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The sight of Josephine was the only positive encounter Haakon had between their exit from the museum and their arrival at the barracks, his shame present ever-still, especally once Peter himself joined the group as they made their way to the home of the British soldiers. Haakon gave a smile of gratitude towards his American friend, while doing his best not to cross eyes with the others. But in his shame, he wasn't simply trying to avoid the others at all costs. On the contrary; he was trying to think of how to best reapproach them, this group of unfortunate souls that he was sure to be a part of for the longest time.

Haakon sat down at the seats reserved - or rather assigned for them, in this kind of place it was Lord Mayor Keystone who's word was law - as far away from Peter as possible, quietly and perfectly happy with whoever else seated beside him. He gladly welcomed the booze they were offered, Haakon himself taking a glass of scotchs himself, although a glass of French Cassis de Dijon, a favourite of his would have been preferable, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he decided to quietly listen, making sure he would not make the same mistake twice.

And good for him, for if he had not had his mouth full of booze, he would he began to question Peter. His words echoed through Haakon's mind, making the cogs turn ever so slowly; I was in a POW camp these last years... that's where I have been all this time.... Something was off by that statemate, something Haakon's journalistic instincts grasped for all it was worth. Casually pulling out his notepad and pen, he began to write something down, before making eye-contact with Josephine and closing the notepad. Anyone who would read what he wrote, would read in Haakon distinct hand-writing;

Krigsfange -> 1924. Krigen over 1918/1919. 1919-1924? Hvor? Spion?

But this was a question for another time. For now he drank his scotch and smiled at those still not tired of him.

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Lauren started to follow along with everyone else out of the museum and back out into the cool desert air she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath despite what had happened today the outside air seemed to calm her at least. She walked alongside Harry and Aziza since she knew he two of them the most. Once they were in the barracks Lauren moved over and sat down next to Aziza's side and then looked towards Lord Major Keystone as he spoke. The man was certainly a very interesting person, she ran a hand through her hair as Keystone turned his attention towards Peter as he asked about the man. He also seemed to be a pretty interesting man as well she listened to Peter as he spoke about what had happened to him, another pilot during the war and shot down and captured by the Germans and put into a POW camp.

"I'm sure Lady Munn was really glad that you are alive, though I don't know much about her since tonight was my first time meeting her." Lauren said with a smile as she looked over and then waved over for a glass of scotch and took it, she started to fill herself a glass and then brought it up to her lips. She took a big swig of it before setting the glass of scotch down onto the table she felt more relaxed now and didn't have to worry about being sent to jail for simply drinking alcohol.

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Josephine followed the others out of the dreadful museum. Really, why anyone would go there for entertainment purposes was beyond her. She made sure to stay close to Haakon, who seemed red in the face due to his antics. She felt for the poor dear. Peter was an interesting person. Having been presumed dead and then coming back to life. It was fascinating. Something out of a movie, to be sure.

She looked over to her other companions. The Egyptian woman, the dancer she figured, was accompanied by some army looking man who really didn't say much. She wondered if the two were involved? Then there was the other woman, who seemed to be fit to sitting in the background, apart from a few spoken words. She mentally waved her hand, she had no time for that. You either wanted to be the center of attention or you were the understudy. She wanted the limelight.

She helped herself to some Scotch as well, a habit she picked up from her grandfather, and sat down to listen to Peter's story. It was entertaining, but she couldn't help but feel the man was being somewhat elusive for dramatic purposes. She knew how that went perfectly well. Crown's Orders her foot. She looked over to Haakon who was scribbling in his notebook. She took a quick peak before he closed it. She didn't understand what he wrote and she winked at him and returned her attention to Peter. She made a mental note of the text she read though. Perhaps her and Haakon could get to the bottom of this.

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"Crown's Orders, yes quite." said Reginald in a knowing, reassuring manner. It wouldn't be the first time he had heard that phrase, admittedly one he had used himself on more than one occasion. The phrase was rather final in it nature, especially when paired with appropriate paperwork. Orders of the Crown meant that whatever conversation said words were interjected either had to cease, or be taken with the utmost of respect. At the very least, if one invoked the authority of the Crown, they controlled the pitch and yaw of the conversation for the next undetermined length of time.

Considering who this was and the circumstances of the last time the Lord Major had seen him, he did not require Crown's Orders to lend an awful lot of conversational latitude. When Peter had finished speaking, Reginald piped up with, "Composure Under Extreme Interrogation, my dear boy. There really should be a medal or presentation of some sort for it." His face took more of a downturn as emotion bubbled behind his features. Lest he internalize something he really ought not, Reginald almost blurted, "I am abashedly sorry, positively regretful that we could not locate you in time. Had we any idea you were still among the breathing, I would have faced Court Martial to recover you, Peter. As it was, we were steadfast in belief that we were trying to reclaim a corpse, and I could not justify the risk to my superiors to have us continue, not with the offensive on. I am indeed plagued by regret. If there is anything at all that I can do to help you readjust or get into proper sorts, then you have all of the influence of my position at your disposal. You have but to ask, sir." The words out of his brain and into the air, sincerity in every syllable, Reginald looked a little lighter, metaphorically speaking. He even decided to fix himself a drink.

The Lord Major procured his own tumbler and took a couple of bottles off of the cart. To begin, he dipped a modicum of warmed honey into the glass, followed by a more than healthy dram (or three) of Fine British Gin. Reginald mixed the two thoroughly, even to the point of foaming the liquid lightly. He took a second to inhale the escaping vapours, then got back to his business of finishing the beverage. An amount of red, transparent liquid poured from a bottle featuring the picture of a pomegranate, amount equal to half of the existing contents of the glass, was added quickly. Finally, a fair amount of the raw fruit itself, little red-corn seeded bits of sweetness, garnished the finished product. He slid the glass over to Peter, and motioned an offering to the others.

"I realize this isn't quite the sophistication of a proper Single-Malt, but I do suggest that you give it a go nonetheless. It is a popular recreational beverage, local to Cairo. There is a proper name for it in Arabic, you see, but the natives prefer to simply call it "Gin & Juice". Quite refreshing; deceptively potent."

He picked up another glass and began breaking down the rest of the pomegranate, continuing wistfully about the drink. "Yes, one may see the occasional member of the mercantile classes upon uncovered carriage, its wheels revolving across the thoroughfare as they take in the smoky discharge of smartly lit hookahs, partaking small imbibes of this "Gin & Juice", all in a very relaxed manner. Likely, they use the time to mull over pressing financial issues. Or allow such financial issues to weigh upon their thoughts."

"But it is a lovely touch of Cairo, I suspect you all may enjoy."

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Aziza sat there with Harry, her hands resting in her lap as she crossed her legs and listened to what the man had to say. She had heard Reginald speak of his lost nephew before during their talks. It was one of the things they had in a way bonded over during their years of friendship. Reginald was the only one in the city she had opened up to about her son and the loss she felt not having him at her side. Reginald had obviously missed, in his words, favorite nephew. She could start to understand why. The man reminded her a lot of Reginald; the way he carried himself, the fact he was a pilot (obviously following in his uncles footsteps), even the way he looked made her believe that Peter was probably very close to how the Lord Major looked when he was much younger. It was clear the two had been very close.

Sitting up slightly in his seat Peter looked around for a moment, taking note that the man that had tried to drill him earlier was jotting something down. Josephine's words rang in his mind; he's a journalist. Great, that was all he needed was some pencil pushing pansy (say that three times fast) sticking his nose into his past. It wasn't that Peter felt he had anything to hide but the government had made it clear that there were certain things that were not to be discussed to people outside of certain ranks. There was also the fact that he had survived hell in a sense and he had the scars to prove it. It was not something he wanted to speak about, especially to strangers only wanting to cash in on his misfortune. It was just... rude.

Hearing the mention of medals made Peter's stomach turn. When he returned to London, there had been medals; awards, titles granted, and more. Each one left a bad taste in his mouth, as did his promotion. It was as if they were giving him accolades just because he took fire and managed to get out with his ass in one piece. (More or less) He never wanted any of it, he just wanted to now pursue the things he truly loved in life, not to be forever reminded of the worst years of his life. He had thought his previous title of the realm was a mouth full enough - Lord Peter Reginald Keystone, Second Son of the Earl Of Sussex. One joining the Kings forces for the war his title grew... Lord Peter Reginald Keystone, Second Son of the Earl Of Sussex, Lieutenant of His Majesties Royal Air Force. Now, it was just laughable... Lord Peter Reginald Keystone, Second Son of the Earl of Sussex, Captain of His Majesties Royal Air Force; DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross), MC (Military Cross), DSO (Distinguished Service Order), VC (Victorian Cross).... It was a mouthful and then some and Peter loathed it. All he ever wanted to be was Peter Keystone, Husband and Architect. Was that too much to want?

Seeing his uncle nearly blurt out his words Peter turned his attention back to Reginald and shook his head. "Don't be preposterous my good uncle. There was nothing to do. Your assumptions about my demise were well and logical and you could not have risked the lives of the rest of the squadron even if you had thought I still drew breath. It is in the past now and that is where I wish to keep it," he said in a rather firm tone but there was a look of reassurance in his features as he looked at his uncle. Aziza's lips thinned as her vision turned to Harry, she knew he had fought in the war and was there to listen if he wished to speak but he rarely spoke of it. It seemed to be the way of things for those that had served. Reaching out she rested her hand over Sgt. Walsh's and gave him a gentle squeeze. She wasn't sure how he would feel being in the barracks like this, people training off in the distance, every so often the sound of a rifle firing as someone honed their skills.

Looking over at Lauren, Peter smiled some what and nodded towards her. "I do hope she was elated as I was to see her again. I have missed her dearly," he said before resting the tip of his cane into the dirt below his feet and pushing himself into a standing position. Taking a breath he rested both his hands on the top of his cane and looked at his uncle as he prepared drinks for the group. "And I am most elated to hear it dear uncle. I have one simple request," Peter said as he stood there and tightened his grip on his cane. He had come to Egypt for some very specific reasons. The foremost was reconnecting with his uncle, the man he looked up to and admired above all.

He had seen his mother and father, the rest of his family while in London. Spent time with them and learned what his Uncle had been up to over the past years. One tid bit had struck his interest more than others; the fact that now because of the deaths of Vera's parents and her uncle that his Uncle Reginald was now her Guardian. It had fallen to his father but he did not want to be associated with what the man called a half breed and passed the responsibility down to Reginald.

"I have come to seek your approval," he said as he looked towards his uncle. "I wish to begin the courtship anew for Vera's hand in marriage."

Aziza lowered the drink she had been sipping on, her eyes widening a bit. That was a hell of a reason to come trasping all the way to Cairo from London. She recalled Reginald vaguely mentioning that his nephew had found a woman he wished to wed right before he left for the war and wondering what would have happened if he had survived the war. It seemed that Peter was there to pick up right where he left off. Thinking back to the museum, Vera had seemed a bit off but Aziza had taken that because she thought she was talking to a dead man. Was this the promise Peter had referred in Lady Munn's office? The one that had made the woman whisper oh dear...? Looking away from the Keystone family her eyes traveled to Harry, taking a breath as she worried to how he was holding up in these conditions.

"Perhaps it would be a good time to turn in for the evening? We can always eat at the hotel," Aziza said quietly towards Lauren and Harry.

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Vera let out a noticeable breath as everyone departed the room. She was glad that William had not mentioned the kiss that Peter had placed on her hand or the mention of a promise. It was not exactly something she wanted to speak about right then, especially not to Mr. Drake. Not with the tension between them. They could be at each others throats constantly and then every so often it seemed like the world stopped between them and there would be something. A hint of concern, of caring. Granted it was always gone as quickly as it had come but it had left Vera wondering just why more than one night. Was there more between them or was just they were tired of fighting for a time? Either way, discussing her non-existent private life with Mr. Drake was not on her "looking forward" to list. Especially not concerning Peter.

Peter sought her out when she was younger. Yet she felt he was only doing it because of duty, honor, pity, and the fact he was going off to war. He wouldn't be the first man to chase a woman because he thought there was nothing past that day. Shortly before he shipped off to the war he told her that he intended to enter into negotiations for her hand with her father. Vera stopped him. She told him that if he still wished to seek her hand when he returned from war that she would promise to consider it; as long as he promised to return. When the notice of his death came she felt torn apart, wishing she had told him yet if only so he had that when he died. Yet these years later, she never expected him to return and more so hold her to it.

Especially now. He was a war hero, returning from the dead. He needn't settle on the on the shelf Spinster Librarian Half Breed now... It was obvious that Peter could still turn a head if Josephine was any indication. Granted that woman fluttered about the place as if she owned nearly every man in the place. She had come in with Mr. Elvsgaard, then beelined it right for Mr. Drake, back to Haakon, then to Peter (while he had Vera in his arms no less!), then back to Mr. Elvsgaard once again. Three men in the bat of an eye. It was a rather tartish attitude and she even seem happy to be thought of as a prostitute. Americans...

Hearing Williams voice creep in about how he thought they would never leave once the room was cleared Vera let out a rather loud scoff. "And here I thought a rake like yourself was welcoming to the harlots advances," Vera let slip before she realized what she had said. Her lips thinning she was glad that Lady Kingston was now speaking of more logical things, like magical lights, brandings, and mathematics. Turning on her heels, her skirt flaring out a bit she stepped back over to Nora and cocked a brow.

"Lord Peter is well earned of his reputation in the world of mathematics but the man has been through so much I would assume and I could not bring myself to bother him in such times," Vera said, not mentioning that it would mean spending a lot of time alone with the man and she doubted he wanted to talk mathematics with her unless it was about multiplication. Clearing her throat she forced her chin to lift. "Besides, to be a woman in any field outside of the home tells me that you are just as capable if not more so than the Lord Captain. It would be a honor to have you assist me in this. Bluestockings must stick together," she added as she looked down and started to rummage through her uncles papers.

"Oh yes, here it is. I had translated it from the hieroglyphics to Kings English but it still has made no sense to me. This is a rubbing of the original walls my late uncle found. Perhaps there is something in it that you can make sense of for I have had no luck now has any I have sought council from. Each saying it is beyond them to decode because of the unknown mathematical equations. Egyptians in ancient times, especially architects, were notoriously secretive of their equations. These are by the High Pharohs most trusted, Imotep," Vera said as she handed over the original rubbings. Sadly they were not as detailed as one would like but there was something to them.

"The museum has some of the tiles from the original dig site but they are in deep storage, if you will give me a moment I will see if I can retrieve them. Mr. Drake, could you assist me or shall I fetch another?" she asked as she looked over to him.

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Arriving at the barracks, things had been relatively okay for Harry. The idle chatter of soldiers, the laughter of jokes in the mess and the sound of drinks being poured. His company helped as well, not just Aziza, but those around, their conversation, at least at first, helped to normalize things, but as Peter told his story, and the Lord-Major spoke as well, he couldn't help but feel sick. He didn't touch the glass offered to him, too focused on distracting himself from what was going on, on detaching himself from the discussion at hand. He went pale as he sat there, paler than usual as he limply felt Aziza's hand grip his own.

It wasn't long before it all began to get to him, the chatter, the uniforms, the weapons and drills. Every sight, every sound, they all grained on Harry's conscience, dragged him back to the same feeling and the same sounds he felt years ago, in the worst years of his life. The sounds of gunfire grained on him most of all, each one made him jolt ever so slightly. As Aziza's hand gripped his, he shook against it with each shot, in his mind he could only hear them closer and closer, louder and louder, it wasn't long before it all became too much, before Harry wasn't with the rest of them. Before he was somewhere else...



It was always quiet when they buried the dead. There weren't usually many bodies to bury, not on the front anyway, most of them were too far out to be recovered, and most of the soldiers weren't brave enough to grab a body and drag it back during a retreat. Although, this was the one time you were safe. There was no real agreement on it, but something of a mutual understanding meant that neither side fired on the other while they tried to bury or count their dead, as long as they did it behind their own lines. It was always tense, still, you never quite knew if the trust was going to hold, or if you'd get a bullet in your back while it was exposed.

Harry had been there for a few months now, and already he'd lost count of the bodies he'd buried, lost count, but never forgotten the faces. He hated doing it, hated every part about it, lugging the bodies about, digging the holes and placing the dead down in them, all with the impending threat of death a little more than a hundred meters behind. But he didn't have a choice, they'd always drawn straws, it was how they worked out who would go up and who'd stay down. He'd been chatting with a friend, James, at the time, looking over an Ottoman pistol he'd scavenged in the fighting, when they got called up, pulling the short straw, he'd left it with James.

Harry had been digging for the past hour or so, there hadn't been any fighting all day, both sides had been licking their wounds after massive bombardments and assaults over the past few days, and while both sides had trenches a little more than one hundred meters from each other, there was hardly ever a shot fired, both sides just wanted rest. But some of the troops grew impatient, with so little to do, it was easy to get bored under the boiling sun, to be desperate for something to happen, and then something did. BANG. Harry hit the ground in an instant, along with the others with him, as they crawled back into the trench. The confusion ran through both trenches, shouting in Turkish and in English. Eventually, one bit became clear. "James is hit!" The medic ran down to the man, and Harry with him, seeing his friend bleeding profusely from his leg. "It just went off!" He insisted.

Looking down to James' side, Harry could see the pistol he'd given him. While James had been messing with it, showing it off to other soldiers, he had accidentally left the safety off and shot himself in the leg. In the resulting confusion, the Turks fired on them once more, and a firefight began which lasted the next six hours, taking four more British lives while the medic still worked on James. The bullet had cut clean through the artery in his leg and gotten stuck deeper in his thigh. James died from his wounds, at only seventeen, Harry lost his best friend on the battlefield, to a bullet from his own gun.



The memory faded away and Harry realized he'd been gripping Aziza's hand somewhat tightly, he slowly released her, hand shaking somewhat as he looked over at her, having completely missed her question. "S...Sorry... Excuse me everyone." He spoke quietly, plainly as he pushed himself to stand, quickly walking off in any particular direction to find a quiet spot alone. Reaching into his pockets, he grabbed some rolling paper and tobacco, shakily and terribly trying to roll himself a cigarette, desperately needing to try and calm down.

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William couldn't help but smirk smugly at Vera's comment, somewhat pleased that Josephine's advances seemed to have gotten on her nerves, it only served to reinforce many of his assumptions, after all. "I didn't take you for the jealous type, Vera, you could have said something." He jabbed with a wink, glancing back over to Nora with the same smug grin as he didn't seem to particularly care about her being present for such a comment. With his teasing done, he listened for now as the two ladies spoke, waiting for another task to be handed to him.

When it was, he gave Vera a nod, smile stretching into a wide smirk yet again as he chuckled. "Of course, all you have to do is ask for a little alone time." He jabbed again, now that their company was less prominent, he seemed quite happier to go back to their usual verbal sparring. He didn't particularly care about the opinions any of the others might have had toward it, it was simply exhausting in the company of so many, where as an audience of just one such as Ms. Kingston made it all the more enjoyable.

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Lauren watched as Reginald started making everyone a drink, she was always up for trying something new she always went for either beer, whiskey or scotch back home. She finished drinking the one she had and decided to go for the one that the Lord Major had made for her and the rest of the group. Lauren turned her attention towards Peter again as he asked Reginald to marry Vera, she raised an eyebrow slightly as she brought the glass up to her lips and drank it. It sort of reminded her when her husband asked her father to marry her, at first her father hated the guy but eventually they became buddies after awhile.

She turned to look at Aziza when she asked if they could leave, Lauren looked towards Harry seeing that he wasn't looking well at all Lauren wasn't sure if it was the weird voodoo shit that was going on, or if it was a flashback. Lauren remembered hearing stories of people coming back from the war completely different then they were before leaving home. "I think it would be wise, it has been a really crazy day anyway." Lauren said to Aziza watched as Harry got up and started walking off and away from the group, she was worried about him.

Lauren stood up looking towards the others of the group. "I think the three of us are going to turn in for the night. It's been a weird day for everyone here I think." She then looked towards Aziza moving her head towards Harry, Aziza knew him more than she did maybe she could help him more than she could.

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At Mr. Drake's incessant advances on Lady Munn, Nora couldn't help but surmise that he may have proven a decent match for Josephine. The man lacked bounds, disgustingly tormenting Lady Munn at nigh every opportunity. Had anyone ever treated Nora like that, her elder brothers would have gone to blows over it, with her father's veins in his head bursting. But it seemed to be a commonplace, almost, the crude nature of Mr. Drake as he interacted with the Lady Munn. Any opinion Nora held of the man as being righteous and charming vanished--he hardly seemed to be either.

Of course, the pair of them seemed rather candid with each other. The honesty was endearing, as the airs and powder of peered interaction was hardly to be found. Both attacked the character of the other, and as disgusting as Drake's behavior may have been, the Lady Munn matched him, word for word. It was like a game of chess, stripped of the obnoxious pettiness of British society. It was, in a word, remarkable.

"...Thank you, Lady Munn," Nora replied, her eyes a bit wide. Never in her life had someone suggested that she had prowess of her own--that she could be a finer mathematician than the Lord Captain! The night became more and more bewildering as Father Time turned the hands of the clock, and in an attempt to summon herself back to reality, Nora began to examine the rubbings handed to her by the Lady Munn. "I shall certainly try my best." And Mr. Drake, perhaps you best hold your tongue, before someone cares to remove it. She didn't dare say that, of course, but she thought it. The man was acting most vile towards a person of considerable character.

But the Lady Munn seemed to hardly protest.

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Josephine had taken notice of his note-scribbling. Good, that meant she knew the cogs inside his head were slowly turning, even if they were a bit rusty after Haakon's lake of a real scoop for quite some time. If there was one person he entrusted to discuss this with, it was Josephine. Now one could say a lot of a Hollywood starlett who ravelled in the spotlight, even Josephine he had the (unfortunate) tendency to beam towards any free, able- and good looking man around her. But she was a friend, and Haakon knew that he could trust her with his thoughts. Being far from just a blonde movie star with nothing between her ears helped, she would hopefully have an opinion on his finds.

That would have to wait, however, as Haakon continued his quiet observation of the conversation going back and forth across the table. Taking another long sip of his scotch, he let his eyes wander freely across the table, casually observing each of the seated members of their little club. His ears though were far from loosely picking up every bit of noise around the barracks; they were directly tuned to the two Keystones' voices. And good for him too, for he would have questioned his own hearing when he heard what (apparent) reason Peter Keystone had for coming back.

To marry Vera Munn.

Now that was one heck of a reason to suddenly come back from the dead, although not one unheard of to Haakon. No, it was all the abnormal curiousities that accompanied this entire act fitting a modernistic, impressionistic theatre play that made his eyes rest on Peter. It was, for lack of better words, very, very strange, and very, very suspecious.

Haakon noticed the soldier, Harry Walsh if he wasn't mistaken, get up from the table and quickly putting some distance between them and him. Perhaps the talk of war had brought back some unpleasent memories for him? Haakon felt a certain sense of empathy for Harry; he himself had never experienced the horrors of war - Norway was after all neutral during the great European slaughterhouses -, he had read many and written a handfull of accounts himself from those who experienced it first-hand. They had went through Hell and back.

"No arguing about that, Mrs. Ridgeway, far more than usual. I'll head home for the night too, this tired Norwegian fisherman has had enough Egyptian mysticism for a whole year already." Haakon tried to sound cheerful as he stood up from his chair, giving a polite smile and nod to the others around him. "And Mr. Keystone?" Haakon let his eyes rest on Peter again, his smile fading away as his face turned serious, even apologetic.

"I am most sincerely sorry for my rudeness at the Museum. It has been a long day, but I cannot possibly expect to be forgiven for it, nor do I demand it, Lord Captain Keystone. I can only ask. Good night."

Haakon began to walk towards the exit, ending his pace once he reached the door and turning back to the table. "Are you coming too, Jo?"

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Perhaps there was fault in Reginald's decision to discuss family affairs in front of people with whom he had little involvement. But such was his excitement over the return of his favorite nephew and the mysteries of the past hour or so motivated him to speak in a manner plainer than he was accustomed around people who were basically strangers. It was quite possible that, in his mind, the shared experience they all had concerning dreams, markings, and strange bits of jewelry had a bonding, trust inspiring effect. But his more recent experience with the Scandinavian from the Fourth Estate, scribbling down notes about their conversation of a somewhat personal nature, put his brain back to thoughts of preserving family dignity from the periodicals of Northern Europe and parts beyond. To reflect this, upon noticing the man's shorthand, he spared his voice until Haakon excused himself from the gathering, taking unemotional note of the timing of his exit speech.

The concept of Peter requesting permission to resume courting Vera was staggering, to say the least. Reginald stuttered for a moment, but composed himself rightly enough to respond in a thoughtful manner. "My dear, sweet nephew. I'm honored that you would take the inclination to follow established and ancient protocol in our part of the world. I had not expected such formality; not when, as I suspect, you have already spoken with your father concerning your promise, years ago. I daresay, lad... this is the only time in recollection my less combative duties as chaperone have been brought to the forefront."

This was perhaps the first time someone had actually called him out on his role as "Uncle Reggie", so far as his relationship with Vera Munn was concerned. It was rather odd, when he thought of it earnestly. Vera was of higher social status than himself, for all of his blustering, and not directly a blood relative. This was a thing that, while not unheard of, was a little unusual. Guardianship in these instances would have to be agreed upon by the living relatives of the family; the caveat here being that they were all dead. There was no one, to the Lord Major's recollection, that could serve in that capacity. Except for his brother, owing to his family's closeness with hers.

As last he heard, the reigning Earl of Sussex didn't care for the responsibility, finding the Lady Munn to have qualities of birth unacceptable enough to not be worth his time. So it fell to Reginald, by his older brother's decree. Having the first genuine task of this appointment thrust into his hands by his dearest nephew, over an issue originating well before the issue of Guardianship was even a glimmer of possibility, had a very serious way of cementing his official responsibility.

"Well dash it all, Nephew. The Lady Munn deserves better than myself as chaperone, I'll warrant you this, but I'm the one she's got. She also deserves a fat lot better treatment from the rest of the Peerage, than the shoving about they've given her. I am her guardian, for whatever good or ill it brings either of us. And my answer to you..."

Reginald cleared his throat and sat up straight in his chair. "My answer to you, Peter Reginald Keystone, is that I shall not attempt to block your courtship. Vera is her own woman, and I shall not promise anything on her behalf, but if my permission to pursue her is that which you ask, then bless you both. And jolly good luck to you in the endeavor!"

The Lord Major raised his glass of sweetened pomegranate gin, thought the better of it, and set it back down. "This is not the fitting drink for this type of celebration. Come come! Those of us that remain, let us abscond to the Officer's Club, where we may find a proper bottle or five of proper, bubbly Champagne; brut or sweet. Holdover from a retirement gathering that turned into quite the row. Come come! Someone shall see to all of this presently."

A quick snap of the fingers brought an attendant over. Not a military man, but a local who spoke English well and tended to domestic work of this nature. "Yrja alattilae ealaa hadha, wayakun taeamuna taqdimuhum 'iilaa Nadi Alddabit. Shukra." And a glance over to Aziza, "Your ah, friend, Harry? If you would please, let him know that the sound is quite, quite muffled behind the doors." He spoke in quiet, understanding tones. "And we definitely allow smoking; hookah, pipe, or otherwise. He may likely gather himself better in those environs."

Reginald gave his nephew a hearty pat on his back, and began leading him toward a structure toward the other end of the Courtyard, where behind heavy wooden doors, solace and joy might be found in the company of family, new friends, and fizzy beverages.

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Aziza's attention was taken from those around her to Harry and Harry alone as she felt felt his hand shaking periodically within her own. Her bright eyes streaked with worry as she looked at him, her free hand coming over and resting on top both of there, caressing softly. She wasn't sure what was going on but it seemed that the barracks were getting to him and that he wasn't there with her right then, he was elsewhere and where ever that was, well it was anything but being kind to him. Her lips thinned as she watched him go pale and pasty. This was not the man she was used to seeing in the bar when she danced. So full of life and strength. He seemed plagued and beaten down right then and she felt a growing pain in her chest as she sat there and watched him suffer. It made her miss everything else around her.

Peter noticed the change but he was more focused on waiting for his uncle to reply. As he waited, of course the reporter decided to start talking to him once again. Peters eyes lit with a fiery rage as his jaw clenched. Did this man have no manners what so ever? He was standing there waiting for an answer about the prospect of marriage for gods sake and Haakon was asking for forgiveness for interrupting? I R O N Y!!!!! The only thing that saved Haakon from becoming very intimate with ivory end of Peters cane was the sound of a broken man asking to be excused for a moment. Peters eyes looking over to Harry for a moment and simply nodding. He knew the look so well, he had seen it in the mirror many times over the last few months.

Turning his attention back to Haakon the man had already walked off and looked as if he was about to leave. Rolling his eyes, he decided to wait to assault the man verbally and physically until next they met. He hoped that moment would never come. Multiple interruptions and jotting down what was said between people. It was savage in his mind, like a hyena ripping apart a carcass that was still alive. As the man stepped out of hearing range it seemed his uncle was on top of things about the wanted permissions and answered. He was glad that Reginald had waited to say anything until the bloody reporter could no longer hear their conversation. The last thing he wanted was it to show up in the gossip columns, the only thing he could imagine a man lacking in manners could get a job writing.

Aziza stood by quietly, watching Harry walk off and biting her bottom lip slightly, not sure if she should tend to him or just give him a moment. Looking at Reginald as he addressed her she nodded in understanding. "Yes of course Lord Major, thank you," she said before turning to Lauren. "Please just give me a moment to tend to Sgt. Walsh, excuse me," she said in a soft voice with a nod of her head before rushing over to Harry.

Peter looked back to his uncle and smiled, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder. "She could ask for none better uncle and I am most content in your answer. Then let it be known that I shall begin in the morning when I meet with her. May luck be at my side," he said in a happy voice. Looking over at Lauren he couldn't wipe the smile form his features. "Would you care to join us in the officers club until she is finished tending to a soldier in need?"

Coming over to Harry, Aziza slowed her pace and approached him calmly, her eyes shifting downwards to see he was having a problem with even the simple task of rolling a cigarette. Reaching out she rested her hands over his. "Let me," she whispered in a kind voice before taking the paper and tobacco from his fingers. Smiling up to him for a moment before she looked down and made quick work of completing the task for him. Sealing the thin paper with a quick flick of her tongue and roll of her fingers she held it out to him, her smile as soft as ever as she stood there. "I am here to listen if you should need."

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Now that the room was clear of most everyone, Vera's demeanor shifted quickly and she could not hide the look of contempt that came over her features at Williams words. Scoffing as her lips thinned. "Jealous? Of you and that tart? Don't be absurd. What in the name of the Pharisees would give you just a ludicrous idea? If anything I am offended that you and she treat each person in the room like a doxie just waiting for a crumb of attention of the likes of you Americans. Scandalous really. Your attentions seem to favor anything with a bit of hip curve and hers towards anything with a bristling of hair on their chest. To Mr. Elvsgaard to you, back to him, to the Lord Captain, then back to Mr. Elvsgaard. Jealous? HA! You two seem quite fit for each others attentions, or lack there of I shall say. You both seem quite content chasing each other and everything else in the room, like a dog in heat," Vera all but spat before turning her attention to Lady Kingston and brushing the curls from her flustered and flushed face.

"No, thank you Lady Kingston, truly. Your decorum and skill will be most welcome in this endeavor. I shant be but two ticks to retrieve the aforementioned pieces of history for you to peruse." Turning on her heels she made her way for the door, glaring back at Mr. Drake and narrowing her eyes at his words before stepping out into the hallway. She kept quiet for all of a few minutes, just long enough to get them out of ears reach of Lady Kingston before she stopped in her tracks and eyed William as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I am not some street urchin to be toyed with Mr. Drake. If you care to spread your seed from this end of the Nile to another, that is none of my nevermind but do not pull me into your scandalous behavior. I am not naive enough to believe that you harbor anything for but an enjoyment at tormenting me. I may not be as beautiful as Miss Clark, I am well aware that I am at best comely in my appearance, but I do have a keen mind. I know well and good enough that I could never truly attract yours or any other mans attentions but do not use me in some game of yours. At least have enough respect for me professionally not to use me as some cog in a game of the mind or heart," she said in a firm tone but it was obvious by the look in her eyes and the trembling of her bottom lip that she was genuinely hurt and disheartened right then. Vera was not one trained in the arts of seduction or hiding her true feelings.

Shaking her head slightly she dropped her arms, them hanging loosely at her sides as she turned on her short heels and walked off towards deep storage to retrieve what she had promised to get for Lady Kingston.

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Josephine was drinking a healthy amount of Scotch when Peter's words were uttered about him wanting to marry Vera. She almost spat out her drink, but being a lady (and liking alcohol quite a bit) made her hold it in. However, she gave a look of utter shock at Peter. Was it not obvious to the man that her heart belonged to another? Even then, he seemed keen on getting her whether she truly wanted it or not, considering he was asking the old man for her hand. She always hated that custom. The woman should get the deciding vote in marriage, considering it was her life she was giving up to be with another.

It was obvious to her that Vera and Drake had feelings for each other. She had fun teasing her, but she was in no way looking to spoil the woman's future with the man. She hoped perhaps her throwing herself at Drake would spark Vera's desire and fight for her man. It seemed to not be the case. She wondered if all British ladies were like that. She pitied them. You had to fight for what you wanted and sometimes it left you black and blue, but it was worth it.

Before she was fully aware, the dancer and the soldier made their way out of the room. She assumed the two would be going to have a bit of fun. Haakon also excused himself and asked for her. She sighed simply, it seemed the night was over. She stood up, "I suppose I am quite tired, darling. You gentlemen have a good night." She didn't bother to offer Peter his congratulations. He didn't deserve it, considering Vera hadn't said yes yet and if she had any sense, she wouldn't.

As she and Haakon left, she turned to look at the reporter, 'Really, darling, you must stop apologizing. Show some backbone! He is only one man and you did nothing wrong, but ask some questions. Speaking of which, I saw what you scribbled. It seems we may have the same thought. I find it awfully convenient that Peter has made his return now. I don't know the man well, but there is something more going on here. That much I am sure."

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Haakon had never met Peter in his life, never seen him or heard of him. Not even once in what normal people would call a strike of pure fate. And yet Haakon was certain of one thing, that one thing he was willing to bet his whole career on. Okay, perhaps more than one thing; it was clear that Peter was hiding more than he was letting on. It was clear that Haakon had spoken in a way not tolerated by the British gentlemen. But most importantly;

"I don't know about you, Josephine, but I'm starting to think that Peter Keystone doesn't like me?"

The look of spite glowing from Peter's eyes could have given Haakon a chill, had he not been given that stare many a time before. In his line of work, it was to be expected, as long as they never actually went through with their threats. Now Haakon wasn't expecting Peter to actually killing him, but it would severly hinder his nosing into the mysterious events that had befallen them all if both the Keystones wouldn't talk to him.

Haakon spoke as soon as the door behind them was shut and the fresh(er) air of Cairo filled his lungs. For the second time today, he was glad to be outside again, not cooped up surrounded by the strangers he now knew by their respective names. With Josephine by his side, he looked at her as she spoke. "I know I didn't have to, but I'd prefer to be on the good side of those people I'm about to..investigate, so to speak. Besides, I should have waited with those questions until we had gotten to known each other better, not the minute he walked into the room. But what's done is done."

The sky was dark, stars sparkling at them from above and the Moon a companion of her little brothers. The noise from the streets far off, the sound of the Nile and the people inhabiting this ancient city, was audible enough for him to hear and register, but not loud enough to keep his thoughts from jumping back and forth in his head. Haakon looked at Josephine, and smiled. "Good to know that at least you back me up."

Haakon pulled out his notepad, flicking it open to the page he had written on a few minutes ago. "Awfully convenient indeed, especially just to ask for Vera Munn's hand. And even more strange by the this..." Haakon pointed at the dates he'd written down. "...If he was a prisoner of war, he should have been released in 1918 or 1919, at most sometime early 1920. That gives him 4 years of not existing. I can't imagine him wishing to stay dead for so long, not without being forced. And he's here, awfully close to us having these strange dreams and being branded. I can't think of a what the connection is, but there must be one..."

He kept on walking, changing his look from Josephine to his notepade, to the sky above and back to Josephine. But then he stopped as a thought popped up when he mentioned the branding. "How's your finger, Jo? Does is still hurt?"

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Lauren looked towards Aziza for a moment and then towards Henry for a moment, the two of them did seem to know each other more than she did know Henry. "Of course, just come and get me whenever you are ready." Lauren said with a soft smile and looked towards Henry who looked like he was reliving a bad memory. Something she knew from stories whenever men had come back from the war, something she probably would never witness or feel in her own lifetime. Lauren turned her head over towards Peter returning the friendly smile and towards Reginald for a moment. "Of course I wouldn't mind joining the two of you there." Lauren said with a soft smile, she took a step closer towards Aziza and gently rested a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Come and get me whenever the two of you are ready okay?" Lauren said, she didn't want to leave the barracks all by herself she would probably get lost or be mugged by someone on her way back. She then made her way towards both Peter and Reginald to join the two men, Lauren did want to get to know them a little bit more after all. "Shall we head there now?" Lauren asked.

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Had Nora not grown up in a fiercely strict and respectable British household, she perhaps would have been unable to keep her composure. As the Lady Munn gave Mr. Drake a piece of her mind, scolding the man with an intensity Nora had never seen a young woman possess before, it was a most amusing sight to behold. Nothing like it would have occurred back in England, not with the watchful and judgmental eyes of the peers. It was perhaps either a compliment or an insult that the pair of them showed such lack of social restrain while in Nora's presence--she hoped for the former.

Nodding at Lady Munn as the Countess once again praised Nora's skills, despite never having seen them at work, Nora followed the pair with her eyes as they stepped into the hallway. She raised a slight eyebrow, unable to hear or see what words might pass between the pair. It was her opinion that the Lady Munn was not entirely done laying into Mr. Drake. If her words were a lash, the man was likely to bleed to death from this treatment.

But it was not her place to pry. She returned to her notes and her work, annotating the few pieces the Lady Munn had provided to her in her journal. It sometimes helped her to discover a pattern if written in her own hand. And once transcribed, her meager skills in cryptography or decipherment would be put to a most noble use. Undoubtedly the extra information from the Lady Munn would prove most useful--but any information she may glean from the preliminary sample would prove just as apt.

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With his hands shaking, Harry couldn't stop Aziza from taking the papers and tobacco from his hands, even if he had wanted to. Sighing softly, he momentarily clenched his fist to relieve some of the tension in them, flexing his fingers as she rolled it up for him. Taking the cigarette, he gave her a nod and a thank you as he slid it between his lips, grabbing his lighter and flicking the top off as he lit up the cigarette, taking a long drag as he pulled it from between his lips, turning his head to the side as he blew out a thin plume of smoke. Glancing over to the group momentarily, he gave Lauren a nod as she came over to speak softly to Aziza.

Turning back to Aziza, he sighed. He knew her offer was sincere, she would more than likely happily listen to whatever was on his mind in the hope that it would calm him somewhat, but regardless, talking about it was never easy as he took another long drag from his cigarette, still looking rather pale. "I'll be alright... I just... Need a few moments." He insisted quietly as he looked over at her, taking in her soft smile and the sincere and genuinely caring look on her face. Lowering the cigarette from his lips, he sighed as he flicked some ash off, looking down as he watched it fall to the floor for a moment or two before he glanced back over the courtyard. "Thank you, though..." He said quietly, it felt strange to have someone who genuinely seemed to care, it was refreshing.

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Noting the change to Vera's demeanour, he smirked in an utterly smug manner. This had been the kind of reaction he had been looking for, the aggression and the sass, in William's own mind, her comments only furthered his beliefs of her actual feelings in regards to him. It was particularly more amusing to him as she snapped in this manner in front of the Lady Kingston, they had certainly had spats such as this before, when he'd let slip other such accusations, but she almost always ensured they were in privacy, for her to be going off like this with a noble woman such as Miss Kingston present was downright delectable.

Moving out into the hallway with her, he bit his tongue of any smart comments after her first outburst, noticing as she stopped and turning to her as she began to speak up yet again. Her comments this time made him scoff, and he was about to come out with yet another smug, aggravating comment of his own when he noticed the look on her face, still however letting his lips split into a smile as she moved off, following after her. "I can assure you, 'Lady Munn' - I have been among enough women that my 'torment' is never for such a trivial purpose. And while you might be trying to insist otherwise with your comments against yourself, I know for a fact you've got a fair bit more than just aggravation for me, if anything, i'm just giving you a nudge into admitting it, my lady." He said smugly as he looked over at her as they walked.

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The Officer's Club was but a short walk across the vast courtyard that too up approximately half of the space of the Barracks proper. It was attached to the larger section of the building, that is to say, the part of the massive open structure that wasn't reserved for row upon row of quartering and communal services. Tucked away in the stone building proper, behind heavy wooden doors guarded by able men with rifles and uniforms bearing the Union Jack, the centuries-old tradition of the Officer's Club upheld the grand notion that, with Rank comes Privilege. Of course, it also comes with Responsibility, but at that moment, the Lord Major was really more interested in the perks that his decades of investment into the Royal Army and Air Corps provided him, up to and including bringing guests into the facility with him.

After all, he was the ranking officer in this complex, and this was his command besides. The only person that could object, were he to go as far as institute a policy of wearing frilly dresses during rifle drills, was on another continent (so far as he was aware, anyway). This was his slice of the British Empire, what remained of it.

Reginald continued to lead his long-lost nephew over to the Club, noting the approach of the American lady. "If you wish to join for a bit of celebratory bubbly and simple supper, then by all means madame, we may head that way presently. Come along, then."

He informed the Guard present of the probable approach of Aziza and Harry, ordering their access on that night if they so wished it, and waved his present company inside. There were officers present, some very few at that hour, as well as a small number of retired Officers of the related branches of the British Military. After distinguished service to the Crown, the military continued to look after its own, even in response to their needs for decent spirits and socialization. Considering his own advancing age and rank, Reginald was a fan of this practice, insisting upon the best for such men. This was very much out of respect for service, but also the ever so slightly selfish hope that, were he to not pass away in a glorious and violent manner (God willing soon), the example would be noted and similar considerations would be applied to him and his.

The moment that the trio set foot inside of the establishment, doors in the back opened, admitting access to servants bearing the foodstuffs that Reginald had requested outside: Smoked meats, fresh local fruits, and a fragrant array of lightly steaming date bread. It was hastily set up upon a table near the bar, behind which a skinny individual wearing a fez cleaned glasses by hand.

"My good man," began Reginald, "do be a chap and fetch us out the champagne, yes? Burawt wahulwat ealaa hadd sawa', min fadalik. There's a good fellow." He helped himself to a number of champagne flutes hung upside down above the bar in polished wooden slats, lining them up in front of himself. While he worked, he spoke. "So... Miss Ridgeway, Captain, Do you prefer dry or sweet? I was just telling our barkeep to provide plenty of both, as occasion calls for either. But please permit me another question before the bubbly arrives, Peter, mayhap one of related consequence. One which, in this regard, may be spoken of freely in mixed company, as it involves everyone to which you had introduction just tonight. Quite possibly a daft-sounding query, but do humor an old man."

"How have your dreams treated you lately, Peter? Please be honest."

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Peter looked over towards his uncle and smiled slightly. "Dry if you would uncle but I do hope that we are not celebrating prematurely. I can only hope that Vera will be open to my talks tomorrow," he said as he took a seat and leaned back, resting his cane next to him and glancing around the officers club as Miss Ridgeway joined them. Glancing towards his uncle at his question he cocked a brow. "Perfectly fine, well perhaps not. I do have some flashbacks of my time before my return but that is to be expected after the war. Shell shock is not the most wonderful thing to deal with but I have a feeling that is not what you are referring. Dare I ask what you are speaking of or why there were so many in Vera's office when I arrived? She mentioned helping the group, it must be something of great importance. Do I have permission to be informed on the details of it by yourself or should I wait and ask Vera personally?"

Aziza let him take the cigarette and nodded slightly as she bit her bottom lip, watching him closely as he seemed to try to calm himself. You need't face these demons alone Mr. Walsh," she said in a sympathetic voice. Sighing she turned and leaned back against the wall next to him. Resting her hands in front of her as she clutched her bag she looked over grounds of the barracks and then to the stars up in the sky. "We can feel so alone in this world, as if others won't understand or because they were not there they cannot help. I too felt like that many years ago. I wondered how anyone could help me but it only took the ear of a kind old man in uniform to help me open up some and lift some of the weight in my heart. I have never faced war like you have but I have faced my own war, one I am still fighting each day."

Looking down she kicked at the ground slightly as she opened her bag and pulled out a small worn piece of muslin cloth. Pulling it through er fingers a few times before glancing over towards Harry out of the corner of her eyes. "I am forever fighting a loosing war to see my son again. I carry the wounds of the war here," she added as she pointed to a few places on her skin where they were faded scars dotting her flesh that one would not notice unless they were truly looking for them. "And here," she said as she rested her hand on her heart. Forcing a slightly smile she tucked the piece of cloth away and looked over to Harry before slipping her arms over his shoulders and hugging him gently, just holding herself against him for a long moment. "I'm here should you ever need me Harry."

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Vera couldn't believe what she was hearing, it seemed that he was enjoying making her this angered and hurt. As if she was some toy to play with, a pawn in his game. The click of her heels stopped as she whirled around and out of no where the flat of her hand landed across his cheek and the sound of skin on skin echoed through the halls of the museum. She had actually just slapped him. Granted she wasn't a strong women physically and had no skill in the arts of fighting but she was a woman and slapping a man across the cheek when he insulted said woman seemed to come as second nature. As if they were born with the knowledge and skill to execute it.

"How dare you, as if I was some blithering idiot. A hydrogen peroxided debutante just flowering for your attentions. I am not some mouse for you to play cat games with Mr. Drake! Had I had any affections for you, and I am not saying that I am, I am far more likely to admit such folly if you would cease and desist with your mind games. Even then I can assure you that I would be hard pressed to admit anything but a general apathetic loathing of your presence currently. Why in the name of the Pharaoh's admit such personal misguided feelings to one I know for certain harbors nothing for me in return? I would rather skip naked through London smeared in plum jam and wearing a tear cozy on my head than to profess sentiments of caring and love to someone that sees me as nothing more than a conquest. A tomb to be raided and pillaged only to be left empty and destroyed inside. You wish to have some wallflower falls head over heals for you only to be scorched by the dry Sahara of your heart then I suggest you seek entertainment elsewhere."

Her words bellowed from her lips as she spoke and each moment that passed it became more and more clear just how insulted and hurt she truly was. She was hardly holding anything back at this moment other than just straight out admitting she felt something for him but she was going to be damned to say it at this point. The smug look on his face, his words, told her it didn't matter who she was, he would have done the same thing if it was her, Josephine, Lady Kingston, or any woman that crossed his path. Shaking her head she turned around and stormed off at an alarming rate down into the deep storage of the museum, not even thinking that she had yelled so loudly that her voice would have echoed through each area of the museum. Coming to the shelves where the tiles where held she nearly toppled the cart over as she flung it next to the stacks and started moving the tiles onto it. Keeping her head down as her bangs came down and covered her features hiding her expression from view and thankful for once for the unruly curls.

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Lauren gave one last look towards Aziza and Harry, then she quickly followed behind Reginald and Peter towards the Officer's Club in the barracks she still felt a little bit out of place but she remained fairly quiet for now as they walked into the club. Lauren gave a soft smile and nod towards the man by the door and made her way inside, her eyes started to scan the room, she eyed the officers that were in the room. She couldn't help but feel a tad bit nervous being around so many officers, but then again none of them were from America Lauren knew that she and her father were wanted in the States for selling and distributing alcohol back in Philadelphia. Lauren went over towards the bar and pulled up a seat as she started to eye the food that was already set up causing her mouth to water slightly it all looked really good.

She turned her head towards Lord Major Keystone and smiled at him. "Something dry as well, and just call me Lauren really no need for the formalities. I don't have any fancy titles that you Lady Kingston, or Lady Munn do." Lauren turned towards Peter when Reginald asked of his dreams, she ran a hand through her hair for a moment before answering him. "Basically some of us have had these really weird dreams, with some voice speaking some language I don't understand probably something local. It's also out in the desert then this eye like symbol appears on your hand. Other than that has been happening in my dreams, Aziza and Harry had some etching on their jewelry that came in with a bright light. The others i'm not sure what they had seen or happen to them."

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Josephine listened to Haakon's words very closely. She agreed with much of what he said. She may not have put the pieces together so easily, but she had woman's intuition, and that tended to beat logic by a mile. Peter rubbed her the wrong way. Not because he didn't accept her advances or even acknowledge her status or looks. She didn't know he had an eye for Miss Munn, but that made it even more unusual. They seemed to have a past, that much was sure, based on how Miss Munn and the old man reacted to his arrival, but she couldn't get past his story just now. It should be in the movies, how unbelievable it was. She would have to do some digging later, perhaps some investigation, but for now they had other matters to attend to.

Speaking of that, Haakon mentioned her finger. She glanced down at it and waved her hand, "Truth be told, darling, I forgot all about it with all the ruckus and nonsense that just occurred. It stings a bit, to be sure, but nothing more than that. I do hope we get to the bottom of all of this. Not only because it would be a good story for you and a great movie idea for me, but this is truly mind boggling."

Soon they reached the hotel. Not hers, of course, and she wondered if Haakon got any ideas. She wouldn't mind, of course. She needed a break, "Seems we are at your hotel. Are you going to invite me in, darling?"