CLOSED SIGNUPS e s o t e r i c a || DRY SEASON

[Applo]

---

The process of unpacking all the medical supplies was a slow and laborious one. It helped that the camp was all but deserted leaving the two doctors free to go about their work unimpeded, but there was still just a certain amount of hefting things about to be done. By the time everything was laid out on blankets Bertrum found himself dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Well, hopefully that was the worst of it. Lets get on with double checking what we have so we can get back to trying find a breeze to cool ourselves in." Looking over to Daneford, Bertie could see the man looked a little tense. "And do try to relax a little Dr Danford. This is as much for me as yourself. I dare say, it's probably not since my Cambridge days that I last thought about some of the procedures we might have to do out here. Good to refresh the old memory. If it helps, call me Bertie, I see precious little reason for two medical men such as ourselves to stand on decorum out here."

After giving the man a reassuring smile, Betrum turned his gaze to the collection of supplies and instruments before him. One of the stranger looking metallic items caught his eye and the end of his cane swung towards it.

"Let's start here. Remind me what we might use this for."

---

​

 

[Kuno]

BEARER OF BAD NEWS
Collab between @Kuno | @Doctor Jax
​

The Australian stared out across the tributary that bordered the camp. His eyes were far off, heavy thoughts on his mind. Yes, they were paid much better for their troubles, but his gut nagged, and he had long since learned to trust his gut. Things were oddly quiet around here. The mosquitoes buzzed, the birds guffawed, and the water ran, but it was… almost muffled. As if the jungle were waiting for something.

He trusted Charles, had known him to shoot straight, by and large, on the most important details. But this seemed a far different kettle of fish. His trek around the camp had revealed discomfiting things - burnt remnants of thick poles which seemed to have once been parts of houses. Pots and pans, buried deep in the mud of the river at the shore line. He knew there were native hill peoples here, some hostile.

And it seemed like the first group may have run into them. Not a good omen.

His thoughts were interrupted by an Irish brogue attempting to steal his attention, and he turned about, standing eye to eye with Peter O'Keefe. The man had a good head on his shoulders, even if he could be a bit of a hen, fluttering and clucking over the other auxiliaries. Ah, better than indifference…

"Yes, Mr. O'Keefe, what can I do you for?" Andrew asked with a slight smile, hands at parade rest behind his back.

"Well, sir, I uh…Well."

Now that he'd finally reached his captain, Peter suddenly found himself more tongue-twisted than a sinner in confession. Entreating others to read for him always chafed at his pride, and he looked a degree uncomfortable, his eyes constantly breaking contact with the Aussie's to look somewhere over the river. He began to knead the letter in his hands.

"I've here a letter from the missus, gotten I think after a day or two from reaching port. I'm...not too keen on letters and reading and writing and the like, so if you'd be so kind as to read it for me." He hesitated before proffering the sealed envelope to the other gentleman.

"No need to read it entirely, if you're busy," Peter added hurriedly, "She's of a mind to talk, so she is. Just the general spirit of the letter is all I need. I'd be much obliged to you."

The Australian listened to Peter's request quietly, his eyes lowered. He found that oftentimes, direct eye contact, especially his own, had an unnerving effect. He nodded, nonetheless, to show his attentiveness. Finally, he looked up, bright eyes striking even in the gloam.

"Of course, of course, it's really no hardship," Andrew stated, gently taking the letter from Peter's hands. "I'll read it verbatim, even. I'd hate for you to miss even a word."

"Peter, ("a good start, I'd think")

I had not meant to write so soon, but circumstances have grown such I could hardly stay my hand. I longed to send you nothing but good news, yet it is not to be."

Andrew's eyebrows drew together, glancing up to the man. He swallowed. Oh, this wasn't looking good.

"I lied when I told you I was feeling better before you left. Please don't be cross with me. Had I told you the truth, you would have never left, and what good wife willfully keeps their husband from his employment? Certainly not me."

The Australian read ahead. He took a slow breath.

"Are you sure you want me to keep going?"

All color had drained from Peter's face. At Andrew's words, he snapped out of his stupor and began to nod vehemently. "Yes, yes, by God man. You could hardly stop now."

Andrew nodded in agreement. Yes, that was foolish of him to ask such a question. He continued.

"But I'm afraid things have changed. My health has grown worse. I feel weaker by the day, and the dreadful tonics Doctor Murphy insists on giving me do nothing but turn my stomach. He thinks to send me to the countryside, but I doubt it will do any good. Besides, you know how I feel about the countryside. At least here I have Lisa to call on me, who even now writes this letter for me. I feel poorly today, acushla, even more so than yesterday, too ill even to hold pen to paper...

I hope you are doing well, my love. I am anxious to hear of the adventures you've been on in Siam. God willing, you will find me well and able upon your return.

Delia."

Andrew was quiet, looking up at Peter, waiting. It was clear this was very bad news to be getting half a world away. He… he had been in those same shoes.

"Mr. O'Keefe, my dearest condolences."

I feel weaker by the day...I feel poorly, acushla…

What did one call mourning before a loved one was lost?

Peter could not hear Andrew anymore. The gurgling of the river had faded into nothing, the singing of the birds having lost their tune. He stared and stared, his eyes unfocused, at the rank jungle of Siam.

Memories of his last day in Dublin flooded his mind. How the color had returned to Delia's skin, and how she'd smiled so much her cheeks had grown a rosy hue. How she'd clung to his hand as he'd said his goodbyes. How her skin had been ice cold to the touch - by God, he'd noticed, but didn't think to press the issue. Her hat sailing jauntily into the air as the boat had drawn away. A nondescript man in a weathered coat, hanging by all the while…

"Well," Peter began shakily, finally looking back at his captain. He nodded once, twice, in a fruitless effort to clear the tears rimming his eyes. "Thank you, I...I ought to be headed back to work."

The violence of his emotions was threatening to overtake him. Shaking his head, he spun away, letter forgotten as he stumbled off back towards camp.

 

[Nemopedia]

With the local scolding them for breaking glass and cursing their group Finley was glad for the net surrounding his head, covering the shame that was slowly making its way known on his face. Despite not having any hand in the antics the botanist did feel embarrassed, a careful eye shifting over the woman who was supposedly their guide.

Why did she have to show off again? Didn't she know better than to anger the locals and rise their superstition? Or was she the type to not give it any thought, insisting on going around on her own beat? Perhaps it was him who failed to understand their culture, having grown too used to complying himself instead of asserting. He did get that a lot as a feedback.

However, he was pretty sure that diplomacy meant respecting and keeping superstitions in mind as well. What if they really got cursed because of a show-off?

Worrying himself Finley shifted his weight, fingers intertwining with each other as he scraped his throat.

"So…" he tried, as he realised that the gunman of earlier had left. Great, just the reassurance he needed. Not.

"Rat ear fungus, right?" the male stammered out, eyes still shifting between their guide, the broken glass, and their local cook.

 

[Red Thunder]

Tatyana Volkov

Farther Up; Farther In​

Eyes down, with the narrow and precise focus of a microscope, Ana didn't much notice Mr. Greene's reacquisition of his lantern. There was too much to write, too much to catalogue, too much to- The light dimmed with increasing speed, and despite her best efforts, Ana quickly lost the finer detail of her work to the encroaching darkness. Her forehead creased, and heat built in her chest as a reprimand formed on her tongue.

"Moy svet! Vernis' srazu s-"

Looking up, she caught the direction of their exit, or rather entrance, further into the ruin. Cursing loudly under her breath, a veritable stream of Russian curses and insults flowing from an all too expressive vocabulary, Ana rapidly herded her papers and writing implements into her satchel and shuffled after them.

She barely made entrance into the atrium before she came to a sharp halt, the small clack of her heeled steps echoing briefly before disappearing into the stoney void about them. Before her, illuminated by Mr. Greene's light, was a squarish pillar many meters tall, covered in yet more images and chiseled, alien phrases. Yet this was…more, somehow, than those in the entryway had been. Greater, or of more significance. Greene certainly felt it, and he appeared slack-jawed and hypnotized, a man entranced. He muttered something, perhaps about their purpose, but Ana didn't hear. Instead, she spun around, looking back in the direction they'd come.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap.

Bare feet on stone, small and light. Children's feet, it seemed to her. In the dark, she could not be sure, but there appeared to be nothing. The footsteps stopped abruptly, but a moment's interruption of the solemn, dead silence in the temple. Shaking her head, Ana turned back to face Greene. Perhaps it was nothing.

@Doctor Jax @Ritual Lobotomy

 

[Doctor Jax]

Mr. Greene & Company
The financier was almost hesitant to walk deeper into the atrium. He was, quite frankly, scared to.
Because he remembered this. He remembered the stele in front of him, a vision from a fever dream. He knew that he had lost quite a lot of his memories from the previous expedition, but he never realized... He must have made it this far. Yes, he had.

He felt compelled forward by the stele before them, lit by the lantern in his hand. Of course - there was the nick in the top corner of the obelisk. The tree itself was carved in such miniscule design, by chisels that had to have been at best a pinhead in size. The stele itself seemed to be hollow, showing a deep, cunning dark inside of its confines. Across its face, there were designs of angels and demons, winged humanoids in beautiful relief with beatific expressions. They all wore the ancient clothing resembling Siam's golden Sukhothai era, their hands placed in either wai positions of prayer, or with a single hand raised. Notably, at the top, there were nine figures, men half-dressed in robes and appearing wizened by age. They seemed to float around the top of the tree, as if imparting wisdom down upon it and those below.

"Obviously, this had some sort of religious significance," Greene stated, turning back to Thomas. "And I do think this is the stele we were attempting to find. Good work, Mr. O' Reilly, you have successfully led us to the northern end of the complex. I... have it on good information that it is somewhat this size, and they seemed to have blocked the exit behind it--"

He began to walk behind the stele, and a feeling of dread immediately seized him. It was sudden and visceral, a learned shock.

And it was clear as soon as he walked back just fifteen paces why. He jolted back as figures emerged from the dark, shadows thrown across the walls. Yet, the figures were immobile...

The light cast upon eight corpses, mummified remains seated in lotus positions on the ground.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Greene shouted in surprise, wheeling away.

@Red Thunder @Ritual Lobotomy

+++​

The Fungus Finders
Angelica felt a subtle unease with the discord in the camp. She had not had this issue beforehand, of so many dissenting opinions. Having Lung El upset especially unnerved her - he was normally such a staid man, of even temper and calm demeanor, not prone to outbursts of emotion. Yet, she knew that the Thai were a superstitious lot who took their traditions seriously. Breaking glass was, indeed, a prime offense worthy of bringing upon them all sorts of misfortunes, chief among them ghosts, but she had said her piece.

Decha was more a worry than any sort of specter.

Fin reiterated their reason for entering the rainforest, and she brightened significantly. The young woman nodded.

"I believe he is making some sort of vermicelli salad which includes limes and that fungus. I have had it before, and it is nice upon the palate. Oddly, they serve it cold rather than hot, perhaps due to the blasted weather. Now, I believe we may want these..."

Angelica grabbed a few lanterns from a small crate near Greene's tent, distributing them. Immediately, with little preamble, she began into the forest with little ado. It was obvious she was comfortable in her surroundings herself - or at the least very naive to the danger they could possibly pose.

"Mr. Finley, is this your first trek overseas? I assume that Miss Alex is very well-traveled," she called out as she walked into the thick underbrush, whacking at the surrounding vegetation with a machete. She had wandered quite deep by this point, the camp a dull spot of brilliance amidst the dense foliage. To her surprise, however, she came across something... odd.

The outline of what used to be a hut, in the deep wilderness, burnt completely to the ground and almost totally overgrown. And it was not the only one, as she raised her lantern.
@DayDreamer @Nemopedia

+++
The Doctors Two
With the supplies laid out, it was obvious that they were well-stocked. Bandages, drugs of every seeming kind, clips and swabs, glass bottles, powders, it was all here. The spread was impressive, laid out upon the ground for them to look at. Danford looked up at Bertrum, and his eyes lightened with the chance to call the senior doctor instead by his Christian name. He grinned despite himself.

"Right! Bertie.... well, then, I, uh, I do not usually go by Danford. My given name is Abraham, but my family calls me Hammy!"

Ever the puppy dog in man's skin, he seemed all too eager to share this fact about himself. Then, he was directed back on task, and he nodded with determination, looking at the things in front of them. The senior doctor pointed his cane to a metal instrument, and Hammy opened his mouth with understanding.

"Yes, yes, that's, erm, well that's a speculum, sir, for doing examinations of the pelvic region upon women. We knew that we would have several females with us on this trip, and I requested that we consider their welfare..."

Not that he was a specialist in the matters of women, of course, in any sense. But it did to be prepared for such eventualities.

"Let's see... Here, we have calipers, for measuring. Stethoscope, for listening to the heart and lungs and determining the character of each by their respective sounds. Er, this is.... is a... confound it, I know what it is..."

He struggled as he held up another medical instrument, what a more experienced surgeon would know as a hand trepanner - a t-shaped device that fit in the hand like a corkscrew to drill a hole into someone's head.
@Applo

 

[DayDreamer]

Alex turned to look at Lung El and she groaned realizing what she had done.How could she have been carried away so much as to break the glass? Maybe it was the fact that she had recently recharged her tattoos. The protection they offered her from ghosts often made her careless of such actions. She bowed in apologies to Lung El, explaining to him about such in Siamese and promised to be more mindful as not everybody shared the same protection she did.

She followed the woman into the jungle, keeping her distance towards their left, scanning the area for any signs of the ingredients or danger. She was not very approving of how careless Angelica seemed in the jungle, hacking and strutting around like she owned the place, striking up conversation even! "No, I have not left Siam once. But I know this area like the palm of my hand and that is what you hired me........ Don't go any further!" She warned as they came to a circle of huts. Granted they were burned down and for all intents and purposes been replaced by the jungle again, but Alex wanted to be certain.

Glaring at the two city dwellers to stay where they were, she took a step into the circle in order to inspect. "So that's why they have been quiet...." She muttered to herself as she took a better look around. And was not an accident either. There were bodies, some still with rotting charcoal colored flesh, others completely clean, just the white of bone showing from the thicket. Not all of them were tribe members. She had figured as much when she kicked a skull wearing a typical british hat.

Something had went down here and it sure as hell had not been peaceful. "Is anybody else after the same thing you folks do?"

---------
OOC: I finna did it!

 

[Applo]

A collab with @Kuno & @Applo​

---

Peter wasn't sure where he was going. He had no intention of returning to the men's training, and the thought of heading back to the others emptied his mind of all sense. Nevertheless, his legs carried him there to camp, one foot stepping in front of the other, his head a vacuous space.

I feel poorly, acushla. I feel poorly, acushla. I feel--

How could he have missed it? How? She'd been right under his nose the whole damn time, and still, still, somehow, someway, he'd missed it all-together. Where in God's name had his mind been? Peter paced by his tent, grabbing frantically at his clothes, his hair, his guns, anything solid to keep him tethered to the present. The memory of his departure filled his vision, becoming distorted with vile images: Delia's ice-cold hands, like that of a corpse; a man marked by Satan hanging over the woman like a ghoul. Frozen skin and pale features. Deadened eyes. A bloodied jaw hanging slack against a shotgun--

His breathing became stilted, a visor-like grip forming once more around his chest. His face contorted; he sucked in a breath, then another, but nothing helped. The others...they couldn't see him like this. They had - he had - work to do, things to get done. People to look after. It was irresponsible to keep going on like this.

"In your own time Abraham. I'm sure it will come to you. Fortunately that is an instrument that I haven't had much call to employ since medical school." The jovial tones of the expeditions senior doctor carried through the relative silence of the camp. "If you would excuse me for one moment though, I believe there is something I need to attend to."

Whatever the junior of the two medical men said in reply was said in too much of a mumble to be heard. Whatever it was, it elicited a gentle chuckle from his elder before the sound of someone gingerly making their way across camp and the occasional click of metal hitting stone became the only audible evidence of the doctors' existence.

"Mr O'Keefe, you have been walking back and forth across my vision for the last five minutes; is there something I can be of assistance with?" The blonde haired doctor leaned with both hands on his cane, a single questioning eyebrow raised. The question had been asked in a far more muted voice than the man had employed when talking to his colleagues about whatever the pair had been doing.

"No."

It was a blatant lie. Peter still felt as if he was walking underwater, and he struggled to keep his demeanor calm as he glanced at the Brit, eyes unfocused.

"I'm fine. I'm alright. I just...need a moment." He made a vague gesture with his hand as if to shoo the doctor off before resuming a slow pace, his thoughts a muddled mess.

"Quite so." Turning slowly, Dr Pendleton set off in the direction he had appeared from, quickly disappearing behind a tent. Mere moments later however, the man reappeared, this time with a chair in each hand. Placing the two seats next to each other so that they faced out of the camp into the jungle, he sat down and stared contemplatively at the trees for a few moments.

"You know, my great uncle once gave me a piece of advice. He said, Bertie, there are three people in life you should never lie to. Your Priest, your Lawyer and your Doctor. And while I might just be a simple sawbones, I know you aren't being straight with me. Content men don't wear holes in their boots pacing back and forth so why don't you save some shoe leather and tell me what is bothering you. Dr Daneford will be just fine without me."

It was like easing a cat down from a tree. Peter stared at the chair blankly, hands coming to rest on his hips as he inwardly warred over what to do. At last he came to sit, tentatively, hanging just at the edge of his seat.

"I told you…" He stopped, drawing a breath. He couldn't bring himself to lie again; it hurt too much to think, much less breath, and his own stoic upbringing forbid him from sharing his innermost thoughts. But to lie again would invite evil upon his soul, and he'd had enough of that entirely.

Still, it took him more than a minute before he finally spoke again.

"I'm having a bit of a rough time...adjusting," Peter explained poorly, attempting to sum up the entirety of his personal issues in just one word. His brows furrowed, and he looked out and away, towards the nearby temple. "Nothing that can't be solved by solid work and a stiff drink."

"It is all rather taxing isn't it." From beside Peter came a metallic twang followed by a dry rustling sound and the flaring of a match. "I must admit that the heat and blasted bugs aren't the only things that keep me awake at night. Did you have the same problem on the last expedition?"

Deadened eyes with an unflinching stare. A bloodied jaw hanging slack against a shotgun. Delia's chest heaving as she struggled for air.

Peter's breath hitched. "No. No I didn't." He rubbed his hands around one another in a nervous manner. "Guess I'm just a fair bit homesick."

Homesick was a kind euphemism for the intense hatred he held towards himself for leaving home. What if she was worse when he returned? What if he couldn't make it back in time before...before…

He could not pray fast enough. He had to, before panic overrode all logic and he made way back to Galway straightaway. Desperate for any distraction, he glanced at the doctor. The sight of him sitting near, puffing out smoke from his pipe at his leisure, was surprisingly calming to the rifleman's nerves. Perhaps that in itself was the main purpose for the doctor's doing so. It was working; Peter felt the tension in his shoulders dissipating, and with renewed focus, his head turned about at the relative quiet pervading the area.

"The camp's half empty, so it is. Has everyone gone exploring?"

"I assume so. Mr Greene and your compatriot set off somewhere together. Likewise Ms Angelica and young Finley set off into the jungle with some purpose accompanied by that local girl and a few of the other natives. I haven't the foggiest what they are all up to out there mind." There was a long pause, broken only by the sound of the doctor puffing on his pipe and the perpetual buzz of insects. "We are quite a way from home out here aren't we. It almost seems a little silly in a way."

"It's all feckin' mad is what it is. Damn them."

Whether the Irishman was referring to the other crew members, their distance from home, or the expedition as a whole was unclear. He was soon out of his seat, throwing an unreadable look towards the good doctor. Thoughts of Delia kept creeping in, and he felt rather strongly he find a sense of gainful employment to clear out his head.

"I'm off to shoot. Hopefully I can bring Lung El some meat for his stew."

He hesitated, then brought his hand down to rest on Betrum's shoulder. The words he wanted to say would only see fit to embarrass him, so he left it at that, drawing away from the doctor towards the chaotic green of the jungle.

"Good shooting then Mr O'keefe," There was a slight grunt of exertion from behind Peter. "Good Shooting."​

---

 

[Nemopedia]

Fortunately Angelica seemed to be of one mind with Finley, quickly switching into a steady rhythm of happy chitter that brightened the mood in the group. She even took the lead, heading into the forest before their guide did pushing vines to the sides as she went on.

"Oh, uhm, yes!" Finley stammered as he realised that he had been staring. Fumbling over his feet as well as his words the male quickly trudged after both women.

Though he would have felt more at ease if he had been allowed to walk in the middle Finley understood that Alex was only trying to regain the lead, eager to call Angelica to a halt as they left the ginger to struggle.

"Indeed, my very first time abroad," he continued awkwardly as he examined a few plants he came to pass, a slight wonder in his eyes as he felt their leaves and examined their sizes. "Never been away before, you know, but I do like a---"

Freezing mid-sentence the ginger came to a halt, nearly colliding into Angelica. Blinking the botanist let his mouth fall ajar, dumbfounded surprise washing over him as the frankly terrifying, but also lonesome sight in front of them.

Wincing at Alex kicking a skull away Finley adjusted his hat a little, just for the extra certainty as he scooted closer to Angelica for comfort. He didn't dare to answer the guide's question, knowing that the crew had earlier demanded a raise on the ship to which Alex had not been part of. What if the guide hadn't been informed yet? It was a selfish thought, but Finley tried to remain in the good graces with his boss, and cutting their wallet further open was a sure way not to go about it.

Besides, that woman was going to bring them all sorts of misfortune. First breaking glass, now kicking skulls? It was a wonder how Alex hadn't gotten herself cursed yet with how brash she acted, especially in a place of death and decay where life had barely sprung back.

 

[Red Thunder]

Tatyana Volkov
Credit Where It's Due​

Destruction. Repeated, determined, malicious and intentional destruction. Haphazard, apparently random, a defiling and defacing more than actual erasure, a weird contrast to the careful and even professional original carving. It was perhaps as if someone wished it known that whatever they were destroying was worth remembering, but only so far as to remember that it was worth defiling, and to no further extent.

Tatyana beheld the sight of the obelisk in quiet contemplation, straining her sight against the ebbing shadows that Greene's lantern couldn't quite dispel. As before, there was much to catalogue here. But again, as before, far too much was beyond her reach, the friezes and reliefs having been battered and broken. Casting a mischievous look at Thomas' shoulders, she gave a wry chuckle.

"Your back could bear me. A frail woman would not be too hard to lift, da, bol'shoy chelovek?"

That smile turned into a frown at Greene's compliment to their navigator, however. At home, she chaffed when others succeeded for work she had done. Here, it seemed, the same followed, for their financier was complimenting a man for her achievement when all Thomas had done was to respond to her call for a light! And without actually bringing her that light, now that she thought about it. With a massive huff, Ana began following Greene around the structure.

"Hold! 'Congratulations'? Mister Greene, this poteryannyy shchenok followed the Gonchaya into the darkness, and he-"

But Mr. Greene's rapid recoiling as he turned the corner caused her to shut her mouth, and her determined pursuit ground to a halt. Her hand sought the familiar but dangerous weight of her Colt revolver, only to find nothing but air; her revolver was back at camp with her other gear. Having as yet seen nothing of what so frightened Greene, she pressed herself against the obelisk to find some modicum of stability. Unconsciously, her hand, having found nothing to grasp, wrapped itself around the Khuman Tong, and Ana stared with eyes the size of saucers in the direction of whatever had so set off the normally stolid Mr. Greene.
@Doctor Jax @Ritual Lobotomy

 

[Doctor Jax]

Mr. Greene & Company
@Red Thunder and @Ritual Lobotomy

The financier caught his brought as he stared at the figures that seemed to coalesce from the very dark itself. Their faces were gaunt, dried skin sticking to bone and dressed in robes. They wore no other headdress, though they were all seated in lotus positions, many of them with their hand still in the air with palm out. He recognized them. He did.

He had been here before. It was disturbing to think that he may be treading the same footsteps, unaware. What had happened, during that time he had come down with Dengue fever? What was this strange familiarity about?

"While your.... services are much appreciated, Mr. O' Reilly has the most reliable navigation of anyone here thus far," Greene shot back after a period of silence, using that moment to overrule his momentary discomfort. "Now, these look to be some unlucky fellows... Though, they don't seem to have had the dilemma whatever this deity had with the local populace."

Indeed, despite being in striking distance of mallets, chisels, and hammers, they were all untouched, their bodies in repose. They were remarkably well preserved, down to the almost beatific expressions, if not for the lack of eyes or lips. Behind them, the doorway was blocked entirely by debris, hastily heaped up as if in haste. This was what he was interested in. Beyond that was, more than likely, the highway that Angelica's dear Tala-patra had spoken of. He walked past the corpses to the blocked exit, patting the obstacle. Solid, massive chunks of rock, along with a base of brick beneath.

"We'll need to come back here tomorrow and begin excavation, obviously," Greene stated.

Unbeknownst to him or his fellow male compatriot, there was an ominous, thrumming chant in Ana's ear. It was a lilting, unbroken string of words in a foreign tongue, just under the edge of hearing. To any who had been to a Buddhist temple at service, it was obviously a more complicated version of their own chants, as if the souls of these men continued some fell purpose beyond death.

The Skeletal Seekers
@Nemopedia @DayDreamer

Angelica whipped about, looking around at the destruction. This was definitely the site of the first team, and yet... the place was a charred ruin, the entirety of the place razed. There had obviously been some form of struggle. She could see a man - or what she thought had once been a man by the clothes - speared through the chest, it seemed, the wooden weapon lodged in his rib cage. She finally heard Alex's voice from what seemed like miles and miles away.

"Y-yes, there were others. Uncle Charlie and my father said that we had to work quickly because this was a... a very valuable medicine. At one point, they said they were infiltrated at one point by another company. The Atticus Company? I'm not sure," she stated, looking about. She didn't want to step in any further to the destroyed ruin, but there was an odd fascination, a driving curiosity.

Had the other company come here? Was that the reason? Was this.... was this the first team? Her stomach seized on her, bile climbing her throat. She picked through the wreckage, closer to Alex, and her hand flew to her mouth with a strangled cry as she looked down under Alex's feet. She swayed, grasping the woman's shoulder.

She recognized some of the clothes. Mr. Marcher was an impeccable dresser, even in the Siamese rainforest, and had always worn a silver-and-black medal, the historian a superstitious man who had believed in the artifact's properties. She still remembered the last words he had said to her before walking aboard a barge with her father, the big man tapping her nose.

"Oof! Ha, there, there, dear.... Don't you worry yourself gray, little Angie - I'll be more than safe with this..."

It did not seem to have done him much good. His bones were half-charred, the medal mostly melted, though still recognizable. His death had been unkind. And given the other corpses here... he was not the only one who had succumbed. And among them may yet be her father.

It seemed too much for her senses. The world spun around her, and she fell, fainted.

Stranger and Stranger
Andrew had hoped to perhaps comfort the obviously distraught Peter, perhaps give some words of encouragement, but as he well knew, there were no words that could assuage a mind eaten by such news. No doubt, that had been a very important person to him, and it was best to allow him time to process. He only hoped that the man could keep his head about him. There were dangerous things in the Siamese wilderness - ghosts notwithstanding.

But there were practical matters to attend to. Namely - where everyone was. Andrew had instituted a sort of curfew. No one was to leave the premises of the camp, or remain outside of it, after nightfall, and it was quick approaching. He had already accounted for several auxiliaries, but he was missing several others - namely Angelica, Finely, Alex, Charles, Thomas, and Ana. The irony was not lost on him. Only the most specialized team members seemed to have disappeared on him.

After telling Lung El to find someone to fetch Angelica and her company, Andrew took to the temple instead with a rifle in hand on the word of another rifleman. The forest was cacophonous about him, the light dying even as he held aloft a torch. Behind him, Taumai trailed along, pulled away from target practice. The entirety of the temple towered over them, and its open maw seemed to stretch, black as pitch, darker than night. Andrew stopped Taumai suddenly, eyes trained on a figure in the door.

A male figure in tattered European clothes, with white skin and long hair.

"Hello?" he called out. "Excuse me? Sir?"

The figure turned and stared in surprise, as if not fully understanding what he was seeing. His face was lined, beard unkempt. And he began to approach them, tears streaming down his face before breaking into a run at the Australian and his compatriot.

Hunting for Peace of Mind
@Kuno @Applo

"They not come back yet. Please, Khun O'Keefe, if you see, tell them come back here," Lung El asked, looking out into the jungle with some worry.

He had chosen to snag Peter as he saw him with his gun near the doctor, and he had figured that he was planning on going out into the woods to hunt. Andrew's plan to have everyone in the camp by dark was, to him, sensible. There were things out and about in the dark. He had, in his hand, clutched a stone amulet of a many-armed god, a whispered prayer said to it before approaching the taller Irishman.

"Do not stay gone for very too long. Dinner almost ready to eat," he stated, having managed a quite good spread despite their limited supplies. "Be careful for the snakes. I think they go this way?"

He pointed out and away from the camp to the west, into the deep vegetation.

"And Doctor, make comfortable for yourself," he fretted. He seemed ever more agitated as the sun dipped lower.

 

[DayDreamer]

The site was a mess. There had been a fight and the information made her suspicious. There was another team before this one? And they had enemies. Of course they had enemies if the way Angelica hesitated to share the identity and properties of what they were looking for. Instinctively her hand hovered over the handle of one of her knives as she kneeled down to examine one of the bodies.

Angelica suddenly grasping her by the shoulder caused the knife to be half-drawn before Alex cursed. "I told you to stay put!" She said cooly and with obvious annoyance. She was half-expecting such a reaction from them at the sight of carnage, but she was also not entirely sure who might be watching them. Sure, the site looked long since abandoned, but that didn't mean it was not visited or guarded.

She felt the weight of Angelica sift and Alex was quick to spin around and grab the fainted woman before she could hit her head while falling. The ease with which she managed to do so could alarm ordinary people, but to those who were more familiar with martial arts it would be a good indicator of Alexandra's skill and practise.

Allowing herself a couple of juicy swears in Siamese, Alex carefully propped Angelica in a nearby trunk and took a better look at the body that had rattled the woman so much. In terms of decay or means of death it was not more heinous than the rest of the bodies lying around. However, in terms of clothing, it was very, very different. Posh and stylish westerner with a love for the supernatural if the medalion that was half-melted on their chest was any indication. She picked it up to have a better look at it, first glancing around to locate their ginger of a botanist. She had to make sure the boyish man had not wondered away or even run away from the scene.

Greene had a lot of explaining to do and he had to face her wrath for withdrawing information that could make or break her success as a guide. If it came down to her getting out alive and having to stick to a doomed expedition, she would have no qualm to abandon them. She didn't owe them anything. However, her reputation and her pride would not be able to handle a failed mission simply because the one hiring her had kept crucial information from her regarding safety and potential dangers. If she had all the facts she could choose better roots or contact people to scout ahead for her, but if she thought this was just a normal sightseeing expedition, then she would not bother to look out for dangers other than the occassional man-eating tiger and hostile tribes and terrain.

---------
OOC: First for once! 8D

 

[Ritual Lobotomy]

THOMAS "TOM" O'REILLY|| NAVIGATOR


Waiting patiently near the entrance that lead further into the darkness, Tom cracked an amused smile at the two before he made his way first through the entrance; Greene following his direction in almost a trans-like state, and the small Russian hurrying after him, effin' and blindin' at the interruption he brought upon her and her own passion about that place. Half way through the short tunnel, the air already felt more abundant, and when he stepped into the large open area, Tom's shoulder's visibly relaxed as he inhaled the cool air hurling towards him. Albeit perhaps centuries old and smelling like death, the feel of no longer being confined as much provided a great relief for the Irish. It took a great effort pushing the dreadful feeling at the back of your mind when it was still freshly implanted, but it was an effort O'Reilly was willing to make in order to avoid questions and doubts regarding his abilities.

His steps echoed first through the wide space, bouncing emptily against the stone walls, right away followed by two more pairs of steps, deferrable by their sound, but almost identical in their tempo. As his came to halt for him to mark away the entrance, American's and Russian's halted at the sight of what was ahead of them, further in the center of the large area.

Even though truly impressive, the large stone obelisk was only that for Thomas O'Reilly; a rather impressive stone carving. And while Mr. Greene and Tatyana studied its surface almost religiously, Tom used the opportunity to steal some of the lantern's glow and continue a small handy map in his notebook, adding another route and some letters right next to it in a rather hasty, careless ciotóg handwriting, before he drew a large circular area and what was to be vaguely represented monument in the middle. And just the way he had relaxed, the other two grew noticeably more tense in front of their discovery. Closing the notebook and checking his compass once more, Tom did not miss Greene's almost unnatural focus and the way Tatyana turned around, staring back into the void. Unnerving, but who was he to meddle in things he was not there to meddle in?

His gaze dropped almost instantly off the large monument when the Russan spoke in his direction. It was met with a heavy squint and then a smug smirk as he shied none from responding just as cheekily as he was referred to. "Being honest here, not much of a back needed to bear yer physique in the first place. Hardly a grand compliment, miss Volkov," he offered a brief courtesy with a chuckle, adding to her reference to herself as 'frail'. "Frail," he repeated as if he is testing the weight of the shameless lie before shaking his head. "That's a gas. If I was a moran I might have bought it, but alas, miss Volkov. Perhaps only that attitude of yers weights more than this damn stone itself," he tossed back with a wide grin and a lighthearted tone.

Mr. Greene's words seemingly arrived right on time to cut the playful tension Tom certainly had created with poking the mini Soviet Dragon over there. Whether they were for better or for worse was soon visible in Tatyana's frown, and offering her another brief smug smirk, the Irish cleared his throat and responded to Greene's words with a brief nod.

"Ye said north, Mr. Greene, ye got yerself north," he said half-jesting as he glanced up at the monument, or at the very least the part that was visible under the light they had, while his voice was arguably the loudest of the bunch at that very moment, generously filling the space with perhaps borderline inappropriately vivid energy. With his arms crossed against his chest, he studied the obelisk if nothing else then not to be the puss of the party, as the two made their way around it in their own pilgrimage, and it only took almost full absence of usable light for Thomas to move after them just on time for Tatyana's complaint to Greene to be drowned by Yank's own surprised shout that managed to bring all of the released tension back into Thomas' shoulders as he leaped forward almost on instinct, head first into whatever was waiting ahead.

"Shite...," he swore briefly after he almost bumped into the Russian stuck against the obelisk, managing to waddle out of his initial path in the last moment, passing her and stopping behind the Yank that now composed himself after he managed to terrify the living bejeezus out of his companions. "Bloody hell, mister Greene," O'Reilly sighed composing himself while Greene simply proceeded with whatever he had in mind as if nothing happened in the first place. Painfully curious regardless, Tom followed after, stopping in front of a rather creative morbidity.

"Ah, yes," Tom responded, his eyes still studying the unnaturally arranged mummies. "I've seen this before. Death. One hell of a bad dose. Haven't heard of any wanker getting back from that. Brutal." He studied the bodies with rekindled curiosity and a question forming in his mind as he paid no mind leaning closer to exam one of the mummies. It was a peculiar thing to find for Thomas O'Reilly. Serving many years in the army that had its fair share of casualties, Thomas certainly knew what to expect of a dead body left in the jungle or a swamp for a prolonged period of time, and neither of the corpses in the arrangement fit any of the jungle body descriptions. As the American marked down the doors to be examined next, Thomas' mind was still with the corpses.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, mister Greene," he spoke up after a bit of pondering. "But the state of these seems rather outta place here," Tom proceeded straightening up and briefly rubbing the stubble on his chin. "This place ain't dry or air tight enough for mummies, aye? Sure as hell ain't cold enough either." Pausing briefly, he headed forward towards the doorway blocked by debris that caught Greene's attention, marking the route once more in his notebook. "And if it ever was," he proceeded on his previous thought, his face deep in his business, perplexed frown still lingering upon it. "Seems to be breached open for quite some time. So how aren't they rotten and disturbed yet?" Packing his things back in his bag, he smirked at the flag he hung over the door. "Damn impressive if ye ask me."


@Doctor Jax
@Red Thunder

Note: OOOOMMMMMM

 

[Red Thunder]

Tatyana Volkov
Mummy Dearest, So Enchanting​

"Impressive…"

She repeated Thomas' comment stupidly, a bit of reality for her addled mind to grasp as it began to lose itself amidst the cacophony that echoed inside her skull. She tried to push it away, tried to focus, schitat', chert voz'mi!, on her task at hand, for though the granite reliefs and friezes were of major import, she felt, surely these bodies, so we'll preserved, must be of even more so! Yet the ritualistic chants, mesmerizing and mentally engaging, made the task remarkably difficult.

Curiosity had gotten the better of Tatyana, and once even their navigator had come about to investigate, she could hardly remain behind. Particularly after her complaint to their financier. She had managed a glance, seeing what there two before had beheld, and found nothing new. Automatically, she had readied her hands for record taking: descriptions would be of great import, both for the hints to whatever culture or religion had inspired such preservation, as Thomas had noted, as well as any reason for such singular avoidance by the defilers of the temple thus far, as Greene had noted.

But the chanting had started. It had started, driving as a lifeboat before a gale her considerations from her mind. Lips slightly apart in a minor gape, Tatyana blinked hard, shaking her head against the sound. She didn't like it, the chanting, and with its arrival, a fear had taken hold. Thoughtlessly, her lips began to move, as if trying to silently follow the lead of the chanters.

Whenever this nonsense was coming from, it did not portend anything good.

 

[Nemopedia]

Where Angelica was moving and Alex was still catching up, Finley had stood grounded, his eyes taking in the horror in front of him and yet not quite registering whatever it was he saw. The collapsed roofs of the tents, a lost hat casually tossed to the side, the black of ash on the pile of bones that remained. It was clear what horror had taken place, but how it had happened to take away the camp, that was the bigger question to which Finley's mind didn't want to wander off to yet. It were these subtle signs that lingered on his mind, but never quite penetrated his thoughts as he was nailed to the soil underneath him, arrested both mentally as physically.

It was Angelica who gave in first, however, tumbling down into unconsciousness for Alex to catch. Blinking the botanist found his breath once more, sucking it in as he realised that the air was burnt and putrid around the former camp, the smell of burnt rotten flesh mingling into his nostrils. Death.

"Best to go back quickly and investigate later," he sputtered, voice low and fast as he was rapidly trying to form coherent thought in mind. His mouth felt heavy, his words unnatural, as if he wasn't used to the language, as if he wasn't Finley the botanist. "Yeah, to go back should be the best, if only so that the missus can come to," he continued to speak in the same distracted tone, as if convincing himself that it was entirely for Angelica that they should return.

Turning around the male waded back down the path that they had used before, eyes distant and his mind screaming regrets over the already cursed adventure.

 

[Kuno]

PETER O'KEEFE || RIFLEMAN
Location: Campsite
​

Six members of their party were gone from camp, three of which had disappeared deep into the jungle. The same three of which had been gone in the jungle for a long time, a worryingly long time according to Lung El. The matter should have warranted concern, none the least immediate action from the characteristically anxiety-ridden Irishman. It should have.

Unfortunately, Peter could not provide it. Not at the moment. He had already relegated what little mental capacity he had left to the task of hunting and so stared dumbly in the wake of Lung El's pleading for a beat longer than necessary. At last, a light dimly went on upstairs. He nodded slowly.

"Snakes...yes. Alright."

Delia claimed to have a bonafide method of keeping snakes out of the garden. He'd never seen it in action, but hell; he'd never seen a snake in the garden, either. Nor had he ever seen a rat or other pests either. She was a farm girl, after all. A farm girl made scullery maid. There were few things she hadn't been able to handle. Or couldn't. His chest seized. Couldn't handle, not hadn't--

Sweet Mother of God, she's not dead. What the hell's wrong with me?

His feet were rooted to the ground. He felt a cold sweat build at the back of his neck as he quickly started and moved away from Lung El and Dr. Bertrum, back in the direction the Thai native had pointed. Find the others and bring them back...yes, he could handle that. Anything that would not leave him alone with his thoughts.

Find the others and bring them back. Find the others and bring them back.

He was alarmed at how easy it was to track them. Peter stared in dismay at the makeshift path someone had hacked through the jungle floor; his own steps silent, he followed it all the way until the edge of a clearing, where the breakage abruptly stopped. Up ahead, he spotted brilliant ginger hair, and he whistled low to announce his presence.

"Evening, Mr. Ellis," He began, picking his way over to the Welsh male. "Night's fallin'. I've come to escort you back, just as...Mr. Ellis? You alright there?"

He was at Finley's shoulder now. The young man's face was ghostly pale, his eyes clouded and unfocused with some unseen horror. Peter's breath stilted. He recognized that expression.

Something was terribly wrong. Brushing past the man, Peter strode onwards, eyes searching for the source of Finley's shock. When he saw Alex, he approached her, too keen on his questions, until the answer presented itself before him. He stopped, stunned by the sight.

"Saints be…"

The first expedition had been holed up by a monsoon, by Mr. Greene's own admission. A year ago he'd questioned the status of the old team. A year later he'd still questioned, ever more so suspicious of the first expedition's lack of correspondence with Mr. Greene. Call it a gut instinct, but he'd known something wasn't right the first time around. He'd known it this time around, too; he just hadn't had proof.

Well, here was the damned proof, in all its charred glory.

His fingers made the sign of the cross over his heart, and he breathed in, grimacing at the lingering scent of death. Someone had razed the bleeding place to the ground. Not too much trouble had gone to looting the bodies, he noted, as he saw various articles of clothing still hanging from the skeletal remains. It'd been some fight, alright, but not for the sake of material gain. It was more of a warning. A warning to us, he thought grimly, but he didn't share his thoughts aloud. It wasn't the right time. Mr. Greene needed to know about the burned camp straightaways.

He glanced at Alex. It dawned on him that he'd only seen two of the missing three he'd come to fetch. He did not have to look far for the other one; as soon as he turned about, his eyes went straight to a slumped figure near the ground, propped up against a tree trunk. Whatever fog still hung over his brain dissipated in an instant, and his eyes flew wide open.

"My God, what the - What's happened? Is she alright?"

It was likely that she'd fainted. Still, anxiety ate away at his sides. Carnage forgotten, he rushed to the fallen woman's side and knelt down, sitting her up against the tree trunk. He shook her a bit, tapping his fingers against her cheek.

"Miss Warren. Miss Warren! Y' alright? Wake up, love."

When there was no response, he tucked his arms beneath her legs and back and scooped her up off the ground. There was a frenzied urgency in his movements. Turning about, he shot an aggravated look at Alex. In truth, he was angry with her; for all that pomp and circumstance earlier, she had been content to leave the young lady on the ground without the slightest care. And Finley. Oh, that Finley. Did he have another thing coming when he laid eyes on him next.

"Let's go. Right now," Peter ordered sternly. There was no more bluster about him. "C'mon. We've got to get her to the doctor, and I'm not leaving you by yourself out here. We'll come back when we've more lights and men to help out."

@DayDreamer @Nemopedia

 

[Doctor Jax]

Still and Dark
@Red Thunder @Ritual Lobotomy

The financier looked back at Tom, who seemed to still be transfixed with the monks, frozen in holy death. In such deep thought about the task ahead, he hadn't considered that fact. No, it was far too wet and humid for there to be men dried in such a fashion as found in Egypt, yet here these men sat, holding a strange vigil. All of them faced away from the door, evenly spaced, on eight pedestals carved in reference to lotuses, that undying flower which comes up from the mud for light.

No. No, there was one, second to the end, that was empty, unoccupied, for a total of nine.

"Yes.... I guess that sort of preservation is quite impressive. I would dare say it was deliberate, as well. Village leaders, perhaps, though they do not appear to be Buddhist. Their robes look gray... Though perhaps they were black at one point? I'm unsure. That, however, is a question for Angelica and her father, if we can find the old chap. He knew what seemed like everything on these blasted people," Greene professed, eyeing one of the corpses left to stand guard with eyes looking outward. On the ground, beneath their feet, even that was carved with a many-armed goddess wielding swords, bows, daggers. Greene looked back across, assailed with some unknown emotion heretofore unrecognized.

"The goddess of destruction, Kali. You wouldn't want to meet her. She is both protector and destroyer, meant to shield as much as stab. People invoke her image and name in the Hindoo religion as a means of calling for aid.... though, you may not like how that aid is meted out."

The memory was clear, stark, but only Henry's voice. He swallowed at the thought, a deep unease settling in him. Old friend, I will find you. We meant to tackle this together.

"I was told that goddesses like this one is a deity of protection," Charles stated. "And destruction. Perhaps they are guarding the very thing we seek. It would make sense to me. But perhaps we have lingered long enough. We have work to do tomorrow.... Ms. Volkov?"

However, that subtle touch of the Russian's hand to the stele behind her had seared a thought into her brain, sudden and unrelenting. Like the gift of a fiery ember, it burned bright and hot, overflowing with visceral fear. A memory of belly split open, bones nailed to wood beneath raw skin, of hands holding her down as nail after nail is driven through every joint to spongy, softness, holy twine holding kicking arms and legs together. It was the legs of flies on an exposed wound, of unrelenting light from every direction, of nothing but water for miles, of strange men and their chanting, chanting, chanting...

"Ms. Volkov?"

Charles' hand seemed sufficient to break that spell, to resolidify the world into its present nature, as darkness and stone, rather than light and water and wood. His look appeared nearly concerned in the light of the lantern, before glancing back at Tom.

"I believe it best we head back. No doubt it's getting dark out, and we've only so much of the oil left. We can discuss further plans tomorrow," Charles suggested.

+++​

Girl, Interrupted
@Nemopedia @DayDreamer @Kuno

Angelica was not sure where she was. It was light. So very, very light. There was water up to her knees, water in every direction.

"Angie."

"Mother?" she murmured with excitement, looking about her.

"You've grown so much so soon."

In that way of dreams, Angelica could not see the source of the voice, despite walking forward. There was something in the distance ahead of her, massive in size yet so far away it remained misted by distance. But it was so bright here, as if some entity had multiplied the suns to beat down. She felt so warm, so dry despite the water. It parted before her easily, far easier than it would have in waking, as she walked towards the thing in the distance.

"Can I see you? Mama, I miss you."

"Don't give up, pet. Tell me that story again. The one about how we live forever..."

Her favorite story. Her only story.

"Once... there were gods who wanted immortality. And so, from a sea of milk, they grew a tall, tall tr--"

The water is pure white, white as milk, and warm, washing against her... but then she heard it. The chant. A familiar sound from childhood, of sitting in temple with Lung El, the drone of male voices in a heavy and foreign tongue seeming to surround her in a deafening choir. And, all at once, the water rose over her head to block it out, to drown her voice, as she tries to tell the story--

Angelica slowly comes to, but her sight is weak. She felt hands tapping at her face, lightly, lightly, and a voice that was becoming more and more familiar.

"M-mister... Mister O'Keefe...?" she asked blearily.

It was disturbingly quiet, and she knew it should not be. She was, after all, in the rainforest, which is itself a cacophonous place. Or was she? She had heard Mother -- but no, that was a dream, a hallucination. The bittersweet memory nearly brought tears to her eyes. No, it was a dream, a cruel dream. Finally, she groaned, rolling to her side with a sick stomach. Bitterly, tears pricked her eyes as the events that had transpired came back to her. But that means Father.... but that means Father is... but that means.... that means...

She felt herself suddenly hauled from the ground, and her head seemed fit to burst, her heart likewise. She allowed herself to be carried, still feeling faint. The weight of another person's body nearby was a godsend. It seemed to keep her grounded.

"We... we have to come back to bury them later. We can't leave them. One of them is Mr. Marcher. He's... He was Father's artif-fact assessor," Angelica stuttered softly, rubbing her eyes. "And it looked like th-there were others."

She had to be brave. She couldn't just allow herself to fall apart so easily. They may have to depend on her, and her alone. [/size]

Spoiler

You get to get tagged, too, @Applo. Even if Bertie is taking a break.

 

[Red Thunder]

Tatyana Volkov
In the Stillness of Remembering​

Ages wheeled, agony stretching as infinitely as the chant to which her lips now kept pace. As the memory that was not hers was driven deeper and deeper into her psyche, as her flesh began to bend and twist and separate, her mind began to shatter, dissolving in the unquenchable luminescence in which she seemed to float. There was nothing else: searing brightness, entering her eyes, her ears, her throat, suffocating her, drowning her. The rhythm pounded in her brain, leeching its way into her heart, louder and louder, drawing her in, making her one with it. There was so little Ana left. So little. The nails. The twine. Her mind grew numb, falling more and more into the chant as the only thing of substance left to her. All it took was her own voice. She breathed in, ready to submit-

A gentle touch, shocking and painful for its contrast to the consuming agony, blasted the brilliance into the beyond. Darkness flooded her sight, broken only by the soft and warm red of Mr. Greene's lantern. A cold sweat gripped her, the memory equally fresh and inexorably distant, but she was back with her fellows in the ruin.

"Y-yes," she monotoned, struggling mightily against a deluge of tears that she only just kept within. Ana stared in loathing and disgust at the break in the mummified pattern, the empty pillar seemingly so wrong, even for this place.

Finally, she could bear it no longer. Grasping her satchel in her arms, Tatyana, fearless Hound of St. Petersburg, headless of danger, turned and fled in terror back the way they'd come.

 

[Nemopedia]

It wasn't until the appearance of their gunner that Finley broke out of his trance, startled by the sudden appearance of the man earlier as he felt his throat too dry to speak. Peter was quick to move, fortunately as it didn't seem that either the guide or Finley were fit to carry the faint Angelica who was now on the burnt ground. A pang of guilt washed over the male as he turned around to the sight. That was no befitting site for a lady to rest, and if he had been a true gentleman he would have caught her, or at least helped Alex carrying the lady.

However, now that Peter was there and all the man that the group needed Finley just lamely pushed the vegetation to the side as he lead the group back to the campsite. Not that there was much left with the way Angelica had cut up the green shrubbery but it was something.

"We didn't find the rat ears. Sorry," the redhead mumbled lamely as he waited for the gunner to catch up with the lady.

 

[DayDreamer]

She didn't have to look much to see where the botanist was. The ginger boy had been the only one to listen to her warning and stay put, but perhaps it wasn't her order he had listened to, but the fear of seeing a death site. Rolling her eyes at his cowardly excuses and the clear signs of his escape attempt that followed suit, Alex got up, medallion still in her hand. "Freckles...... Oh bloody brilliant!" She exclaimed as Finley indeed fled the seen more or less.

Sighing, she made her way towards the proped young woman. "My God, what the - What's happened? Is she alright?" She frowned as their head gunner sounded more frantic and unstable than when she had first encountered him at the camp. What the hell was wrong with these people? Had they not seen death before? Had they not expected it? If this was a competition for profit, they should have known that any thing and everything was fair game.

"Calm down buddy! She just couldn't handle the sight of corpses. She didn't hit her head. I caught her." She explained, but it seemed that Peter had none of it and swiftly swooped up Angelica like a knight in shining armor. Alex groaned as he ignored her comment and ordered her to return to camp. She would have done so anyways but not before another five to ten minutes of investigation had passed. However she had no wish to fight the guy right then and there. She was not going to roll over and play the obedient puppy either.

So she briefly ignored him as an idea had formed in her mind and she needed to check. Usually tribes had their own way of making spears and sometimes you could identify the tribe by their weapons. She knew there had been a tribe here that had fallen silent for over a year now, but was this the reason truly? With the adittion of an extra enemy piece in the chessboard, Alex wanted to be a 100% certain that a fight between the first expedition and the tribe was the cause or if the tribe had been dealt with by this 'Atticus company' that Angelica had mentioned before passing out. Making her way to the speared body, she removed the weapon and took it with her for a more thorough checkup on their way back.

Weapon neatly tucked to her side, Alex casually fell in line with Peter just in time to hear Angelica mutter something about artifacts and Finely sheepishly apologizing about not finding the bloody fungus they had set out to find in the first place. "No kidding Freckles. We did lose your guts though. Were you guys not prepared to face death in one form or another?" She questioned genuinely curious. There was no way they had formed an expedtion in the jungle without being ready to face the risks..... was there? Cheery attitude was all nice and dandy as long as you were able to handle yourself and these two clearly were not. As for their head gunner..... something had rattled him. However that could wait. First she would have to give Greene a piece of her mind and it would not have been pretty.


---------
OOC: Let the sass matches begin!

 

[Ritual Lobotomy]

THOMAS "TOM" O'REILLY|| NAVIGATOR

There was a small dosage of cautious pride as Charles Greene agreed with his idea, building on it. Although he was far from striving to be an apt pupil, having a sense of usefulness always felt rewarding because regardless of his humble origins, Thomas never allowed others to look down on him for his lack of typical education or the ability to socialize. Checking his bag once more to make sure everything was there, O'Reilly nodded and rolled his sleeves back up, dusting his hands off. "Well then, we better be working on findin' the man, ye?" He however expected no response as the man soon after returned to his own pondering, staring at the ground. Whatever went on behind his words surely seemed uncomfortable, as the man's face contorted briefly in silence. Under the dim warm light, such worried expression seemed even more ominous than intended. Or so the Irish believed.

It was a hard thing not to ask questions as he wasn't paid to ask them, but perhaps even harder it was to pretend like he did not notice the the strange approach both of his companions had towards that place. Surely, there was that dose of expected awe and discomfort that followed the unknown that turned out to be holding something emerging from someone's nightmare and yet, it somehow exceeded the expected amount of both of those feelings. The thought of everything they may have known of similar things threw him into a moment of admiration. Must have been quite the advantage as much as a burden. But it seemed that Thomas failed to understand just how much of a burden it truly was.

To a certain point; a point where his understanding of the situation stopped, Thomas sympathized with Greene's inner struggle. Rough and distant for the most part, the sense of family and friends was regardless not lost on him, and losing a friend was an experience all too familiar to O'Reilly. Except most of the times, he had a closure. Often one that was ugly and bloody, but a closure nevertheless. Briefly, Tom found himself in temptation to speak on it perhaps reassure the man, but just as his mouth opened up, he just as quickly shut them silent, clearing his throat. What was he about to say anyway? That they will find the man he was looking for? And what were the bloody odds of it? Now that he thought of it, he was better off minding his own business, chasing the damn North.

Once the man spoke up again, getting his train of thought back to its original trail, Thomas was prepared enough not to feel awkward about it. He nodded with genuine understanding, followed by a single deeper nod once Greene proposed to postpone the mission for the next day. "Aye. Ya seem a wee bit shattered, mister Greene. Perhaps being on the tear for ay bit would do ya well", Thomas jested dryly, grateful that he would not have to handle the two without them being on the bright side of their sanity after the sightings they have witnessed. If he was to be honest, the layout and the atmosphere of the place would've made a person question their sanity once in a while. With all of it to handle, the two seemed rather easily overwhelmed.

But perhaps his gratitude came a bit too soon.

"Ms. Volkov?" Greene called out to the woman, and Thomas narrowed his eyes towards the two as Charles approached the woman from behind, calling out to her once again with his hand on her shoulder. Now that he thought about it, the woman fell unusually silent; too silent for Tom's liking, by then used to her endless nagging. But at the very least, it was a given sign that she had no better things to do but complain. Now, as she seemed to be busy gasping for air, Tom found himself in an unknown area of Tatyana Volkov's psyche; the one he arguably was severely unprepared for. Greene's concerned glare only served to cement that thought in the head of the tall Irish, and a weak and shaky confirmation coming out of Ms. Volkov was all he needed to take it seriously. Whatever that something was supposed to be.

"Very well", his tone dropped as he approached the two, fixing the bag across his torso, and checking once again for the presence of his machette. "Lads back in the camp must be wondering 'bout us by now anyway." There was no way for him to tell time in those pitch black and chilled tunnels, but he was more than certain that it was quite a bit since they walked into that forsaken place. Way too long for some of them, it seemed.

He only managed to catch a glimpse of Tatyana's terrified face as she glared at them, but somehow through them in a frozen shock over whatever had happened to her that they were unaware of.

"Volkov", Thomas heard himself referring to her as he stepped forward carefully, almost as if he was attempting to gain trust from a skittish animal. He had seen such gaze before, he knew what went through her head at that very moment without knowing a single damn about her. The instinct was the same for all. "Volkov, listen to me". But once her arms tightened around her bag, Tom's brain reacted instantly, quickly reaching out to grab her and...

...grabbing onto air.

Too slow. He was too slow. At the very least slow enough to only manage to graze her arm before she disappeared through the dark entrance where they entered from. "Volk- Fuck!", he swore juicily, torn between staying put and taking care of the Yank, or running after in attempt to stop her from killing herself, but only for the moment. The logical thing to do was hard to overrule, even though for the moment, Tatyana's disappearing figure wore a torn and dirtied military uniform, fresh out of hiding.

And then he ran away. And then he died. The end. Let's try that again, shall we?

But the thought abandoned him just as fast as she fully disappeared with her steps echoing down the hallway. Swearing again under his breath, Thomas sighed in frustration, turning to Greene. "I need to get ya out, Mr. Greene", he said somewhat calmly, nothing like how it actually sounded in his mind; angry and loud. Without wasting another minute on discussion, O'Reilly persuaded Charles towards the exit with haste, following the markers under the dim light. If she got her damn self lost, risking Greene as well was out of the question. Once the man was out safely, he figured he'll... he'll figure something out.

Even thought the way back out was quicker now that the markers were set in place, it certainly felt like forever. One more hallway to the entrance. The tightest one that he barely fit comfortably through. The one to make him sweat and then...

The dimming light of the outside reached the duo and Thomas exhaled with the sense of achievement. Only if it lasted briefly. At the edge of the tunnel, rays of lights were interrupted by the figures walking back and forth, breaking them apart. It took a moment for his eyes to get used to the light of the day yet again, before he was able to recognize the small figure right at the arm's reach from the exit. Even before he was fully outside, following behind Charles, O'Reilly's voice boomed towards the small Russian.

"What the fuck were ya thinkin'?! Ya ain't the full shilling are ya?" Thomas shouted towards Tatyana, before his worked up mind caught a glimpse of the others present. Taking in a few deep breaths that the shout took away from him, before gazing over the faces present; two of them familiar and the last one not as much.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" He asked all of those present, annoyance still present in his voice. Whether he meant the welcoming party at the entrance, or the entire damn thing that was wrong with them and that place, was left for everyone's individual interpretation.

@Doctor Jax
@Red Thunder