exsiliumlogs | Just how far would you like to run

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Just how far would you like to run

Date & Time: 9/10 + 1:30pm. Hottest time of the day in the desert. Enjoy.
Location: Cairo, Egypt
Characters: Chloe Frazer, Charlie Cutter
Summary: Get in, steal some ancient, sacred artifacts pertaining to the Book of the Dead and a couple of spare canopic jars, party hard and start some trouble.
Warnings: Extreme stupidity

When the swirl of dust from displacement settles along with the slight nausea rolling around at the lowest point of her stomach-- when Chloe shakes off the memory of exsilium under the heat of midday sun on her skin-- making the leap from future to past is routine enough these days that she skips the shock and awe, moving to give both herself and her surroundings a quick, efficient evaluation. They're not far off from the city (Cairo, according to the briefing) but the distance serves as a decent enough buffer as the pair get their bearings.

Better than being shoved feet-first into over crowded streets, in her opinion.

"Jesus, Charlie." She's halfway through patting down the almost too-taut fabric of her Initiative-donated linen dress by the time he finally grabs her attention. "You've got hair."

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And suddenly there's the first flaw in their plan because there's just nothing quite so unpleasant as having someone stand on your sunburn. Charlie makes a low grunting noise as she clambers up onto his shoulder, squinting hard at his feet to keep from getting any of the debris in his eyes. He thinks up the most creative string of swearing he can manage, teeth grit, and to his credit only hisses part of it out loud as she shifts one foot into the newly carved gaps.

"Look I'm a thief, not an escalator."

"And we'll both be on our asses if I can't hit this last spot--" which isn't going to happen on one foothold plus a lack of support while she's carving. Not unless she suddenly learns how to levitate (and if she did she wouldn't be chipping away at this god damn stone). "Higher, darling. C'mon."

Growling under his breath, Charlie jams he hands under her other foot. It takes some bracing and some shoving the tender skin of his sunburned shoulder, but he manages to get his grip on the sole of her sandal again: lifting her up a few inches higher. "Quick as you can, love," he grits out, arms already starting to wobble somewhat precariously under her weight.

He makes a mental note to practice dead lifting her weight over his head once they get back to the island.

"That's what...he said." Hard as it is (get it) to hammer away with her major support trembling under her heel, Chloe gets the job done in record time: tucks the tools away in the satchel at her waist before shoving her fingertips into the remaining handholds and clambering up along the last stretch left between her and the top of the wall.

And the dress? Definitely not helping.

The cord's tied off, tossed down, and while Charlie deals with her peace offering for tearing up his shoulders, Chloe works to tear the sides of her skirt with her hands.

He hisses out a low noise of relief the moment she's off his shoulder - has just enough time to try and examine the residual sting before she's tossing the line down to him. From there it's simple work to scale the wall, though wrapping the rope around his pink forearm is a similar brand of discomfort. The next time they're sent running off to Egypt, he's making a point to demand some sunscreen. How it slipped his mind in the first place--

He doesn't linger long at the top of the wall: quickly pulling the rope up and dropping it down along the other side. They're exposed here and the night's a clear one, bright enough from the half moon and glinting stars overhead. Charlie goes down first; his larger bulk sticks out like a sore thumb at the top of the wall and if they run into anyone on the other side he can probably be trusted to knock them out quickly enough.

They land in the middle of the colonnade, just south of the shrines and (hopefully) the offering chamber. Fires lit, ceremonies concluded, most of the priests and attendants have left for the night, leaving a few guards to circle back and forth between the main gates and the shrines themselves. With rows of massive columns lining the walkway, Chloe and Charlie have deep, dark shadows to prowl in.

Thank you, torch light.

She slips past her partner in crime when she lands; flattens herself against the nearest pillar to wait out a passing patrol.

Prowling, at least, is well within his skillset. He might not look it, but every so often Charlie can summon a certain level of finesse and subtlety. He slides after her the moment the coast is clear, playing leapfrog and going for the pillar ahead of her. From there it's an easy game of cat and mouse: eating up ground when the patrol's back is turned and holding breath when they're not. It's all timing, knowing when to hold and when to stay as much as it is being quick and quiet. He'd never call himself economical with his motion, but in this case? When it's necessary? Sure. He can swing that.

It's not even a concern in the back of her mind that he might stumble or somehow botch this for the both of them. As a matter of fact it's pleasant, really: watching him leap from shadow to shadow with a surprising amount of agility. No one would ever think it to look at him, but then again, most everything about him is well beyond skin-deep.

A few well timed strides up across stone steps and she manages to soundlessly climb through the entrance to the inner sanctum just before the patrol shifts. Charlie'll have to wait for a better opportunity, but there's nothing wrong with being patient every now and again.

He nearly makes a go of it anyway, but manages to stop himself. There's no get away car waiting for them and he doesn't really trust himself to out pace the guards if push comes to shove. And they certainly haven't anyone with enough leverage here to bail them out if something goes wrong. No, they've got to be careful here - slip in and out with no one being the wiser - if they're going to keep any peace.

So he waits, pressed flush against the last pillar and counts in his head to a number he doesn't really know. Then there's a crunch of footsteps. He sucks in a breath of air, willing himself to become invisible as the patrol shifts in his direction and-- the two guards pass by his position, too intent on rounding the corner to catch sight of him. Charlie waits a whole five seconds before he makes for the same entrance Chloe just disappeared through, scrambling through it quick and quiet.

He saves the "Christ, that was a near thing," for when his feet are safely on the floor inside.

"First time I've heard that from you." Chloe mutters, patting his hip with a smile as she presses on towards offerings and incense: expensive gifts left out for deities much too busy to bother appreciating them, if you ask her.

There's no hesitation when she lifts a stunning gold and turquoise necklace from the nearest table, turning to glance at him from over her shoulder. "Think they'll mind sharing?"

He catches the check to his hip with an exaggerated 'oof' and lets her get a few strides off before he falls in to follow her lead. "They might," he says, though in the distinctly dismissive way that translates to 'But who the hell cares, we're here to destroy some priceless works of history here - what's one necklace?' "Probably looks better on you than on the table anyway."

It's his turn to pat her: square hand in the middle of her shoulder blades as he moves past her. They're not going to find the scrolls in this room.

"Charmer." Is the response he earns, though she's already snapping the clasp round the back of her neck and the tone of voice she uses suggests that-- while not unwelcome-- his flattery isn't her main inspiration for borrowing from Bast.

It takes a minute or two more spent pawing through trinkets before she trails after him, sipping wine from an offering dish. "Not rushing this are you, Charlie?"

"God no." He tosses her a glance over his shoulder, a quick grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. He's not, but they don't have all the time in the world either. If he's going to spend it somewhere, he'd rather it be in the company of some very old Egyptian texts instead of wine and trinkets. "I thought you liked men with a bit of ambition."

He pauses at the doorway of the offertory room, listening hard for footsteps or any hint of movement. Guards, priests-- and them without a terribly solid idea about the layout of the place.

They have their preferences.

"Men with ambition don't have a flat on the lower east end." She chimes in helpfully before taking one more casual pull. Between the two of them it's fairly obvious that without patrols in sight, Chloe's content to let Charlie take point.

Also to take it seriously. Because Christ knows with her mouth buried in the edge of that winebowl, she's really not.

"Oi! It's a great--" He lowers his voice substantially, hissing the rest: "--my flat is prime real estate, alright? I've had offers made on it."

So maybe he's not taking this exceptionally seriously either. Whatever happens, they've got a get out of jail free card coming for them in a day and a half. Not exactly prime motivation to do things very clean, now is it?

Unless they go losing a limb or two it should be just fine, right?

"Doesn't count." Which comes out a bit slower than she'd care for it to, spiced wine still stuck to her tongue from a hasty swallow.

Hell, so far as he knows the Initiative can probably fix that up just fine too.

"What? Why doesn't it count? That's a perfectly valid yard stick for measuring the value of property, I'll have you know." He gives her a gentle shove, flattening himself against the wall and daring to peek round the corner. Looks clear. Charlie shoots her a quick sidelong glance, frowning -- it's a nice flat -- and then slides out into the hall, making a beeline for the first doorway the catches his eye.

She knows it is. Self-satisfied grin stuck firmly in place when he spares a second to glance off in her direction.

Chloe follows not long after once Charlie's out the door, shuffling down the corridor on the balls of her feet to keep noise at a minimum. If it's any sort of mystery (of course it isn't) she's enjoying herself. Not just for the feeling of freedom that comes from running a job on their own terms, smelling something other than wood rot or mildew, but the simple thrill of some pure bloody adventure in a place she's only seen in relics.

And the first room Charlie ducks into looks more surgical than sacred: both filled and vacant canopic jars lining the walls alongside rolls of spare linen and surgical tools. They catch in the dimmed brazer's firelight, easily winning themselves a bit of attention.

"Hel-lo." He's starting to think there may be hope for them after all. If this isn't a stroke of luck, Charlie doesn't know what is. Moving farther into the room, he moves along the rows of jars - gently, tentatively even, brushing his thumb across the fronts of them as he goes. It's bizarre: something he's only seen in museums and photographs, here and new and real. Filled with organs instead of ash and centuries of dust.

"Think that nutter back on the island could make do with an empty one?" In the present, it seems a little... macabre to go stealing someone's organs. They might need that in the after life.

"Oi." Chloe snorts, dropping the offering dish unceremoniously on the stone edge of a cadaver table at the opposite end of the room. "He's not a nutter."

"He's a dragon-- which, by the way, you ought to be into."

Never mind the canopy jars.

"Ha, yeah alright." Dragons. Really now. Except she's not laughing along with him and that's not really the sort of thing she's into lying about. Charlie shoots her a sidelong glance, dropping his hand away from the rows of jars.

"Seriously? He looks--" Okay, not normal, but: "--well he doesn't look like a dragon anyway."

"Next time you see him, ask. For the whole," there's a pause as she wanders closer, waving a dismissive hand. Like she understands how it works. "scaly transformation deal."

"Just don't be disappointed when it's not as impressive as you might've imagined it would be."

"Yeah, alright," There's still a distinctly skeptical edge to his voice - more the sense that Dragons are real over any kind of genuine doubt in her. Don't get him wrong, he's been in Exsilium for a year and seen some weird shit flying around while on missions-- but dragons that breathe fire and dragons you strike deals with seem like two very different sorts. "I'll keep that in mind."

He raps his knuckles against the shelf of canopic jars, tipping his head. "So, we lifting one of these are d'you think nutter dragon has something better in mind?"

She doesn't fault him for it. If she hadn't seen it curled up in a nest made from one of her most prized possessions (her bloody jacket, thank you very much), she never would've believed it herself. Chloe reaches up to pluck a jar from the shelf-- feels light in her palm-- and tuck it away in the back with a quiet little shrug. "Robbed plenty of tombs but I'm not all that fond of the idea of carrying around corpse bits."

"Sacred ones especially."

Which honestly comes off as a bit of a relief. Ancient body parts is one thing - he'll lug about a petrified hand or whatever for as long as the day is long if there's need to (which has really only happened once, but you never know when it might come round again) -; fresh ones are another matter entirely.

"Alright, no bits." He moves beyond her, hand brushing across the small of her back as he goes. "Come along then; onwards and upwards." Or onwards and through the next series of small rooms as the case may be.

http://youtu.be/bVhcB9ucmdg?t=17s

it's the only other climbing icon I have okay

mmmhmmmm

what a champ that Charlie Cutter

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I'm really mad random icon keeps working so well

god dammit!!

oh there we go

srs snarking apparently

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canopic jars CANOPIC JARS ty autocorrect

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