The day had already proved to be just as disappointing as the last. But no matter. Nora wasn't foolish enough to imagine that anything would change in her circumstances. She exited the room and headed into the kitchen, determined to attempt to have some fun that evening. The bars and parlors would be opening up, and away from the watchful eyes of England, Nora wouldn't be as heavily judged for heading to such an establishment on her lonesome. Putting her cloche hat smartly on top of her curls, flattening them slightly in the process, Nora vacated her apartment, looking for something unknown to herself.

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The dreams had become more troubling in the last week. The past three days or so in particular - every time he closed his eyes, that shining, golden image appeared in his mind, resting upon his finger as if it belonged there, the forefront to beige sand and cloudless, blue sky. Without reason, it simply vanished, and the entire unconscious replay faded away, like a curtain dropping on an interpretive theatrical production. Not that the content of the dream had become more troubling, persay, but that the intensity of it grew immensely as of late, a feeling of urgency that was not initially present. The realness of it all took on a sharper clarity over the past few days, incorporating more than mere visual imagery. Burning heat, as if the ring were a tiny piece of the sun itself, washed over his hand from where the ring touched, flowing and pulsing. Troubling, indeed.

The imagery of Egypt had a number of repetitive motifs, as it came to the Ancient World. Symbolism and religious icons of beliefs no longer widely practiced, but given a new breath of life and interest by the discoveries from two scant years ago. It was no wonder that he began to dream of one symbol in particular. Perhaps it appealed on an instinctive level. Of course, it begged to question the timeline in which he had these dreams; if the Lord Major was correct, he first began to have them just prior to his assignment in Egypt, from the European Front. Logically, that made no sense.

But that wasn't foremost on his mind. No, two things dominated his overt thought at that moment were as follows:

1) The pain of his dream, the ring searing his flesh, burned in his waking world now. The separation of Dream and Real was blurred, at least in this one aspect.

2) There was a camel spider, approximately the size of a dinner plate, staring at him from the wall above.

The pain of the searing ring faded into something tolerable, seconds after his eyes fluttered open. The sight of his unexpected visitor rooted the Lord Major to his bed. Their eyes seemed to lock, both laying motionless; one horizontal and the other impossibly vertical. He was unsure as to why the horrifying-looking creature was there. His doors were closed, as were his shutters. A trickle of light illuminated his room well enough in the early evening hours, well enough to notice the huge honking monster sizing him up, though he doubted that there was enough room for that massive solpugid to have wriggled into his quarters. How long had it been squatting in his room? Chilling, really.

He had intended the past hour to be an invigorating nap, following afternoon Tea. The plan to rise refreshed, relaxed, and ready to greet the evening with vigor and gusto got waylaid somewhat. At least the "relaxed" part. He was most assuredly raptly alert at the moment. But now there was the delicate problem of removing himself from his predicament without getting facehugged by an eight (ten?) legged monstrosity with corrosive spittle. He allowed a furtive glance to the side, locating his uniform coat and, more importantly, his Officer's sword. It was bright, and well cared for, with almost a full meter of slender, double-edged steel, and it represented the best chance he had to avoid solpugid facehuggery.

Ever so carefully, he took hold of the hilt of his fine weapon and gingerly shook the blade free of its scabbard. He winced a bit as the solid blade-cover slapped to the ground, inciting a twitch of movement from the grotesque camel spider. The Lord Major briefly considered having to explain to the boy who did his sheets precisely why he had shat the bed, and so in a textbook example of military discipline, clenched himself appropriately and soldiered on. The blade of his immaculate sabre rose with the practiced, liquid-lightning form of confident experience, coming parallel with his centerline and thrusting upward (sideways, from anyone else's point of view) and into the squiggling, spasming creature on the wall above him. The blade pinned its still-twitching corpse to its resting spot, sinking into the wall plaster.

"Good show, old boy..." he congratulated himself, mostly glad he wasn't taken out by some verminous arthropod in his slumber. Dressing quickly, he remembered the burning on his hand, and decided to make an "on the route" stop before getting to his evening's endeavors (which mostly involved consuming brown liquor and catching a dancing exhibition involving a comely local he had come to know). The Lord Major had put off discussing this long enough, especially considering the fact that he was very close with an expert on the subject who worked just next to the barracks.

With sudden but stodgy grace, the portly man threw on the remainder of his uniform, buckled on his sword and pistol, and moved from his quarters to greet the early evening. He descended the stairs, catching sight of one of the local boys that the Royal Air Force employed for menial tasks, houseboys and the like, and slipped him a farthing. "You there, ah, sabi! Sabi, please if you would, the corpse of a most frightening Nile spider is stuck above my bunk. Take care of that for me... Oh, and do find someone to bug-proof my dwelling. Netting maybe, I don't know. Just be quick about it! One never knows when one may have company." The old man lay a finger beside his nose and gave the boy a knowing wink, before bounding off to the barracks exterior.

From behind him, the dutiful houseboy called out a quick, "'Aywa, Major Keystone!" before running up the stairs and eventually shrieking.

The Lord Major heard not the startled expression of the young RAF charge, instead happily along his way across the yard and into the building just to the north, the Egyptian Museum. He walked straight inside, giving polite nods to any caretakers nearby and looking around in search of someone. He mumbled aloud to himself, audibly but low, "Now, wherever is Lady Munn... ?"

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What a wondrous evening it seems to be shaping up to being. The sky is clear with just a few wisps of thin clouds rolling over slowly. There is gentle breeze blowing over the city and the days heat is starting to subside slowly as the sun begins to descend along the western horizon. The time is closing in on six in the evening and many are now off work, while others are headed in. The streets are becoming crowded as some rush home, some rush elsewhere. The bustling city is alive with the Pyramids of Giza hovering over its metropolis area.

@Morose @FantasyChic @ONL - The lush and lavish neighborhood of Garden City is bustling with the wealthy. Mothers pushing strollers, men taking an evening constitutional; the Beverly Hills of Cairo. Outside the Grand Continental it isn't much different, tourists and long term residents of the hotel are buzzing around. There are many places to grab a bite to eat in the city. Street vendors and the like push carts and stand on corners trying to get you to purchase their fare. Now, there is Al Fishawi' over in Khan El-Kalili Bazar over in El Ataba El Khadra in E10 - It has been open since 1773 (And OOC, is still open in 2016) It is a lively little place, reasonably priced, a lot of atmosphere and one of the more liberal establishments in the city. Mostly a shisha bar that serves tea it does have food and it is raved about by both locals and tourists.

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Letting out a slow sigh Vera continued on her way. It wasn't long before her nose was buried right back into the same book as before, picking up where she left off. A quiet "Hrm," leaving her lips from time to time as her shoes clicked across the marble floor. Then suddenly the book that was once in her hands was no longer there. Stopping and looking up suddenly she looked around only to have her eyes fall on the most annoying beastly American she had ever had the displeasure of becoming acquainted with. "Don't bother Mr. Drake, I seriously doubt there are enough pictures in the book for your taste," she said as she reached over and snatched the book out of his paws.

Huffing a bit as she closed the book and placed it in the stack she was carrying, the curls of her bangs blowing out of her face. "But if you must know it is Ancient Egypt, compilation of archeological finds of more recent history," she went ahead and explained, knowing he didn't give two camel's humps about anything archeological other than what the final pay out would be in the end. "It wouldn't interest you, all these excavations are complete and those that discovered them have already been paid."

Brushing passed him, she tripped over the tip of his shoe and barely caught herself before she spilled out on the floor. Looking around like a cat who had just stumbled to see if anyone, anyone of importance, had seen her before stepping into her office and placing the books down on her desk. Picking up a stack of papers she turned and shoved them into William's chest. "What you requested," she said in a snide voice before turning away as the phone rang. It was what he had asked for but there was a catch. She had merely found the books and articles on the general topic. What he wanted was there but he would actually have to read them to find anything.

"Yes, this is Lady Munn. No! No, I most certainly did not go to your dig site. What on Earth would make you think I was anywhere near there? What do you mean part of the dig site collapsed?" she gasped and slowly her eyes widened as she turned gradually to look directly at William, her eyes narrowing as her foot began to tap. "But I believe I have a very good idea who did, I will get back to you," she said before slamming the phone down.

"Mr. Drake!!!"

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The bartender slipped over a thin tumbler of water for Aziza and smiled at her, leaning against the top as he tried to strike up a conversation. Aziza brought the glass to her lips and took a long drink as he spoke but she truly wasn't listening. It was his usual babble and she was sure she had heard every line he had spouted off more than once. Smiling cordially as she lowered the glass she was glad to hear a non-abrasive friendly voice float to her ears. Turning in her seat slightly as Henry pulled up a seat next to her.

"That would be a sight to see," she giggled lightly as the bar tender fixed the whiskeys for him and set them down on the bar before grumbling under his break in Egyptian Arabic. Sighing a little Aziza shook her head but felt it was better to keep her tongue bitten at that time instead of feeding the scarab. Seeing Lauren she rose her hand and waved towards her a bit in hello before looking back at Henry as she propped her elbow up on the bartop.

"So, tell me. How did you writing go today? I hope well, you are here a bit later in the evening than usual," she asked, interested in what he had been able to write as of the last time they had spoken. It seemed fascinating to her. Not the war but that someone would want to come back to revisit certain sites and relive it again. Hearing it from his point of view was intriguing.

"Or have your grown tired of my dance?" she asked with a small smile growing on her lips. She wasn't seriously about the question. One she was fairly certain that he would not come back if he was bored and two she knew that she was a decent entertainer in her mind. She thought well of her skills, not so much as to be boastful of them but a gentle confidence.

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"Hey! Watch where you're driving that, you idiot! Haakon shouted at a man riding a horse-led wagon through the Opera Square, jumping back a few feet to avoid getting driven over. Partly it was his own fault, checking his satchel one last time and not noticing that he stepped into the road. But then again, Haakon figured the man could have been more considerate about his horse-riding, and Haakon was simply a visitor and couldn't possibly expect to know that he was to be run over. All in all, Haakon felt confident in his right to shout at the man.

But he did look in both directions before he walked across the square again, just to be sure.

The square and streets outside the Grand Continental was indeed buzzling with life, people of all ethnicites and religions filling the area in a sea of men, women and children. And Haakon was just one of those many, a unique man in an ocean of equaly unique people, but as a group united in said difference. Pulling out the notepad and a pen, he began to quickly scribble down all the different nationalities he could make out from them, be it true or not. British, Eygptian Arabic, Italian, French, Sudanese Muslim, German... He quickly drew a thick line over the last one, before continuing with said list. But in this small game of Guessing, he tried to navigate to his destination, a place he had heard only good things off.

Al Fishawi' was exactly what Haakon pictured an Egyptian coffee house to look like, only with more foreigners and food. The atmosphere was filled with approriate music for the coming darkness of night, it's night-life and a mix of the smell coffee and Middle Eastern water pipes. Haakon had at first been disgusted with the smell, if primarly for its intensity, but by now he'd grown an indifference to them both. Luckily the sea of people had shrunk - it was just a steady river flowing down the street next to Al Fishawi' by now -, and so it wasn't too difficult to find a table to sit at. Thank you, Sir. Yes please, one coffee and something light to eat. Preferably not spice, please." Haakon said in his, not broken English with still with a non-English accent, to the man one could call a waiter.

As he sat at the table, waiting for his order, he pulled up the notepad again. He went back to the first page of it, reading through his sparse notes from his first day in Egypt. Oh, how much anger was in that article he sent back; it was no wonder that he was told to man up and be positive. After that, he simply left out all the negative parts of his reporting, specifically the heat. He skimmed forward, ending up at his notes for the last events of the so-called "Curse of King Tut"; the grave-robbing of Lord Carnavon and the theft of a single object, a necklace in the shape on an Egyptian Eye. And so far Haakon had very little, probably nothing to work with, only pure speculation on the matter. "Skulle gitt mye for å faktisk finne noe brukbart om denne saken..."

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Smiling softly toward Aziza, Harry thanked the bartender quietly as his drinks were set down, picking one up and swirling it idly in his hand for a moment before he took a drink. Letting the liquid run down his throat, he savoured the bitterness and the burn as e let out a relaxed sigh, settling in finally as he took another quick drink and set the glass back down, eyes following her gaze over toward Lauren before turning back, not knowing the woman she waved to.

As Aziza asked about his writing, he gave her a semi-forced smile, chuckling softly as he raised his shoulders in a shrug. "Not too terribly, though I just keep finding myself stuck, I never quite know how to explain something or what to really say..." It was always hard to explain the things he had gone through or that he'd been exposed to. Putting it all into words was not an easy task for the man, and as usual he skirted over anything specific that he'd written about. She was always able to get the stories out of him if she really wanted to, but they were never things he brought up or spoke about of his own volition.

Taking another drink of his whiskey, he chuckled at her last comment and coughed slightly as he swallowed the drink, clearing his throat as he watched her. "Oh, never, i've just been working up the courage to come get another drink from this place." He chuckled, setting the glass back down as he watched her, an enjoyable tone to his voice as he did indeed enjoy speaking to her.

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Scoffing in a rather amused fashion as she snatched the book back out of his hands, he half-heartedly paid some mind to her explanation of what was in the book. She was right in her assessment, the contents didn't particularly interest him, well, they did, but not to any great degree. In his mind the contents wouldn't lead him to anything new, no great treasures to be uncovered. That was what he cared about, he saw tombs full of gold, jewels and all things rich and, probably cursed.

Following close behind her, he smirked as she pushed the papers into his chest, taking them as he began to look through them, smile falling as he realised all the work that was to go into what she had given to him still. However, realising a way to turn it around on her, he smirked as he looked back up to her. "Left it all unclear so i'd have to spend more time here working it out with you? You could've just asked for the company." He winked over at her, quite curious to see the reactions she gave him as he stood there, watching as she picked up the phone.

Realising who she was talking to, he struggled to stifle an amused chuckle, but it seemed she had a reasonable idea of who the culprit was despite his relatively failed attempt to remain innocent. As she hung up the phone and scolded him, he shrugged his shoulders, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the Jeweled Scarab. "I saved him time, there was only one thing worth retrieving in there anyway." He said, shifting it between his fingers as he showed it to her.

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Wherever was Lady Munn indeed. This part of the day, one might have found her walking the floors of the Museum, taking new interest in old pieces (or the inscriptions thereon, anyway), or somewhere in Archives. Far be it for him to take the easy or obvious route, Lord Major Keystone instead tried to walk the route he thought his dearest Vera might be on that particular day. Like many men, he was confident that he didn't need to ask for directions in that particular instance; to his mind, "directions" took you to a place, at any rate, and did not specifically refer to the location of a person, the circumstances of which had the distinction of changing every so often. Less if that person were dead. Of course, in that case directions were a fair enough query to make.

But no, he was off to find that dear, sweet lady, the only one who he knew of that could possibly assist him with his somewhat unnerving dreams. Especially now that the pain he experienced somehow bled into his waking hours. This simply would not do. What also would not do was some local authority getting word of these strange symptoms back to London, where the sensible decision to make would be to lock him away like some spastic nutter, to say nothing about leaving the boys under his command to the direction of some stranger, for whom he had no say in their selection nor appointment to the position.

"My boys deserve better!" he intoned aloud, tapping the hilt of his sword with his fingernails. Of course, they very well might deserve better, but the higher motivating force (if he was honest with himself here) was that he absolutely did not want to be taken away from his station and thrown into a Mental Hospital. He'd seen some of the conditions at the one here in Cairo. Thank you, but no. It would also deprive him of the possibility of seeing a dramatic, nigh heroic end. Let's face it, isn't that the goal of any good career Officer? Of course it is. So long as one does not intentionally put others in harm's way that did not feel similarly about the rather messy concept of exiting the world in a manner that would make the next five editions of the City Periodical. "Ah, but a gentleman can dream..."

So, she wasn't in the Archives. And Reginald didn't quite find her walking the Museum floors, either. With a sigh, he decided to check the one place she never seemed to be when he visited: Her office.

While making his way nearer to the room that he could have sworn she just maintained to boast to others that she did, indeed, have an office, his grey-trimmed ears caught the sound of his dear, innocent Lady Munn calling a name with what sounded like distress. "No, no, no. This will not do at all." He didn't know who this "Mr. Drake" chap was, but by Jove, he was about to learn who Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone was, and forthwith!

The Lord Major unsheathed his Officer's sabre and unsnapped the safety strap on his Webley revolver. Summoning every bit of proper Royal Military authority, he kicked open the already ajar door to Vera's office and bounded in like a portly, aging Galahad. Sword at the ready, he drew himself up to his full height, proclaiming in serious, vigorous tones, "Have at you then, you churlish rapscallion!" He looked to Vera, "I say, is this man causing you distress, Lady Munn?"

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Lauren looked back towards Harry and gave the man a quick smile as she went over towards a customer asking her for a drink which she did and started to pour the man a drink. She would listen in on their conversation a little bit as Lauren tended to some of the customers before making her way over towards Aziza and Thomas. "Aziza is certainly a great dancer, why not ask her out on a date?" Lauren laughed slightly as she ran a hand through her hair, she leaned slightly against the counter. She extend her hand over towards Thomas, she hadn't worked here that long and only started a few days ago. "I'm Lauren Ridgeway by the way its nice to meet you." Lauren said with a soft smile.

She then turned to look over at Aziza. "So, what are you doing tomorrow?" Lauren asked Aziza, being her only friend in Cairo she wanted to see if she wanted to do some shopping, or just to hangout at least. Lauren then heard for another person asking for a drink, she looked at Aziza and Thomas. "Give me a second." Lauren said as she quickly turned around and made her way towards the other end of the bar, the customer asking for some whiskey which she reached over and grabbed it, then started pouring the man a glass. Lauren quickly went back over towards Aziza and Thomas once more. "Also would either one of you like something else to drink?"

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Josephine made her way downstairs to the front desk where she asked for a recommendation for a place to eat. After a flustered response (seriously, help these days....) she was directed towards Al Fishawi', a popular place to stop and get something to eat and enjoy a cup of tea. He also provided her with directions as it was a small trek to get there on foot. She thanked the man and, which a flick of her hair, proceeded outdoors.

She followed the directions. While she was doing so she enjoyed the sights. She saw many people of varying ethnicities and cultures. She wondered how many of them would recognize her. Surely some of them. She rather enjoyed not having reporters down her throat trying to get a story out of her, but she missed the limelight, just a smidge.

She got to Al Fishawi' and proceeded inside. She flagged over what she assumed was a waiter, "I'll take your finest tea darling, however you make it. Also, I require something to eat, something light but flavorful. Be a dear and grab that for me while I find a place." She left the flustered waiter and looked for a table, it was then she saw a familiar sight. Haakon, a man she met on this trip who she took a liking too. He was a reporter and one who somewhat knew her. She was thankful she didn't have to share her dark secret story with him, and he was a friend. "Oh Haakon, darling! So wonderful to see you here! Mind if I join you? she said while taking a seat, not waiting for a response. She smiled at the man and took out one of her cigarettes and lit it while she waited for her food. "What are you working on, darling? Looks awfully important," she probed.

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It had been a decidedly pleasant stroll, walking from Garden City to El Ataba El Khadra. Others of her social class had been milling around, enjoying the afternoon heat, and commenting about how very strange and queer Egypt was. Had E.M. Forster been present, it would've done well amongst Where Angels Fear to Tread and his newest publication, A Passage to India. They were dreadful little novels, Nora detested them, but she had required something to pass the hours with. Multivariable calculus could only entertain a person for so long, of course.

Pausing at the corner, Nora sighed a bit as yet another vender called over towards her. She didn't care for advertising of any sort. If someone wanted something, then the sensible thing to do would leave them be to obtain it. If the product needs to be shouted about on the street corner, clearly it wasn't worth purchasing anyways. However, she had been raised as a gentlewoman, instructed in the best graces of England. "No thank you," Nora quipped, spotting a tiny place out of the way. She had been to Al Fishawi' on many on occasion, and the memories she had of the place were decidedly pleasant. The tea had been delightful at the shisha bar, and at the risk of falling in line with the English stereotype, Nora headed into the establishment.

It was cramped, but Nora managed to find a table to herself. Ordering herself some tea and a bit of food, Nora sat herself down, opening up her notebook once more. Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized a film actress, though she couldn't place the name. She'd likely viewed a film of hers at some point, or seen her around Garden City. It wasn't too unusual. Glancing down, Nora began to sketch and jot down notes on things of interest, transcribing her notes into code as she went. It was a novel distraction for her, enough to satisfy her as she awaited her tea and food.

Truthfully, she didn't mind sitting by herself. It was the way she preferred things, with the world leaving her alone to do what pleased her. Socializing didn't come naturally to Nora, a disappointment of her parents who had often attempted to set up one marriage or another.

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The suns rays are getting longer as the sun lowers against the horizon off in the west. Streams of orange and red are cascading through the streets and it can be nearly blinding if one is to look too long. More and more people are rushing through the streets but it is Friday and the end of the week is the end of the week it seems no matter the era or the location. It is after 6p.m. now and most places such as schools and businesses are closing up now. That is except for the night life establishments, which of course are just getting underway for the long night a head.

@Morose @FantasyChic @ONL - The establishment is crowded but honestly, what isn't in Cairo these days? It is not only the hub of Egypt right there on the Nile, but a tourists destination and an archeologist dream. The ancient world meeting the new. A cross roads of worlds. Smoke hangs heavy in the air an the smell of tea and finger foods mingle with it. Food and ea are brought to you as they would be and the resident musicians play their tunes trying to gt the place jumping to some extent and hopefully perhaps garner a few coins from people. It's just a normal evening.

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"Hardly, you need to do the work yourself. Robbing sites, causing destruction like that. Have you no respect for the dead? No respect for the centuries, no millenniums worth of history in the places you ran sack? No, you're an American, you wouldn't know the slightest thing about heritage or history," she growled as she crossed her arms over her chest. Types like him never sat well with her and the fact she was assigned to him just because she was a woman made her blood boil. The fact he was out in the field and she was stuck in the museum didn't help.

She was about to pop off even more towards hi when her uncle suddenly came bursting through the door. Vera yelped, ducking behind Drake from being startled as her fingers wrapped around his arm and she peaked slowly out from behind his shoulder. Seeing who it was she let out a huff at sent the curls of her bangs fling up and out of her face.

"Always Uncle Regi but sadly him being him isn't enough for you to run him through for me, as grateful as I am for the gesture," she said as she stepped out from behind Drake and moved away from the man. "Though he is an American, that might be enough," she said before she stuck her tongue out at Drake with a grumpy look on her features. "I was just vocalizing how un-agreeable it was for this beastly cad to cave in a dig site was all."

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"I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to try to think back on such events but if you should ever wish to talk about it, I am willing to listen. No judgement," Aziza said in a sweet voice as she reached over and rested her slender fingers on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Aziza had been through her own hardships but never a war, never seen someone die in front of her. Yet she did know how it felt to fight for ones own life; granted that was not something she had opened up with to her newest friend or anyone else in the city for that matter other than the Lord Major but that was what happened when you spoke with someone regularly for around seven years. Certain moments just slipped out.

"A man who fought in the war needs to gather courage to come here? I wonder, what could be so fearsome. Surely not the twist of veil," she laughed lightly as she pulled her hand back. Aziza picked up her glass and went to take a sip, one she was glad she had not done quite yet when Lauren made her comment about Mr. Walsh asking her out on a date. Her eyes down cast for a moment as she felt her cheek warms. The woman was blunt to stay the least.

Glad of the sudden subject change, she lowered her glass and finally looked up. "Other than working tomorrow evening I had wanted to stop by the Egyptian Museum. There is something I am hoping one of them there can answer a few questions of for me." Nodding and waiting for Lauren to return as she excused herself she looked over towards and smiled softly even if not a bit embarrassed.

"Please forgive her straightforwardness, I do not believe a thought passes through her head that she doesn't vocalize. I hope it didn't put you at unease," she said. She hoped it would not drive him off, she enjoyed their time together. Looking over at Lauren as she returned she shook her head slightly. "I am fine for now, thank you. Did you have anything you wanted to do tomorrow?"

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Haakon had been so deep in thought, trying to think of anything he could use to find more about this "Pharao's Curse", that he nearly threw away his notepad when he was disturbed by someone. His eyes locked with the figure who had spoken to him, using a mere split-second to realize who it actually was. "Miss Clarke! What a surprise to see you here." Haakon said back, quickly regaining his confidence and composure now that he was in the presence of Josephine; he wouldn't want to seem unmanly around her, or anyone else for that matter. "Please do, looks like you're already comfortable in that chair."

Josephine Clarke, a famous movie actress from America; beautiful and silver-tounged - that was until he got to know her, if only just a little. Haakon enjoyed her company, she enjoyed his, so he was glad to have her sitting there at the other side of the table with him. Except the smoking, but that he'd grown used to. Her looks and personality more than compensated for that.

"This? It's part of an article about that curse. Curse of the Pharaos, you've most likely heard of it, you probably get to hear lots of things in your position, or what Josephine? Haakon smiled at her, closing his notepad and laying it down on the table with his pencil once their food and beverages came. The coffee was perfect, not too strong but yet with a distinct taste, same as his food. "Like you said, it is important. It's the whole reason why I was sent here; Dagbladet only sends their best in cases like that!" He took a sip of his coffee, letting in pour down before continuing. "But what brings you here? Did your scripts no longer entertain you?"

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"I'm only messing around love." Lauren tried to hold back a smile she was just messing around like she always did with her customers and friends, she ran a hand through her hair as she listened in on Aziza and Harry Walsh speak to one another. So the man that Aziza was talking to was in the war she assumed, luckily she didn't know anyone personally who ended up having to fight in a war. She turned to look back at Aziza and thought for a moment, she also did have some questions and wanted to at least know more about Egyptian history. "Do you mind if I tag along with you?" Lauren asked.

She looked over her shoulder as someone spilled one of their drinks, Lauren reached under the bar counter and grabbed a cloth and went over and started to wipe it off. She looked over her shoulder at Aziza and Harry for a moment, Lauren did want to also explore a little bit more one of the reasons why she decided to come to Egypt other then to stay low. Once she finished cleaning up the mess she went back towards the two of them and leaned up against the bar.

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The Lord Major raised an eyebrow, seeing that Vera had actually chosen to hide from him behind the very man he assumed was accosting her. Either this rugged and tallish miscreant was some manner of mind-controlling Swami (possibly instructed by one, he could not be certain), there was the most insidious blackmail afoot, or he had misjudged the situation.

He turned his face straight on, facing the Infamous Mr. Drake, and raised his other eyebrow. Both now fully elevated, Reginald's features took on an image of surprise. His entire demeanor changed into one of bubbly friendliness, indicated by rosy cheeks and a dashing, jovial smile. He slid his sabre back into its scabbard with somewhat less proficiency than it was drawn, and secured his Webley more tightly in its holster.

"Well met then, Mr. Drake! I am Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone, sir, of His Majesty's Royal Air Corps. Not to worry my good man, I shan't let the circumstances of your birth unduly mar my opinion of you." He extended his hand to the man, anticipating a return of the more formal greeting. "Even if you are a Yank."

"I fought alongside quite a few of you Americans with the Air Campaigns during the Great War, you see. Cheeky lot, you Colonials, but infinitely more tolerable than most. Between you and I, old boy, I've oft thought that some of our stodgier higher-ups in the Empire could use a bit of those "Cowboy Heroics" for which your people are so famous."

And he kept talking. Luckily, he was drawing to a close. "But I digress. Yes, the Lady Munn is correct. Damage to a site of historical significance, by misdeed or misadventure, is a detestable and unfortunate thing. I should hope for your sake, the local authorities don't make much note of it. In any case, I should very much like to borrow Lady Munn for a moment, to consult on her expertise."

Reginald hastily recovered one of his own business cards and fetched a pen from Vera's desk. While he was no artist, he had seen this image several times in the Midnight Theatre of his subconscious, and could skillfully reproduce it on paper. "It would be a ring, Lady. A gold ring. Has it any significance to you?"

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Harry gave Aziza a somewhat forced smile, it was curious to find someone so eager and happy to listen and interested to get to know his troubles not for the noteworthiness of them, but for how they may have actually been affecting him. In most cases, he was dismissed, most others assumed it was just 'shell-shock', that it'd all pass in a short enough time. Hearing her make such a legitimate offer was not only refreshing, it was unexpected. He realised after a moment he'd been rather dumb-foundedly staring at her and nodded slowly, smiling. "I appreciate it." He said simply.

He chuckled at her next comment, and was about to speak up again when he heard Lauren pipe up with her suggestion. He paused for a moment before chuckling again rather awkwardly, having not expected such a comment, though he'd seen the two talking before, and figured fairly well that they were friends, taking the comment rather light-heartedly as he looked back toward Aziza as she explained her comment. Waving his hand in a slightly dismissive manner, he kept his smile.

"It's quite alright, it would take a great deal more than that to make me uneasy." He assured her quietly, taking another long drink of his first whisky, setting it down as he finished it off and moving onto the next one as he listened to the two chatting, offering Lauren a friendly smile though the two hadn't properly met. He made no effort to intrude on the conversation, simply being polite now as he remained where he was.

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He rolled his eyes as he listened to her. "Oh don't give me that, you're just a little upset I didn't bring you along on my adventure, figured it might be a nice romantic gesture, huh?" He pointed at her accusingly as he spoke, a smirk on his face as he only seemed amused by her anger as she stood there. He could see a new reply bubbling to the surface, ready for it just as the old coot suddenly burst through the door, making William rather suddenly take hold of one of the guns in his holster, not drawing it yet however.

He did feel Vera jump behind him however, feeling her hands on his arm he, unintentionally of course, flexed slightly in a reaction as he watched the old man closely, seeming to relax somewhat as Vera stepped out from around him, establishing quickly just who the man was. Rolling his eyes as she once more brought up the ruin, he shook his head. "It was nothing, not like I planned on it anyway, so it's just unfortunate." He shrugged with a smirk, reaching out to take Reginald's hand in a firm shake.

"Cowboy heroics are my speciality, William Drake, Archaeologist." He glanced toward Vera, expecting an inevtiable scoff at him using the title for himself as he watched Reginald move over to Vera's desk. Moving closer, mostly out of curiosity, he peered down to the card, watching closely as the man drew and completely missing the significance of the fact the man had seen it as well. "Oh hey, I had a dream with this thing." He commented, plainly and, rather dumbly.

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Josephine took a long drag as her food and drinks were brought out. She let it out when the waiter left and smiled at Haakon across from her, "Ah, Curse of the Pharoah yes I have heard of it. Quite entertaining. And yes, being in my position has its...perks," she said with an eyebrow wiggle. She took another drag and put the cigarette away before sipping her tea. It had a different taste than what she was used to, but it was delicious. Much better than most she drank back in the States.

"Ah darling, I was bored. Reading script after script gets so dull, I needed a change of scenery. Needed to get away from it all. The screen will always be there, won't it darling? Movies aren't dead yet. In fact, I think we'll soon be looking at new things coming into movies. Can you imagine? What progress!" She ate a bit and sipped more tea before she continued, "Ah, this is so good. I needed this after those strange dreams I keep having every night."