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Lauren turned her attention down towards Mahendra and Neema down below, she then looked around the dust covered shelf and shook her head slightly. "Just the dust and foot prints where the crate that feel on Haakon was, nothing else as far as I can tell." Lauren answered letting out a slight sigh, she was hoping to find something that was useful this certainly wasn't an accident, she just wasn't sure what exactly was going on or why someone wanted Haakon dead. Lauren then started to hear Vera's voice when she came up to meet Neema and Mahendra who were below her.

"I'm up here Vera." Lauren said as she started to climb down the ladder, once she was back down on the ground level Lauren whipped off the dust on her hands with her dress. "Just the prints in the dust, aside from that was all that I could see or notice that was out of place up there." Lauren said softly letting out another slight sigh. "Sorry it wasn't much help." She just hoped that there was another piece of the puzzle around somewhere else in the archives.

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"Right, right...that would be as they say, 'Too easy', wouldn't it?" Mahendra threw into the conversation. It was probably true, things were never that easy. If there was - of which he was certain - any clues as to the identity of the person or persons unknown, it wouldn't be a identity card. Both in a litteral and figurative sense. And with Lauren's confirmation of the lack of clues, Mahendra too sighed, looking down at his feet.

Mahendra looked up once he heard the voice of his boss, Vera, questioning them on Lauren's whereabouts. He himself was about to answer as he looked up and pointed with his head, but Neema answered before him. In the meantime Lauren too answered and began her descent, forcing the Bengali to look away quickly; no peeking up at her...COUGH...undergarnments. He forced his sight away, but there he saw it. "But down here on the other hand..." Mahendra began, letting loose his grip of the ladder and beginning to walk.

There, peeking out from underneath the shelf, lay something about fifteen feet away. Mahendra couldn't see what exactly what it was, but as he walked closer, he could see its colour; Red. Red, like the blood of the slain Norwegian, or some other deeper meaning? Coming up to it, Mahendra crouched down and tried to get a better look at it, seeing that it was not only red. It was red and shiny as well. "What in the name of Asuras is this?"

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The journey was rather curious. Mosi was really wondering as of why the traffic was in the state it was. What could it have been? She didn't quite decide to get the answer though. The priority was the event they were already late for. She just looked out the taxi. Ahh a city during the night, always an intriguing and mysterious sight, filled with possible wonders and mysteries to discover. As they neared and Akhmed helped them out one by one, it was truly a gentlemanly action from him, so she gave him a big smile." Thank you, Akhmed." She added with a respectful nod on her side too.

The sounds of a smith were unmistakable. As soon as Mosi heard the sound of metal hitting hot metal she knew it and her focus shifted completely onto it as they walked. She threw casual glances to the different stalls, but it was mostly a look of passing than any current interest in them.

'Ahhh water quenching.' Mosi smiled at the scene. The man who taught her smithing did show her how to do it and she did use it in many occasions, but overall most smiths she knew of at least knive and blade ones used oil. As oil lessened the chance of the blade snapping in two during the quenching. She on the other side was of the opinion that if the smith did the job right, there was no need to rely on that. She felt her hand clench into a fist a few time as if wanting to grab a hammer.

As the man came over to introduce himself, Mosi could see he indeed had the body of a smith. THe mannerism of smiths wasn't unfamiliar to her nad she had gotten more than used to people just cleaning their hands in their shirts. She herself often did the same, after all if the cloth's already drenched in sweat and darkned from the coal and metal dust, might as well wipe your hands in it instead of a new clean one.

"Pleasure to meet you, mister Aton. My name is actually Priscilla Harker, but I do prefer being called Mosi." Mosi greeted, explained her name, took off her hat with a smile and reaching a hand for a handshake. " No, it's the other way around actually I believe." She added with a sly smile." I wanted to attend your display, and he decided to escort me with the fair lady. That's an impressive piece you quenched, would you mind if I take a look at it?" She asked with open clear interest.

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Josephine idly glanced out her window as the taxi drove, admiring the sites. Egypt was really a beautiful country and she should take the time to appreciate that more. One often forgot that there was more to the world than their own home. It was easy to do in Hollywood. She would have to recommend world trips to the other actors and actresses. It really opened one's eyes.

They arrived and Akhmed helped them out of the car. There was a rather large crowd all gathered to view something she wasn't quite sure of. It was apparently amazing as there were a lot of people around. She didn't understand what most were saying, but Akhmed greeted the man who put on the display.

She was introduced and she offered a smile and a head bow. She wasn't about to touch the man's hand knowing he was probably sweaty and dirty. "We came on our own accord, Mr. Aton. A pleasure to meet you. I'm afraid I am a bit baffled at what I just witnessed. What exactly were you doing, if you do not mind me asking?"

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Reginald could do little more than remain as an arm for Vera to lean against in that moment. He did not know the filing system in the archives, being as his disciplines led him to differing pursuits. Ask him to plan out an assault, be it ground or aerial, and he was your man. Have him take apart and put together a car, plane, or dirigible, and again, he was the guy. But find something in hieroglyphic script in a hopefully safe place, archived according to a plan devised by scholarly types with decades of experience cataloguing things of this very nature, and the Lord Major was at a loss. Perhaps it had something to do with alphabetic order, though was that order in English or in Arabic? Or ancient Egyptian? Eh, maybe all he needed to do was pay attention from time to time, but he really just came to the museum to see his adoptive niece, Vera.

To odd counterpoint, he could find a single chunk of military gear in a giant, crowded warehouse in the dead of a moonless night if he so desired, so long as it was packed away using a derivative of the Crown's method.

In response to the various questions he had heard over the last few minutes, Reginald had to wonder aloud, "We have a number of our Fellowship waylaid or unaccounted for, it appears." He said this with nonchalance, forced though it was. There was growing worry about his nephew, Peter, and even a little about his friend George. The group was even more split as Walsh and Aziza had left, be they going to a better life elsewhere. If whatever fate that brought them together allowed them to leave, at any rate. There was some relief as he learned that Miss Ridgeway was merely out of sight and not missing. Even the Starlet has not present, and the Reporter... well, his fate was clear to see. Drake's was not. Things just did not seem to be working out in the manner that he had hoped, even before their quest had truly began. The Lord Major was anxious to get these difficulties out of the way, attend to the fallen as well as the living, and get underway.

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Nora noticed a pad of paper and she picked it up delicately. She ran her finger along the top, noticing that the last sheet of paper used on it had been ripped off. She thought for a moment, before she realized how familiar the paper seemed to her own notebook. There were occasions where she would rip out a page, only to notice the slight indentations of it remained on the next page. Nora glanced around the room, until she procured a pencil. She remembered it working on her own notes, whenever she had grown bored and decided just to shade in a page.

Very lightly, Nora began to shade in the top page of the pad, watching to see if any words or symbols or shapes popped out. There was a chance that she was wrong and she was wasting a perfectly good piece of paper, but she had a gut feeling telling her that this approach would provide some clue of great importance. Coincidences seemed to be a rare thing in this situation and she didn't want to leave any stone unturned.

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Time has a way of flying when you are having fun, some times it flies even when you aren't. (I say that is because someone around you is having fun even if you aren't.) Anyways down to business. Why is time flying now? Simple. It just does. The police eventually show up to the museum with the Curator leading them down to the archives. This isn't good. No one likes looking at a body that has been crushed by a crate with a leg lamp in it. (Okay, maybe some do, they do not.)

Before they arrive though, Neema grabs the item that Mahendra has pointed out and takes a look at it. It is a red piece of silk now that it is in her hands and there is a scorpion on it. She tells Mahendra to keep it hidden until things calm down. Vera doesn't like the idea and the two women end up arguing a bit. That is until Neema pushes aside her skirt a bit to reveal the same branding mark on her that appeared on several others recently. Her branding mark is old though, very old. There seems to be a bit of an understanding and at the same time questions coming across her Vera's face but she finally submits.

Lauren is asked to come down and such, it is safer on the floor now - she can tell that there is no one on the top of the stacks. Which actually seems to disturb Vera a bit, Mr. Drake is still no where to be seen. In fact he doesn't seem to be the only one that is missing. Peter and George still have not returned yet. This is not sitting well but there is nothing to do about it now as the police have shown up.

After the initial explanation they take to questioning each person there at the scene but leave those alone whom remained on the upper floors. As they are cleaning things up - removing the body - there is mention of some major destruction that happened out of no where about six blocks from the museum a few hours before. No bodies have been found but there is blood on the scene and they are trying to figure out just what went down out there. They do not to seem to think it is connected to the museum murder.

Time has gone by and the police are starting to wrap up. They will be leaving soon and Neema seems rather glad about that. Vera suggests that they move upstairs and back to her office. Upstairs during all this though, more is going on. The Lady Kingston is discovering a few things on her own. As she uses the age old trick of rubbing she discovers a few things. The writing was in a females hand and it is easy enough to deduce that it is Veras considering the amount in the office with the womans penmanship on it. It was notes about what they had discovered the night before. There is another hand on the paper as well, not Veras. It has down a set of numbers: 30.5704° N, 31.5149° E

Outside of the museum, things are much calmer. Aton is being kind and welcoming the women but Akhmed is making sure to keep an arm around the back waist of Josephine. Finding the three of them a seat as Aton speaks with the women. He has no problem with Mosi taking a look at his work and seems open to the conversation. He explains Josephine that he is recreating weapons that were used during the old kingdoms of Egypt, weapons used to wage war and protect the Pharaohs of old. "Many weapons were used but there were special weapons reserved for the elite. The hands of Isis they were called, fighters against the Seperumu."

(This is a test of a new way to move things along. We have had a small time skip. Your update is a summary of what occurred during this time. Pick up at the current time. Think of it like a book or a movie or TV show. Small sections with a little bit of back and forth and then we move on. Let's see how this goes. We have our first now. Make note of your information dump and pick up as needed. Continue posting as per usual.)

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When Lauren got down she looked over towards the others that were there, she noticed Mahendra had found something but she wasn't sure what exactly it was. Lauren to did notice that Aziza and Harry, as well as William haven't appeared either which was odd to her when Reginald mentioned it, she was hoping to see at least Aziza soon. "I'm sure that they will show up soon." Lauren said softly noticing Neema telling Mahendra to keep whatever it was he found to himself just as the local law enforcement came in. Vera and Neema seemed to be having a hissy fit, but when Neema revealed the same mark that Aziza had gotten the night before, then Vera had gotten quiet. When the officers questioned everyone there Lauren answered them all, she was of course a little bit nervous as well.

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Lauren said, at Vera's suggestion going back to Vera's office once they were all questioned Lauren turned around and started to make her way back up stairs, and headed directly towards Vera's office once she was there Lauren gave Nora a friendly smile. "So what exactly is going on?" Lauren asked when she turned around to face the others once they got back up as well.

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Mahendra was not eager to hide away the possible piece of evidence they had just found, in that he understood it was the local police he was to hide it from. But instead of him making that case, Vera did as she and Neem argued about the matter before Neema promptly pulled up her skirt. Mahendra again looked away, but the attention given to Neema did eventually pull him in, giving him the sight of the mark on her. It sent shivers down his spine, as well as the scorpion on the red silk cloth.

Now without second thought, Mahendra took back the red silk and quickly tucked it underneath his shirt, hiding it from the police as they just came down into the archives. The scorpion in the Egyptian context was connected to Serket, goddess of such things as fertility, nature, medicine and more, which gave him even the more nagging feeling when connected with the possible murder of Haakon. If there was a connection at all, he could be wrong. Not that he told the police any of that.

As he was questioned, Mahendra put on a mask of politeness and cooperativeness, answering the questions as best he could without giving too much information - he presumed - they weren't supposed to know, like the red silk. Eventually they were done with him, and Mahendra thanked them back for their help. And then he followed Vera's suggestion, making his way up to her office alongside Lauren. "Except that...what we found downstairs is possibly connected to our reporter's death, I am certainly not sure." Mahendra said, holding the red silk with his hand underneath his shirt.

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Josephine had to admit the process, while it seemed arduous and long, yielded impressive results. The weapons themselves were distinct and interesting to look at. However, maybe it was because Josephine was new to the country and did not fully understand the culture, but normally weapons were made for a few reasons. The most popular of which was for combat.

"I admit it was interesting to watch from what I saw, but why are you making weapons from so long ago? Is it just for artistic reasons? And will the weapons be put somewhere afterward? A museum? Sorry if I am asking out of turn, I am just naturally curious."

Truth be told, Josephine was interested in learning more. "Also what were the Hands of Isis? And the Seperumu? Please, excuse my questions but I was never taught such things in school, you see."

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Mosi stood impressed. She thanked the man for his permission to study his work while he was explaining things to them. She took a close look to the piece of metal he had hammered out when they were arriving. Elite fighting units, elite weapons, it was all really interesting things to hear about. She was not well learned in teh history of this country. She ran a finger across the spine of the weapon that still awaited completetion. Indeed well forged as far as she coud see, not much was there to be unhappy about with it.

"I'm too quite curious about those questions, miss Josephine asked about." She said, pulling the sleeves of her shirt up a little as she got just a tad hot." Still on the topic of your skill I have to say I'm impressed with what I saw, the hammer technique you've used on that blade is indeed great, way better than what I tended to see back in the states. Got to ask though, what type of handle material do you plan to put on it? I tend to find that ivory or something similar is great for most handles if the weapon is with one handed handles." She asked with curiosity, trying to form an image of the finished product in her mind. She just loved smithing. It was very fun to home someone to talk about smithing with as a woman she didn't get much chances to do so. Right now she so wanted to just put on a leather apron and help him when he resumed work on the weapon.

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Discussions with local law enforcement were generally less than entertaining for someone involved with the British Royal Military, owing to the current political landscape. The Lord Major had trained a lot of these people, but now that Egypt was no longer a protectorate of the Crown, there were mixed feelings about the presence of anyone with a cultured accent of the Angles and a position of authority. For this reason, Reginald made it a point to converse with the Cairo Police in their native tongue. Respectfully, of course. Letting a native people know that you have taken the time to learn their primary form of communication, in itself, send a message of respect. Especially if one can play up the role of the doddering but kindly old military man nearing retirement. Naturally, that wouldn't fly with anyone that had known him on a professional level prior to this moment, but it was a solid plan nonetheless.

Time had gotten away from Reginald. He had obviously missed a meal or two, a situation he hoped that he would remedy very shortly. He had seen death often enough that it rarely blunted his appetite, unless it was in a particularly gruesome manner. Twisted among the wreckage of an aeroplane didn't count. Not anymore, anyway, as it ranked right up near the top of his preferred ways to snuff it. Quietly in his sleep was dead last, though if he kept surviving like some spotty-faced git, that was probably the fate that awaited him. Reginald huffed at the thought. Succumbing to some manner of horrific disease was preferable, as it could be stated that he was at least fighting something, be it more of a metaphorical sense. Being knifed in a barfight was preferable. Glorious combat whilst in uniform for King and Country was the pinnacle, naturally. But shuffling off this mortal coil in the assistance or defense of family or friends was a damned fine way to go, too.

The Lord Major smiled lightly at the thought; a series of imaginings that came awfully close to a daydream. Then he snapped out of it. There was Fellowship business to be done, and back at the Base (if his orders were carried out properly) there should be a few pallets of supplies, incidentals, and some luxury items waiting for him. But for the meantime, Reginald acquiesced to Vera's request to return to her office. "Well then, I do say that was a bit of adventure that I could have done without." remarked the Lord Major. "Bloody shame about Mr. Elvsgaard. Bloody shame..." There was actual sincerity in his statement. Not that he was a great friend of the deceased reporter; that part was obvious. It was an unnecessary waste of life, which did bother him somewhat. The shameful waste of a person. He shook his head and pressed on, "What have we left from Archives that might be of use to us, if I may be as blunt?"

...meanwhile, at the front door...

Knock, knock, knock; a sharp rapping sounded from the main doors of the Museum, now tightly locked up as it was very much after hours. A single voice might be heard from the other side, calling in solid if somewhat concerned tone,

"Lord MAJOR!"

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"To continue the tradition but they are fully functional and I do enjoy using them. There are times in this life that we must protect ourselves and those we love and bullets run out," Aton said in all seriousness. "But as far as the rest of your questions go, those will take a bit more to explain but please, stay. I would love to host you three for a late supper this evening once the other half of my demonstration is over. Please, think on it," he said with a smile on his face.

"If the lovely ladies would, then I am in, I'm always game for free food," Akhmed added with a shit eating grin on his face.

Aton could only roll his eyes slightly before turning his attention over to Mosi. "That I haven't decided yet, please, take a look at what I have, ladies choice for the evening," he added as he motioned towards the display to the numerous ones he had there and raw materials laying out.

It was time to start again so he let his guests settle in as the others started to come back and he began his demonstration once again. Speaking about the techniques he was using and also how to handle things. He spoke more like a poet than a blacksmith as he did. At least when he was speaking in English. He had to switch back and forth since the majority of those watching were locals. He though was kind enough to explain in English as well for the guests that his friend had brought with him.

Back at the museum, things were not near as calm as Vera looked over to Reginald. Let us get the crates upstairs and perhaps move them to the barracks later this evening if you do not mind uncle. I would feel safer with them there," she said as she made her way back to her office. She didn't like the idea of having to move them from the museum but it wasn't safe anymore, that much was obvious. And with Peter and George still not having returned, she wondered if anywhere in the city was. The safest place she knew was the military base. It was their best bet.

It was good they were planning on leaving, this was good and something she had not yet been able to tell Reginald. "We have procured the permit. We could realistically be ready to leave tomorrow afternoon if we have no more issues," she said, not wanting to speak of death or those that seemed to be missing at this point. Yet one does not always get what they wish for at the front door the curator was none to happy to see a rather tall and lanky man pounding on the door screaming for the Lord Major.

The two exchanged some heated words in both English and Egyptian before the curator finally relented and told him that the last time he had seen the Lord Major was in Vera's office. The man knew where it was, this wasn't the first time he had been there and despite him having every right to deny the man access he knew it was far simpler just to let the man rush off to the Lord Major and get this over with than to continue.

In the office Vera looked over towards Nora. "I am so sorry to leave you with such disorder in here," she said as she finally started to pick up the papers on the floor and turn chairs back over as she went. She stumbled a time or two but she was managing with more grace than one might think. Perhaps it was the fact she was focused right then on actually picking things up instead of something else. "Where you able to find anything while we were away?" she asked as she continued.

Neema pulled out the scarf and sighed as she ran her fingers over it before handing it over to Mahendra. "This is not a good sign. It is the sign of the Seperumu," she said as she handed it off and then began to pick up. Vera did not hear her as she was focused and hoping that Nora had found something, anything. This was all very curious.

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Lauren leaned herself up against the side a wall in Vera's office, looking over at everyone who was in the room she wasn't sure what to make of what happened who would want to kill Haakon and steal from Vera's office. Sure the tablet could easily be sold to some black-market type of thing. Lauren wondered what Neema told Mahendra to hide from the police was, when Lauren decided to go and help Vera out and started to pick things up. "Here let me help, just tell me where the stuff goes." Lauren said softly as she moved to put stuff away, then she looked over towards Neema.

Lauren wasn't really familiar with Egyptian mythology a part of her did want to know what it all was. "Who or what is Seperumu?" Lauren finally asked as she moved over towards them to look at the little item that Mahendra found eyeing it very closely. She wasn't sure if it was some kind of secret society or if it was a religion or what, but she was getting very curious.

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The ever helpful and always gentlemanly Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone was more than happy to oblige his dear adoptive niece with the transport and repositioning of the crates. It was good for him to get a bit more physical exercise at his age anyway, apart from his regular constitutionals and frequent elbow bends courtesy of many a talented barkeep in various establishments scattered throughout his preferred sections of Cairo. Of course, this time around the bit of exercise that he would be getting was the vigorous exercise of his authority, seeing as the crates took more than one man to comfortably maneuver earlier (except of course for the push necessary to snuff the life of the Reporter). Of course, a more or less sturdy wheeled platform or furniture moving device, such as a sack cart or one of the more native mutumbo lifters would be of better use, especially for an old soldier past his prime. "Certainly, Lady Munn. I shall look into it forthwith; perhaps I can have an enlisted fellow or two from Supply tend to the items in question."

As the conversation continued, Reginald was overjoyed to hear that they might be underway as soon as tomorrow. "That is excellent news, of course. I can report from the standpoint of the Qasr el Nil Barracks that there are basic supplies in excess that we might utilize for the journey; supplies sufficient to see us there and back with a healthy amount twixt the journey for exploration time." The Lord Major's eyes moved to a starry, faraway distance as he wistfully continued, "Perhaps, if we find cause to bring the military's interest around, we might be able to establish a supply line. One might stay indefinitely, that being the case. Hmm..." He shook himself away from his daydreams of grub trucks and laundry services traveling to and from Vera's chosen site in regular intervals, perhaps with the occasional bottle of distilled celebratory libation every so often as the end of a particularly productive day had been reached. Ah, life at the head of a well-oiled British Military excursion, following the direction of a particularly talented specialist in her field. But alas, that would have to wait until something of importance to the Crown was established and the appropriate local authorities had been notified for approval. So much red tape for what was otherwise an intellectual pursuit.

"But to business! My dear, if we might be able to leave by tomorrow, then we should decide the manner of transportation this evening. We have access to several methods, as you well know, though I am not absolutely certain about air travel. Does this location have a spot nearby that might serve as a landing strip? Otherwise, we should have to utilize something from the motor pool, or even that being barred, good old fashioned horseflesh. Er, camelflesh, as the case may be." No, for his personal mount, Reginald would insist upon a horse. He had fluently learned the local language, insisted upon the alteration of the assigned uniform to include a burnoose, and adopted several of the local customs in the interests of diplomacy and good faith with the locals. But he drew the line at camels. A proper British Officer rode into battle upon a fine horse. Camels were for hauling gear.

As Reginald neared the office, he could hear the beginnings of a ruckus (or was it the end?) coming from the front entryway. he stopped, raised an eyebrow, and gave the scene a confused look. That is, until he heard a voice. A specific voice, one that haunted his dreams even though it belonged to a highly competent soldier. The man issuing said voice took off from down the hall and did not cease until he was within clear and full sight of Reginald, calling for him with an exasperated utterance of:

"Lord MAJOR!"

The good Corporal stopped just out of arm's reach of his superior and threw a perfectly angled salute, holding it there until Reginald sharply returned the gesture of military respect. He was obviously there for a reason. "Report."

"Lord Major, the Corporal is pleased to report that requested supplies have been separated from the Barracks inventory and accounted for in the logs, Sir! Furthermore, the Lord Major's request for sundries and luxuries has been duly processed and will be made available after the morning meal tomorrow, Sir! The Corporal is however ashamed to report that certain items could not be secured this evening free and clear, and requests permission to assign himself to Equestrian-Scooping duties until such time as they are in your possession, Sir!"

For all of his screaming and bluster, the man looked like he was holding something back. "That will not be necessary, Corporal. Is there anything else?" There had better have been something else. This was something that could have been written in a memo and left on his desk for when he returned. "Come along then. Out with it, boy."

"Sir, that is to say, sir... ah,"

He met Reginald's eyes for a half second before turning his back to the ground. But he was a soldier, and his commander just gave him an order.

"Yes Sir, Lord MAJOR!" Just get it over with. "The Lord Major received an urgent message upon the wire, Sir!" He handed over a slip of yellow-brown paper, carefully typed with black, blocky letters. Reginald accepted it and began to read.

Reginald's eyes widened, before he forced his face to return to a neutral pose. His very stiff upper lip and aristocratic bearing took a hit, visibly, and he took an extra step to lean against a nearby pillar. Tears, silent but unmistakable ran from his eyes, spilling onto the crisp lines of his uniform. "Thank you, Corporal." responded the Lord Major, in a voice that was eerily calm. The normally loud and brash subordinate took a fantastically rare moment to speak to Reginald quietly, without the formalities of rank between them; a thing that might be pressed disciplinary action if Reginald was so inclined.

"I'm... I'm so sorry, sir." The man was obviously feeling a pain that Reginald could not demonstrate for himself. Not right then, anyway.

"Thank you again, Corporal." The voice was still striking in its lack of strong emotion, a thing that was belied by the moisture upon his face. "Corporal? Do organize two additional men to secure a set of crates here for safekeeping at the Barracks, if you would. High priority."

"Right away, Lord Major."

It was all he could do for Reginald; follow his orders. And so he intended to do so without fail. The Lord Major, meanwhile, leaned heavily upon the pillar and let the paper slip from his fingers. It glided unerringly to the floor, its writing still visible by any who walked by.



"Aziza. Sergeant Walsh. I'm so sorry..."

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It still puzzled Josephine that one would still create such weaponry for artistic purposes, but she supposed it was similar to paintings and sculptures. Even literature. Museums still housed art from centuries past, but maintaining them was heavy work. This man recreates the weapons in a spectacular manner and it should be applauded.

She appreciated the explanations in English this time around and was fascinated. "Yes, I think we should visit him for dinner. I'd be interested in learning more about all of this. As well as the history." She was mainly talking to Ahkmed at this point. She paid the other woman little mind. Free food and a chance to learn more that may help her down the road?

She would be a fool to pass that up.

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“Can't see why not.” Mosi replied at the invitation for dinner.” I always enjoy dining with people. Of course I will accept this invitation.” She gave her answer with a smile as her eyes danced between Aton and Akhmed for a moment. Those two quite looked like good friends indeed. She wondered how long they had known each other for actually. Well she'd probably learn about them eventually later, besides it wasn't of main importance anyway. They were currently friends and that was all that mattered.

“Ohh, good.” She smiled widely as Aton gave her the greenlight to chose on the handle material. She gave it a good long look across the materials. Her hand hovered across a piece of oak, but moved away from it, oak was likely to crack unless wrapped in leather. Then she found a piece of bone. She couldn't identify the animal, but it was going to make a fine handle. She had seen bone handle swords in the past. She also picked a good wooden piece that looked like Ash. It had a nice grain texture.

As the man returned to his craft and the crowd gathered once more, she focused her attention on his actions rather than his words. She was a smith so she followed each movement he used, evaluated and looked at the result of the way he did things. From the rhythm of his hammer swings to the sound the metal gave as it was being struck. Listening to the song of hammers hitting metal, the grind of metal and the whispers of flames, her fist clenched, ohh how much she wanted to join in. Her eyes were sparkling with anticipation. She had to find a forge to use as soon as possible in the upcoming days. Still this was incredibly educational so she kept her attention on Aton non the less. She wanted to have a chance to test their blades!

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Taking into consideration all that had happened within that narrow window of time, Mahendra could see the positive change of commencing said expedition as soon as possible. They probably needed that, all of them; some fresh (albit dry and sandy) air, a change of scenery and getting their mortal vessels moving again after having their mind in so much movement already. Mahendra still wasn't quite certain what their final destination or objective of said expedition was, but he certain he would learn it in any eventuality.

Mahendra did however notice -rather obviously- Neema pulling out the red cloth from his shirt, making him feeling rather embarresed before he actually heard what she said. So he was perhaps wrong in his first connection to the mytholgy of Egypt, but now the gears started to turn. "The Seperumu. Followers of Seth, the god of violence, disorder and desert, amongst other areas. You are very right, Neema, this is not a good sign. Not at all...So the journalist's fate was met with a malignent intent after all." Mahendra followed up, looking ever keenly at the red cloth with that scorpion on it. Indeed, this was bad.

He would perhaps have been trapped in a trance of curious facination, had it not been for the unnameable shrieking that pulled Mahendra back to this plane of existance. But as it turned out, it was a soldier who's vocal capabilities surely had the ability to frighten off any cavalry attack, even to the sturdiest of camels. Mahendra payed little attention to him as the Lord Major took charge, until he saw him lean up against pillar, as if something had suddenly weighed him down like a thousand fates. "Lord Major Sir, is there something wrong?"

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Nora glanced up as the others came in, before nodding. She had indeed found something. She made her way over to Lady Munn, showing her the rubbing she had made. "This is perhaps the most interesting thing of note that I have uncovered," she said quietly. Although there were Vera's notes on the discovery, the coordinates were in a different hand. She had done enough work as an assistant and enough reading notes in college that she was positive the penmanship of the latter had not been Lady Munn's work. "These coordinates - 30.5704° N, 31.5149° E - I would like to see what location these specify." She then jotted them down in her own notebook and slipped it back into her purse.

"And please, I hope this has helped to recover some of your notes," Nora added softly, handing the paper to Lady Munn so that way she might keep it. Nora understood what a great loss it would be to have notes stolen, especially on such a crucial investigation. She always found that problems became much more simple when she put pen to paper, even if she was simply reorganizing observations she had already made. She returned Lauren's smile as she came in, wondering what the others had managed to discover in the time she had spent in the office. "There is also some curious dust on the rug...More than I would imagine would collect on its own over time," she added to Lady Munn.

"I hope that you may have stumbled upon some new information as well?"

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A series of long and slow breaths emanated from the Lord Major, as he tried very hard to reestablish the Stiff Upper Lip that his people were famous for. He was British, damnit, and a Lord and a standing Officer in the service of the Crown. He had lost people before. Lots of people. He envied them, sometimes, to the point of wishing that he could join them. But this... They were free. They were going to live a prosperous life of quiet reflection and study, maybe trade or industry of some kind. Aziza was going to build resources and contacts so as to make a move to reclaim her family, and long after Reginald's death, she was to be under the protection of the Noble Keystone line. Fate or God or whomever was not supposed to strike her down, not when Reginald had given her a life worth living. He was as angry as he was grieving, but he could show very little of both. They had a mission, and he had his role within it to fill.

Clearing his throat, Reginald recovered the telegraph paper from the floor and walked over to the doorway of Vera's office. He nodded to the words of concern from Mahendra, responding with a simple, "I shall survive, Mr. Zalil. Excuse me, please." Addressing the remainder of the persons in the office, those who had at least passing familiarity with Aziza and Harry, "It is with no small regret that I report the passing of Miss Tarek and Sergeant Walsh. The dirigible they were taking to Malta, and then hopefully to Brighton, crashed north of the city. There were no survivors."

He paused for a moment to let it sink in.

As a quiet subject change, he reported to Vera, "There will be a detail of soldiers here shortly to transport whatever you require to a safe room within the Barracks. Also, we are supplied for a long-term venture. Soldier's fare and supplies mostly, but luxuries will be secured tomorrow morning. Do let me know if I may be of further assistance in your present endeavor." As an afterthought, he glanced over at the papers on the Vera's desk. "Oh, we have several cartographer's papers and such, maps, etc. back at the Barracks. Rather difficult to navigate by air or sea without a means of measuring coordinates." His voice was quiet and distant as compared to its normal bluster, but he spoke with knowledge and confidence. If he could not help persay, then his resources certainly could.