Play@YSDC

"'Permit'? Why do we need a permit?" says Isopel. She frowns, thinking hard on how to bypass the local police, but she sees Aswald talking to the "Chief," so waits, in hope, that the situation can be saved.

The appearance of the cash brings a sudden silence to the small entourage of Police, and the leader stares at it for a moment, his priorities clearly torn now between whatever has brought him here and the sight of ready cash, with a grunt he grabs the cash from Aswalds hand and shoves it into a pocket in his uniform, nods curtly and with a wave of his hand he commands his men to leave, and they make their way back to the waiting police cars, without another mention of permits or passports.

"Well now that that little misunderstanding is cleared up, shall we go?" Aswald asks, walking towards the car without waiting for a response.

Michael grins as he follows Aswald, Isopel on his arm. "Well done, that man!" he says. "Nothing like a little baksheesh to grease the wheels, eh? If you drink, I'll buy you one the next time we get someplace that sells the hard stuff. If not, I'll treat you to a cup of coffee or tea, whichever you prefer."

Aswald lets out a short, good natured laugh at the praise as he climbs into the car. "Yeah, I just might take you up on that."

Mr. Rawson clucked his tongue disapprovingly.
"I do wish you hadn't given them that much, Aswald. This isn't Cairo, I'm sure he'd have gone for half that amount."

He sighs, brushes some dust off of his sleeve and gets into the car.

"No need to linger then! Time, after all, is money!"

Isopel climbs into the car as well. She smiles her thanks to Aswald, and turns to Rawson: "Aswald did us a good turn, I trust you will reimburse him--I think the drinks are on you!" Isopel winks at Michael and says: "First round: Mr. Rawson."

"Ah it's fine, with the money from this job I'm certainly not hurting for cash." Aswald says in a non-nonchalant tone, in his head though he made a mental note that cops here were cheaper to bribe. He did hate to waste money.

Hey just for appearances the Keeper said that Aswald only speaks broken English,but it's harder then you think to type that. Just letting you all know on the off chance it would change how your characters interact with him.

Terry climbs aboard if no-one stops him. "I hope no-one minds if I tag along." He introduces himself to the party;

"Hey there people, my name is Terry Morton, my friends call me Jelly Roll after the musician. Merchant Marine from Nantucket, well maybe ex Merchant Marine after my accident," he smiles ruefully.

Aswald shoots an arm out to keep the man from climbing onto the car, without saying anything he turns to Mr. Rawson to see what he wants to do about this tag along. He lowers his arm when and if Mr. Rawson gives his approval.

Michael also boards the car. "The name's Michael Finn," he says to the newcomer. "So, what brings you to Egypt?"

Rawson smiles thinly at Isopel:
"Capital idea, Miss Gellert, though I suggest we meet up with the good professor to see what the goings on are before exploring the local nightlife."

He then turns to Terry and addresses him rather stiffly:
"I'm not the sort of man to leave another man out in weather like this, Mr Morton, our destination is Chicago House, but until we find out more about our work here, I can not guarantee a paid venture for you on this, though you seem quite able to hold your own."


When everyone's in the car, he motions to the driver to move.
"I take it you're instructed to bring us to Chicago House? "

"Mr. Rawson, my surname, it's Gelert--'G'lert,' not Gellert," says Isopel pedantically; "mother always stressed the importance of naming correctly." She coughs, conscious that she made a hash of Aswald's surname. "Yes, let's go see the professor first."

She is unsure what to make of Terry Morton, but he seems to have been accepted by Rawson and Finn, so she keeps quiet on whether the "ex Merchant Marine" should be allowed in the car. She asks Terry politely: "'Accident'?"

"Your mother was right to do so, Miss Gelert. I shall take note of it. My most sincere apologies.", he nods curtly and eyes the driver impatiently.

Staring hard at Aswald, Terry says quietly "Easy there boy ... I ain't here to cause no harm to anyone, but that may not include those who get on the wrong side of me."

Garrett,No offence intended - just roleplaying there buddy ;)

Terry smiles grimly as he addresses Miss G'Lert. "Yes and an accident it was too Miss G'Lert - did I get that right enough Ma'am? It was about fourteen months ago, I was working deck on the USS Southern Belle that was docking at Alex(andria) when a mooring rope snapped and struck me on the shoulder. If it had hit me square on I'd have been cut near in half but fortunately I managed to duck at the last minute and the rope just caught me a glancing blow. It still did enough damage to shatter my shoulder blade though." Terry winces at the memory and shrugs his left shoulder somewhat gingerly.

"It still ain't one hundred percent, and the docs say the best I can hope for is about where I am today, but I believe different - I can get better. I had the chance to go back to the States to get myself patched up, but I chose to stay in Egypt. Since getting thrown out the hospital, I been making some money by playing piano in the local bars and clubs. I still see a few of the old guys from the Belle once in a while, in fact she just left Alex a few days since bound for Lisbon." Terry takes a deep breath and continues. "Anyhow, I was working the bar at Groppi's when I heard about this archaeological dig that was about to take place and was meeting up here today. And so here I am!" Morton spreads his hands out, palms up.

"As for my history and credentials, nothin' formal as I left high school as soon as I could to join up in the Merchant Marine. See I got me a passion for the old scrimshaw items that Nantucket was famous for, not the junk sold to rich tourists, but the real stuff. As I travelled round the world, I got a taste for all sorts of old stuff. Had to sell what I had, what I didn't have stolen, to pay my hospital bill. There is my life in a nutshell"

'Ooooh, tough guy' Aswald thinks to himself with mock fear. On the surface however he immediately lowers his arm at Rawson's approval and smiles at the new companion. "Sorry sir, I certainly don't mean to cause trouble.

"Well, you've probably traveled even more than I have, Mr. Morton," says Michael, offering his hand to Terry. "I only go where the expeditions take me. Never thought of becoming a sailor, but this line of work is interesting and fun."

At Rawsons impatient glance the driver nods and starts the engine, pulling away into the dark streets of Luxor. Whisking you quickly through the narrow streets to the riverfront.

As you pull up, bolts of lightning split the sky, and the crash of thunder rolls over the city. The building you have come to stands apart from the muddy shacks and dilapidated slums of the waterfront, with its high, clean walls, manicured trees and tall windows that tremble with the rolling thunder.

A crack of lightning illuminates a sign long enough for you to confirm you are at your destination, Chicago House.

"Well, lets get out of this rain shall we?" Aswald says picking up the bags he had previously been carrying and jumping out of the car.

Miss G'Lert - did I get that right enough Ma'am?

Isopel blushes: she must think before she speaks. You are used to talking with servants and children, note to self: try and converse like an adult! She says: "Yes, right enough, Mr. Morton."

She listens to Terry's story. "A lucky escape, but I'm sorry about your shoulder." When he mentions playing the piano, Isopel clutches her hands together with pleasure. "Oh, Mr. Morton! I love to sing. Maybe, if you have some spare time, we could accompany each other?" A soirée would be wonderful. I wonder if he has a grand piano?

"Well, lets get out of this rain shall we?"

"Absolutely. I'll ask the butler for hot tea."