Play@YSDC

Beginning

You draw into Luxor on the tail of a storm. Fierce lightning traces streaks across the starless sky, illuminating every cracked street and dirty alley as the train slows from its long pull through the baking desert.
Through the windows, milky brown rivulets run down the pains as the first corpulent raindrops turns the fine sand coating the windows to mud, partially obscuring your view of the sights of the city, Chicago House is lost somewhere in the warrens of crumbling stucco shops and stacked tenements that sprawl across the city like shards of dusty pottery.
Through the mud streaked glass you can see the dimly lit station, and next to the platform sit several local police cars, each with a Driver, and five police are on foot striding determinedly in the direction of your carriage as the train pulls in.
Across the street from the station sits another car, and as your train comes to a halt, the driver steps out and waves cautiously in the direction of your carriage....

Isopel Gelert peers out of the grimy window. "The police are busy tonight. Oh, look over there, Mr. Rawson, that man, the one waving, must be our driver." She slips into a British army greatcoat in readiness for the vile weather.

Michael Finn rises to his feet, putting on his coat and hat. "Shall we go out and meet our welcoming committee, then, Miss Gelert?" he says, offering Isopel his arm.

Aswald wanders out into the rain, not bothering to don a heavier coat. "Ah, Egypt! Isn't is grand? He yells in a humorous tone, Arabic accent hanging thickly on his words. Hands resting in his pocket he casually strolls towards the vehicle.

"Why thank you, Mr. Finn." Isopel accepts the Irishman's arm. Again, she looks outside at the rain. "You know, I was confidently assured that I wouldn't need my brolly in Egypt."

"My pleasure," says MIchael, guiding Isopel to the door and assisting her off the train. "It doesn't usually rain in Egypt, but a brolly would still be useful for shade when it's sunny. I'm sure they sell them somewhere."

Isopel, a little uncertain, says to Michael: "Is Aswald our servant?--do you think he'll carry my luggage?"

Having very acute hearing Aswald heard the prompt given by the young woman and scowled a little before turning around. Stupid Europeans, they're always looking down on darkies like me. She sure is a tiny thing though, what the hell I guess I can help her. "No I'm not young lady." He calls out over his shoulder before turning and strolling over to her. "But I'd be delighted to help you." He says with a warm smile as leans down to retrieve the woman's heavier bags, himself only having one duffel that was now hanging around his neck. Bags in hand he turns back around and hurries to the car.

"Our chariot awaits, my dear," says Michael, guiding Isopel by the arm after Aswald towards the car.

A poorly dressed man, large by any standards and smelling faintly of cheap whiskey, approaches the party from the left and coughs to draw attention to himself. He stands a respectful distance from the group whilst he removes his hat and fingers the brim nervously; then in an Eastern American drawl he asks;

"'Scuse me folks, is this the party for the Bollancher archaeological team based from Chicago House." He looks down and adds "There is a lot of talk about the expedition going round the cafes and bars and to be honest I could certainly do with the work. I do have an interest in this sort of thing and having been around the world several times and have picked up a thing or two on my travels."

Aswald scoffs, he knows a drunk when he sees one. "Yeah pal recruitment ain't are department,but I'll tell you right now you'll need better credentials then, 'being around the world a couple times'."
Bold is spoken in Arabic.
He says mockingly. Truthfully he was just a bit worried that taking on more people would reduce his pay for the expedition, he knew this sort of thing was often overstaffed.

As you stand in the beginnings of a rainstorm, the police approach quickly as you disembark and move to surround your little huddle as you talk.

"Papers, Yes, Papers, please to see all papers at once"

says the apparent leader.

Aswald picks up Isopels luggage. "Thank you, it is most kind of you, Mr. Chafulu--Aswald. I'm sorry, but I always struggle with the funny names of you people!"

She whispers to Michael: "Do you think that I ought to give the man a tip?"

"'Scuse me folks, is this the party for the Bollancher archaeological team based from Chicago House."

Conscious of her new role, as agreed with Mr. Rawson, Isopel answers: "Yes, here we are--it's us!"

When the police ask for their papers, Isopel immediately delves into her coat pocket and pulls out her passport.

Wow, really? Who the hell let this girl come to Egypt by herself? Or at all for that matter. Aswald thought to himself, growing a more then a little exasperated by this woman.

Seeing the police he immediately and instinctively gets a little nervous but he hides it flawlessly. He pulls out his passport and follows the proper procedure.

As the police close in around the group, Terry hangs his head and smiles ruefully. Taking one hand from his hat he slowly moves it inside his coat and withdraws his papers, including his American passport. He waits patiently as the police work their way round the group.

When Isopel affirms that the group is indeed the Bollancher archaeological team he asks "Who is in charge here?" to ensure that he talks to the right person.

Aswald turns his head to see who answers, he had been wondering this himself.

"He's not a servant," MIchael replies to Isopel as he fishes out his passport and other identification papers. He hands them over to the policeman with a smile. "Top of the morning to you, Constable." He does not reply to the newcomer's inquiry, as he is not the one in charge, and he doesn't really know the answer himself.

Wow, really? Who the hell let this girl come to Egypt by herself? Or at all for that matter. Aswald thought to himself, growing a more then a little exasperated by this woman.

Even Isopel, closeted by her upbringing, and a little silly anyway, feels that Aswald is unhappy. She resolves to be less condescending in future.

"Who is in charge here?"

[ooc: Mr. Rawson is, I suppose.]

"He's not a servant," MIchael replies to Isopel

"Oh--okay. I think I understand, now."

One of the Policemen steps aside and roughly pushes Terry Morton into the huddle, demanding to see his papers as well.

As the lead policemen examines each of the papers in turn he dismisses them, almost without reading, and waves to his men to start guiding you back towards the train carriage.

"These papers no good, you need, err, permit, yes permit from Cairo, you are please to go back to Cairo and arrange proper papers, please to be getting back on the train now, thank you, yes, no papers for to be here, come come" and he gesticulates in the direction of the train as his men politely but firmly start ushering you backwards.

Ah what the hell is all this? Aswald thinks with great annoyance. Although, this might be a good time to show some of my more, worldly skills to my companions. He thinks slyly. Before anyone really realizes how, Aswald pulls the apparent chief a small distance away from the others and leans in close as he speaks. "Ah, but going back would be very inconvenient, I don't suppose we could just buy the permit here somehow?" He says with a small grin as he holds up a sizable bundle of cash.

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3870151/ fast talk success 35,if you need it.