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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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.

Simple as it is, that brief bit of contact pulls a wide grin across her face. Spurs her on into following once she's made sure to pack away enough of the necessary items for a decent paycheck (Who doesn't love the idea of getting paid in gemstones?).

"Any luck?" Chloe whispers off down the corridor, having lost track of exactly which room he's decided to duck into.

The room has shelves cut away into the stone, roll after roll of scroll illuminated by a soft light on the wall. If they're on the hunt for some bits of parchment, this seems as likely a place as any. He goes so far as to turn round, throwing her a pleased grin as he spreads his hands - shrugs in a way that's all faux deference. "Suppose you could say that."

Damn he's good.

He earns himself a look for that. One spent on Nate more often than anyone else (really, whose ego matches his on the regular anyway) but if comes naturally: short, easy scoff leading into a half-cocked smile.

It's short lived.

Because once she's moved past his posturing, Chloe's treated to the sight of walls filled with scrolls and records of all shapes and sizes. At this point they could be here all bloody night looking for the right stick figure drawing. That she can hear faint shuffling off in the distance underlines just how quickly they might need to work to solve this without getting caught. "So..remind me again why burning the lot of them is probably not the best idea?"

He actually stops dead in his tracks, very nearly causing her to run headlong into his back. He can hear the faint sounds of movement too and he isn't stupid, but-- He hisses at her, tone severe but hardly above a whisper out of necessity's sake. "Have you gone completely mad? You can't burn all this! It's a bloody miracle anything makes it through Alexandria as it is; imagine if we destroyed something important."

Well, more important than what they'd already been sent to destroy anyway. To be frank the whole idea is miserably depressing as it is. Don't make him think about throwing the baby out with the bathwater, Chloe.

"It's fine. We'll be quick about it. How hard could it be?" And he promptly sets to combing through the mish mash of collected records, telling himself that this isn't a dig that someone's combed over. There has to be some form of organization and it's not like it's impossible to read hieroglyphics. He's a little rusty, sure, but if there was one thing the British are phenomenal at, it's appropriating and destroying Egyptian artifacts.

Edited 2013-10-18 07:44 (UTC)

"Not mad, practical." It isn't the soft, slow patter of footfalls outside that has her tense and taut, is all she's saying. One resigned exhale later and she mirrors his efforts on the opposite end of the room. Christ help her if they spend the last of this pleasant trip neck deep in papyrus.

He combs through the racks as quickly as he can manage with an ear for the sound of footsteps. The layout of the temple makes it difficult to judge if they're getting nearer or straying father, but he'd rather not--

Charlie pauses, arm deep in a row of scrolls. "You really want to speed things up here?"

The thick pile of scrolls, his stance-- the shift in weight when he glances over-- Chloe matches it save for a cocked, moderately curious raised brow.

"Now would be the time for it, yes."

"It won't be subtle," he warns, hands stilling. There's a certain frankness to his tone, to the cant of his shoulders, that's quite serious. "Might mean we'll have to make a quick getaway if it goes badly."

"Didn't put that rope on the bloody wall for nothing, now did we?" There's humor in how she says it, and whether or not it's true hardly matters: if it'll save her from playing Egyptian bingo, she's more than happy to go all in. "Let's hear it."

Extracting his arms from the mess of scrolls and record keeping, Charlie brushes his hands across the linen wrapped round his center. He shoots a sidelong glance toward the doorway. "Make just a bit of noise. I'll stand just inside there and grab whoever comes through. We get them to show us what we're looking for, we lift it and destroy it once in the clear. Yeah?"

It's not exactly an elegant plan, but it's better than this.

Charlie might not be Nate (similarities mostly skin deep-- or possibly just seen that way due to some sort of willful override on her part) but when it comes to planning, they both have a talent for thinking up the most reckless plans she's ever had the pleasure (and displeasure) of scraping through in the entirety of her completely legitimate career. That she doesn't like the sound of it is a given.

That she concedes a moment later-- one low, even exhale as her fingers curl about the slender neck of a nearby decorative pot before shattering it against the wall beside her-- is just as inevitable.

"Have at it, Rambo." Bloody madman.

See, this is why he's fond of her - or one of the reasons. It's a completely nutter sort of idea, but she takes it well enough in stride that Charlie hardly has time to slip to the doorway before the crash of the pot prompts that distant scrape of footsteps to stray closer - for a man to appear in the doorway. The sight of a lone woman in the archive must not be something to raise the general alarm over, but the man does stride forward with a stormy look on his face, mouth open to--

Which is when Charlie grabs him in a choke hold from behind, clamping a broad hand over his nose and mouth and squeezing the man's neck into the crook of his elbow despite the bucking and clawing at his forearms. He holds steady as the man struggles, jaw set and clenched, until the priest - surely he must be that - goes quiet and starts to sag. It's only then that Charlie loosens his grip so the bloke won't black out on them.

"See?" He throws Chloe a grin over the limp man's shoulder. "Nothing to it."

It's impressive in its own way, honestly. Chloe's not much for his particular technique (personal preference: the hired thugs she usually squares off against tend to be tall enough that she'd need a pair of platforms to get anywhere near their necks, and one hard sock to the jaw tends to work just as well) but she knows the road maps if not the route. There are a number of ways the stunt he just pulled could leave them with a dead or quickly dying captive.

Still, that's not what Charlie gets to hear.

"Darling I'm not going to applaud you for putting the keys in the ignition. Start driving, then we'll talk. "

With a huff of breath - honestly, everyone's a bloody critic - Charlie swings the poor bloke under his arm and gently (moving toward not so gently) slaps his cheek to bring him round. "Come on, lad. Perk up. I've a favor to ask you."

Not surprisingly, it's met with a bit of struggle - though Charlie squashes that quickly enough, clamping his hand tighter over his mouth and nose again.

"Easy there. I just want you to look something up for me, isn't that right darling?" Charlie throws Chloe a sidelong glance, wheeling the man around so he can get a proper look at her as well. "And then the lovely lady and I'll be out of your hair. So point out where you've got Amenhotep's scroll quick as you can, eh?"

He's self aware enough to know that the whole thing is comedic as anything. He's got a bloody Egyptian priest under his arm, struggling against his grip and then cow towing the moment he closes the angle of his elbow or tightens his fingers. It's a train wreck waiting to happen. Nonetheless after a terse moment of consideration, the man in his grip starts to shuffle in the direction of one of the shelving units.

Christ help them, they're going to wind up beheaded by the end of the night.

Or whatever the Egyptians do to heretical criminals in this era.

The direction's enough of a hint for Chloe to jump in on her end, digging through the unit's contents with little in the way of care or concern. She doesn't hold any contempt for the mess of scrolls she's currently pawing through, but they've a priest by the throat in the middle of the archives: the less time wasted, the better. And by the time the heap of not-targets is a few inches high, she finally manages to uncover the carefully wrapped bundle of words that they were sent here to erase completely.

"Jackpot." Said to no one but herself, because-- without giving Charlie a second to reconsider their primary objective-- Chloe tosses the text atop the nearest smoldering brazier. "Job well done, congratulations and so on and so forth-- let's go." The urgency in her tone? Practically palpable. Good thing they stocked up on treasure before hitting the books.

Both Charlie and the priest he's got under his arm make a matching noise of horror as she tosses the scroll onto the fire, Charlie hand slipping from over his captive's mouth and nose in the process. There's a pregnant beat of horror as the old scroll goes up like a bloody matchstick, followed by an uncomfortable beat as the two men share a look--

Which quickly dissolves as the priest starts on the very first note of shouting an alarm. Charlie quickly tightens his arm back round his neck, clapping his hand soundly down over the man's mouth to smother the sound. "Shit." A solid strike to the side of the priest's head is enough for him to go limp. Charlie dumps him rather unceremoniously to the floor.

"Yeah alright, going."

Well it wasn't the exit she'd been hoping for, but it was the one she'd been expecting-- footsteps quick and light across the carefully cut stone floors as they rush out to retrace their route. It's hardly a surprise when the patrol they'd previously dodged is already sprinting in through the entrance for a much-earned welcome.

"Oh lovely." Exit blocked by two armed guards, high stone walls without handholds to climb and a dead end behind them. Déjà vu just isn't the term for it. And in the lead from her earlier stunt, Chloe's quick to stop herself from getting any closer to those very dangerous looking blades. "What's the time, Charlie?"

He's quick enough after her, footsteps arguably less light as he goes (the element of stealth has been blasted out of the water as it is), though less quick to stop as she draws up suddenly. Charlie nearly collides with her, catching her shoulder as much in an effort to keep her upright as it is to steady himself.

The question isn't what he's expecting - as if he was anticipating one at all. "Seriously? Pardon the pun, but I don't think this is the time." They've got bloody swords leveled at them, thank you very much.

The weight on her shoulder's grounding, steadying, even. With nothing on hand of use to keep them safe, and no amount of charismatic excuses for letting a bloody heretic stroll through the front gates, something solid at her back keeps her from feeling anxious about their current situation. Still, there's no thought involved in how her free arm's already raised protectively across his midsection.

If she even notices, it's not acknowledged.

"Oh for god's sake-- the time, Charlie: how much time do we have left before the Initiative yanks us out of this mess?"

"Oh." Right. That's a bit sloppy of him. He quickly turns his wrist to get a look at his watch - has to make himself see past the glamor or whatever technological trick is making it look like a heavy metal cuff - before he can really distinguish much of anything. Then: "Soon, actually. Though I'd rather not get there with my guts hanging out if you don't mind."

He closes his hand more firmly at her shoulder, dragging her back a half pace from the approaching guards. There has to be a back exit from this place - or somewhere they can loose the bastards and then loop back round.

She doesn't bother fighting him when he does, falling back into the tug of his grip, attention divided between their attackers and the surroundings. If there's a separate way out-- something to climb or at least get them out of blade's reach--

And then it hits her. Has her rummaging through the contents of the satchel she'd brought in with them before pulling one of the empty canopic jars free. There's a brief moment where the look on the guard's faces mirrors the old priest when he'd watched the scroll go up in flames, and Chloe (thank you years of practice scraping through the tightest of spots) leaps upon that chance like it's the only shot they've got left. "One step closer and..." and she can't for the life of her remember a single Egyptian name.

Shit. Charlie, a little help?

If there's one place Charlie lags behind the infamous Nathan Drake, it's that he's not always terribly quick on his feet. Clever, absolutely. Reliable? Honestly probably more so. But he's desperately guilty of over thinking and there's a palpable pause between when she lags and he jumps in:

"Abubakar. We'll splatter his brains."

Taking so long to come up with something costs him an easy elbow to the ribs, and with a significant delay added to the mix, their opposition doesn't look terribly convinced anymore. Even so, the risk is high. Obviously lacking a firm understanding of what goes on here-- how important Abubakar is to the priests of the temple and so on-- it takes a few moments (plus a threatening shake or two of the empty jar) for the two to slowly ease back a few steps, fingers still tight around the hilts of their weapons.

Chloe starts edging in around them to aim for the exit. "Right, you two. Not a muscle."

This has got to be the most ludicrous 'escape' he's ever made in his life (and that counts the time in Malaysia with the leopard). It's so utterly pedestrian, made comically ridiculous by the fact that they're in bloody linens and facing off with a pair of actual honest to god blades and their hostage is a (nonexistent) bit of someone's insides. This is going to be one of those stupid stories he tells to people when he's doing his best Victor Sullivan impression.

Strafing sideways, he moves along with her toward the exit. They just have to get the guards turned around, take a few feet and they'll have a clear path to the gates and their escape into the tangled mess that is Cairo itself. Though give them ten, fifteen minutes and they'll be home free regardless.

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dull travel tag aww yeah!

even duller summarizing tag!!

even duller--- no, no wait I am stopping this!!!

Re: even duller--- no, no wait I am stopping this!!!

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ps I'm back to random icons enjoy

delightful me 2

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oh right I'm supposed to be random iconing--....... 8T

Gosh!!!

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