[center][h1][Color=DF0101]Haakon J. Elvsgaard[/color][/h1]
[img]http://riverwalkjazz.stanford.edu/sites/default/files/images/Bix_portrait(1).jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=DF0101]Location:[/color]Egyptian Museum[/center][hr]

[Color=DF0101]"...Hva i huleste er det som skjer?"[/color]

As if things hadn't been strange already, borderlining traumatic, Vera's sudden outburst and mind-boggling appearance of light was a sure sign that things were, indeed, really getting out of hand and digging itself into a hole of the unexplainable. Haakon was about to spit out a comment to the group, more or less aimed at the American tomb-robber or whatever he was, something about him being more talk than actual doing. So his words fell out of his mouth more in a sense of rain dripping from the roof, silent and in drips. 

Haakon leaned against the desk in Vera's office, feeling the sudden need to steady himself. Sweat began to drip down from his forehead, which he promptly began to brush away with his shirt. [Color=DF0101]"But there must be, Miss Kingston, there must. There's always a story to be found, always a reason and answer behind the mystery. You, I mean We only have to dig deep enough."[/color] Haakon's voice was confident, the same voice he always put on when he interviewed people or tried to impress them, but this time it was to mask his own insecurity. For she was right, there was no apperent reasoning behind the branding, the Ring, the light, nothing! He looked at everyone in the room, taking off his fedora and scratching his head. 

[Color=DF0101]"I hate to ask this, but are we the next victims of The Pharaoe's Curse?"[/color]