e s o t e r i c a

[Jack Robinson]

Roland Green, Rifleman. Location: Jade Elephant Bar.

Roland was late to the party.

Unfortunate, yes. World ending? No. He didn't care much for his crew members or for socializing anyway. He was here to make money, to get out of the house, and potentially shoot someone. That was his job description, and that was what he was sticking by. Of course, getting wasted on the boat was not part of his job description, but he did it anyway. And so he woke up a fair while after everyone else had gone onto land, and realized he was mostly alone. He sighed, got dressed, and left the boat, remembering through his hungover haze that he was supposed to go to the...Jacked Egret? No, the Jaded Elephant. That was the one. He was supposed to be there by five or so. He figured he still had plenty of time, and so he leisurely strolled through the streets, basking in the humidity and absorbing the local culture. He had never been to Siam. He'd never killed anyone from Siam either. This would surely be an interesting experience.

His head ached and his stomach was gurgling in despair. Roland had learned an old trick from an army captain a few years back, that being that one could suspend a hangover indefinitely so long as one continued drinking. Roland was a firm believer in this rule. It had served him well over the years. He purchased some meat on a stick from a vendor and proceeded to the Jade Elephant, getting tips from locals and perusing street signs until he found the elegant hotel. He chewed on his meat, not knowing from what animal it was from and frankly not caring. Meat was meat, food was food. He'd eaten scorpions for a week in Egypt. They were spicy little buggers. Essentially, he'd learned to not complain about food after that whole incident. He arrived at the hotel, greeted the staff with a surly and somewhat drunken greeting, and asked where the bar was. In his limited English, one of the staff gave him directions. Roland gave him the greasy stick leftover from his meal as a tip, and stumbled toward the bar. He burst through the door, and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the somewhat dimmer lighting. He walked over to the bar, slid into a seat, and ordered a gin and tonic, with extra gin.

It was then, sipping his strong drink and relishing the burning feeling in his throat, that Roland realized there were several other members of the crew in the bar with him. He cursed under his breath, turned toward them, and gave them a nod.

"Morning. Er, afternoon. Whatever." He drained his drink due to the efforts of social interaction and ordered another. He pulled a somewhat damaged cigarette from his breast pocket, whipped out a match, and lit it. Through puffs of smoke, he analyzed his companions. They weren't all fighters. No, indeed, the only other fighter he could recall due to his drunkenness was that other soldier...what was his name again? He had no clue. He'd refer to him as "son" until he remembered it. That was the polite way of doing things. Surely they couldn't expect an old timer such as him to remember names and faces. That was hard stuff, especially when he had nightmares and alcohol to occupy his mental capacities. He just hoped he wouldn't have to rescue these fools. That would require much effort, and he didn't have effort to spare on people he didn't care about. If he was paid more for each one that survived, well, that would be a different story.

 

[Doctor Jax]

Mr. Charles Greene

Wallace smiled benignly to O'Keefe, puffing his cigarette pensively before saying, "Understandable, Mr. O'Keefe. Not an opportunity that crops up everyday. If you ever change your mind, just show this card to the concierge at your hotel - any hotel. They'll get you in contact with an associate of mine."

Wallace glanced up and coolly lowered his head in a swift motion, pulling his hat over his nondescript face.

"This is where we part ways, I'm afraid. Bon Voyage, Mr. O'Keefe," Wallace said, walking into the crowd. Despite his Western attire,
he seemed to melt into the throng, becoming one with them almost without effort. His sudden departure became more apparent as a figure approached quickly in, yet again, Western clothing, though the material was a type of thin cotton rather than the thick stuff Europeans were used to wearing. This man, however, had a handsome face with an impressive amount of facial hair,
all of it meticulously managed with trimmer and blade. He had a thick physique in contrast with Wallace, as well as a forthright expression,
a sort of confidence that was shouted rather than radiated.

" 'Scuse me," he said as he brushed past O'Keefe, making a beeline for Danford and Lung El, who were still outside doing their 'duty'.
Danford caught sight of the man and quickly rushed forward.

"Mr. Greene! I've been waving people in, and I think we've nearly got all of them, other than the twelve or thirteen other auxiliaries," Danford said with excitement.

"Well! We'll be ahead of schedule, if they're all inside, already. We can get right into it," Greene stated in a thick American accent, full of optimism, verve, and business-like energy. "Go on inside, Danford. Anyone else you see needs led in?"

"Um, I think Mister, er.... Mister..." Abe said, pointing back over his shoulder at the rifleman he'd met.

Greene took matters into his own hands and waved the man in.

"Hey, chap, if you're part of the Greene expedition - go on in, we'll be right behind!"

Greene straightened his coat out and looked at Abe's hopeful face, Lung El the picture of long-suffering behind him. God help me, that you're the best I could find on short notice. He barely contained the frustration he felt towards the young man's lack of initiative, but such was the problem with the inexperienced - where they lacked the necessary drive, they more than made up for in youthful 'helpfulness'.

"Danford. Go."

"Oh! Right, right..."

The whole ensemble walked into the lounge, and Greene looked about the area with an appraising glance. Finding that the largest - and most important - part of his team was here seemed to draw out a certain measure of security, and he strode inside the lounge with purpose.

"Now - if you are part of Greene's expedition, I'd have you follow me out to the terrace at the back there and we'll take up a table. They should have one set up for us. Barkeep - tell anyone else who comes in the same, if you will, thank you," Greene announced, feet firmly planted and arms crossed over a well-built chest. He held his head eye with keen, sharp eyes that seemed to cut to the matter of things, and his searching gaze found Angelica speaking to a man he didn't recognize.

He made his way over, standing beside Angelica, and he teased, "I see you haven't made a run for the hills like you said that you would. What happened to 'damn an escort, and damn your rules?'"

Angelica, to her credit, suppressed an eye roll.

"Uncle, I was talking to Mr. Carlton, if you've not noticed," Angelica painstakingly reported, her Upper Received Pronunciation of the English language at odds with Greene's nearly crass native tongue. She turned back to him and continued, "And yes, we are to be traveling companions, I believe."

"By the by, Angelica, when we are finished here, I've a gift for you. To... make up for our little spat in the foyer," Greene offered, as if to pose a distraction.

"Is that so," Angelica hummed flatly, not bothering to look at her uncle. "I pray the meeting is thorough then."

With that, Angelica left with a nod to Erwin, heading towards the terrace with a frosty demeanor, obviously in poor spirits as she exited the double doors of paned glass for the table being set up by several women, bedecking it in patterned silk just for the occasion of their presence.

"Girls. Don't ever have them yourself," Greene warned to Carlton with raised eyebrows and an emphatic nod of the head, before he went out to take a seat on the terrace. Danford and Lung El followed not far behind, taking up seats together in the middle of the large table, while Angelica made it a point to sit at the very far end away from Greene, who sat at the opposite head.

Spoiler

The mysterious Mr. Greene arrives! It doesn't matter where you sit, really. But this is where the info session starts. Take a moment to wrap up conversations and head to chairs, pick seats (maybe with friends? If you can call them that?), and let's get the mystery a-rollin'.

 

[Red Thunder]

Tatyana Volkov | Chronicler
:the Jade Elephant Hotel terrace:​

"Mr. Greene!"

Tatyana had fairly pushed her way out of the lounge, past servant, native, and guest, fighting to follow as closely to her employer as was feasible. For all her bluster and the occasional muttered curse, she only managed to emerge onto the terrace as Greene took his seat. But good time had been made of the struggle, and both pencil and page were in her hands, ready to be put to good use. And so they were; as soon as she sat down, the reporter began scratching out preliminary notes.

"So the expedition is yours! All here are surely eager to meet our employer, yes? Certainly, I am." Name. Occupation. Reason. Questions to be answered. Answers to be recorded. Records to be saved. This man would, by nature of his position of both financier and organizer, set the mood for this expedition. Indeed, it would set a precedence for how she recorded the information; Ana intended to be exceedingly thorough. Her pencil paused, and she looked up, expectant eyes above an inquisitive smile.

"This reason you've funded a journey into the Siamese jungle. What is it? You hope to find something, maybe. Or one of your expedition to?"

As he replied, Ana's pencil traced phrases across the page: an English script, it was true, but a form of short hand, one to be deciphered later.

@Doctor Jax

 

[Doctor Jax]

Mr. Charles Greene

Greene did not miss the young woman that happened to rush after him as he made his exit to the terrace. Quite the contrary - he seemed to make a mental note of her approach, but deigned not to turn to her and acknowledge her just yet. He half-recognized her face: a Caucasian countenance with a nose and brow that harkened to the Eastern half of Europe. He could hardly summon her name as he sat down in his chair at the head of the table, only momentarily peeved by Angelica's rebellious snub, the young girl still refusing to look at him.

The woman said his name and he turned politely to look at her. She was quite forthright, not unpleasantly so. She began to ask questions, her pencil poised to jot down his answers, and a swell of blinding warmth suffused him at her rapt attention.

"The very reason for our expedition is a search, yes. Angelica? Do you care to give the details of our search?" Greene asked with smug politeness.

Angelica, for all her sour attitude, could not resist the chance to dive into the quarry they happened to be chasing. She leaned forward expectantly towards the blonde woman with the accent, animated.

"We are looking for something which the Hindoos of British India called 'soma.' Now, their myths have it that this was the elixir of life created at the beginning of the world to give gods their longevity, which of course is complete malarkey. However, these stories are grounded in some truth, and we have cause to believe there is a plant out in the Siamese jungle which once cured many, many illnesses and slowed aging, effectively giving a sort of 'immortality' to Man," Angelica said, clearly but with a fervor that put her speech to a quick trundle. "This, we believe, is what began the myth and is the basis for such a thing as 'soma'. Which is why we require a botanist: the plant will be unlike any so far discovered and must be adequately described and checked against known species. Can't be bringing back a ficus and claim it cures consumption..."

"We'll be working off the work of a previous team, which we will also be looking out for," Charles added, clasping his hands in front of him. Angelica gave him an expectant look but he did not elaborate further.

@Red Thunder

 

[Pahn]

Erwin Carlton Turner
Jade Elephant Hotel Terrace | | Alive ​

After Mr. Greene's introduction and interruption of his thoughts, Erwin tore his off of Miss Warren. The trance-like sensation was fading rapidly but the nagging feeling that something was not quite right remained. Of course she was related to Mr. Greene, the two had quite the peculiar interest in this place, more than anyone else. It wasn't hard to see the two were continuing a previous private argument, but Erwin deemed it best to stay out of it. It was absolutely none of his business after all.

The gentleman smiled politely at Miss Warren as she nodded and left. Her uncle's comment made him chuckle nervously. He noticed the others in the lobby start following both Mr. Greene and Miss Warren to the terrace, and before he could grab his bag the blonde woman that was next to him nearly rushed outside. Someone's in a hurry, he thought to himself as he pushed away his empty glass and grabbed both coat and bag. It wasn't like they would be leaving right this instant, and he didn't see why they had to be hurried around like some cattle.

One of the most difficult part of the entire adventure would be to work with strangers, he'd noticed. Back in Liverpool, he knew everyone and everyone knew him. There was a certain comfort in that, and now that he was thousands of miles away from home and any acquaintance, he felt rather vulnerable. It was an odd feeling and he did not enjoy it. Remaining as professional as he could, he took a seat next to Miss Warren. He did not want to be on her bad side, and there was still that strange book that he wished he could take a look at again. Books were so much easier to understand and deal with than people.

Miss Warren's detailed explanation about their reason for being here made him curious, but not enough to interject. He was here to make sure they were going in the right direction and perhaps even to map a little bit of the wilderness of the Siamese forest. What they would be doing on their way there was not particularly his concern, but the mention of a previous team made him raise his brow. The tension between niece and uncle was heavy and their silent conversation wasn't missed by the man.

"Another team? I wasn't made aware of this. Are we suddenly a rescue team? Are there any risks that were not disclosed in our agreement, Mr. Greene?"
​

 

[Doctor Jax]

Mr. Charles Greene

To Charles' credit, he did not miss a beat at all at Erwin's misgivings, and he gestured with a hand to the navigator.

"Nothing that you wouldn't already be aware of: we are going into the Siamese rainforest. You're bound to encounter risks. We're not a rescue team, no - our main objective isn't to find the previous group, but rather to forge on using the information they provided before losing contact with us. I was originally on that crew - a good lot, very organized - but I caught a bad case of watery guts before reaching the first landmark, so I was sent back with Lung El over here," Greene recounted, gesturing to the Thai guide sitting next to Danford who nodded his head in acknowledgement. "My theory is that the going got rough when the rainy season hit, and they've holed up somewhere in the middle of the jungle at some small portage town along the Chao Phraya."

"Though we will be on the look-out for them, as they may be able to resupply us, or vice versa," Angelica tacked on. "My father is a part of that expedition, and we've heard no word from him."

"Either way, it's not something that you will have to worry about, necessarily," Greene reassured. "We're taking every precaution possible: quinine tablets, guns, things to trade, the works."

@Pahn

 

[Necrowmancer]

Flannery Thorburn | Botanist
Jade Elephant Hotel Lounge + Bar
​

Flannery took one last long draw on her cigarette, gaze shifting to the man over Tatyana's shoulder. She'd paid the man little mind after starting her conversation with the other woman, but she noted that he leaned over to reach something under Tatyana's chair. Her brow arched up grinding out the snub of the cigarette into the ash tray. A book of some sort. Immediately, she lost interest. Something else scholarly. She wasn't entirely surprised really, but it wasn't anything fun. At least, so she assumed. The book was odd, there was no doubt about that from the brief glance she had of it, but it didn't quite register to her as anything but a book.

Another woman came up to chatter at him, and she returned her attention to the remains of the local drink. Picking it up, she swirled the remaining contents for a few moments as she tried to steel her stomach to finish the damn thing. Another man came in and Flannery threw him a glance, snorting softly at his comment. She thought she'd gotten off the boat late, but this man was even later. Which, in all honesty, made her feel a bit better. In the luck this man was a part of their company, at least people wouldn't remember her as being the late straggler.

The man was just in time too it seemed, since their employer had just come in to make an announcement. With a curt nod of her head, she threw back the remains of the drink in one motion before slamming the glass back down on the bar. Slipping out of her seat, Flannery made her way towards the terrace, chuckling to herself as Tatyana hurried off to presumably interview him as well.

Not paying any mind to the myriad of side conversations, Flannery found herself a seat, leaning back to wait for everyone else. If it was important, it'd come up again. She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other before idly picking dirt out from under her nails. She was curious where this was all going to go. But at what she could make out of the neighboring conversations... interesting wasn't going to cut it.

Narrowing her eyes and glancing over slightly at the conversation's source from under her hat, Flannery bit her lower lip. A rescue party? That was about the bulk of what she'd heard. Something something a place in the woods, something something plants, something something another team we haven't heard back from. Flannery grunted. She was sure it'd be covered in more detail when Mr. Green began his discussion with the company as a whole. If not, it probably wouldn't be hard to corner him later, or just pester Tatyana for the information. She seemed eager to chat anyways, and Flannery was hoping that chattiness would extend to relaying what she'd learned. It would be extraordinarily useful if it did.

 

[Kuno]

PETER O'KEEFE || RIFLEMAN
Location: Jade Elephant Hotel
​

Mr. Wallace was entirely nonchalant in his actions. Peter half-expected the man to shrug as he huffed on his cigarette lightly, as if he didn't care a wit if the rifleman accepted the assignment or not. But he didn't; in the end, he simply expressed his understanding of Peter's decision.

"If you ever change your mind, just show this card to the concierge at your hotel - any hotel. They'll get you in contact with an associate of mine." A small card was pressed into Peter's waiting hands. But he didn't so much as glance at it as he shoved it deep into his pocket, where it wouldn't be seen. The card could wait. His questions, however, could not. As he prepared to lobby his first one at the man, Mr. Wallace's eyes suddenly latched on to something behind Peter. Almost immediately following that, he pulled his hat over his face rather quickly, casting his features in shadow. Peter's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the American's abrupt actions. What had gotten into him?

"This is where we part ways, I'm afraid." Mr. Wallace was already moving away as he spoke. Whatever the man had seen had spooked him, and he walked as if he was in a great hurry. "Bon Voyage, Mr. O'Keefe."

Peter blinked after him. "Right...Goodbye, Mr. Wallace." He watched as the crowd parted slightly for him before swallowing him up, his apparel indistinguishable from the sea of brown faces. In an instant, he had completely disappeared. The word "stunned" could not even begin to describe his feelings at that moment. Was it guilt he felt? No, it couldn't be--he'd done plenty more sinful things and had felt the sharp sting of his conscience soon after. In one fluid motion, he drew Mr. Wallace's card out and peered at it. There was no name left on it. Puzzled, Peter flipped it over and held it up to the sun's rays in order to get a better look at it. So engrossed was he in the strange card that the Irishman failed to register an older gentleman brush past him. It wasn't until he had lowered the card back down again that he finally saw a faint symbol barely glimmering on the surface. He cocked his head to the side. It almost looked like-

"Hey chap!" The crisp accent of an American man cut through the rabble of the natives. Startled, Peter jerked his head up only to find an unknown man beckoning to him from the hotel's entrance. Unbeknownst to him, it was the same person who had moved past him earlier. "If you're part of the Green expedition - go on in, we'll be right behind!"

Whatever interest he had in the card fizzled away. Mr. Greene. It had to be him. Either that or that young doctor was puppy-eyeing the wrong man. Pushing his item of treachery back in his pocket, Peter quickly crossed the street over to the Jade Elephant Hotel. He was some distance behind them as he entered the establishment. His eyes adjusting to the sudden shade, he nearly knocked over a serving girl in his temporary blindness. After helping to right her and apologizing quite profusely, he took off once more, hurrying into the chamber he'd last seen them enter. The main brunt of their entourage seemed to be in the lounge; it was not lost on him the amount of European faces that dotted the room. He wondered, briefly, how many truly were part of the expedition. But there was no time to ponder over it. Still on Mr. Greene's heels, he followed the man in a great rush out onto the veranda, barely managing to slip into a seat by itself as his employer began speaking. Saints be. He smoothed a hand over his tousled hair, hoping not to look as frazzled as he felt.

Despite his harried efforts, he had managed to miss a chunk of the conversation. Apparently one of the young ladies--a prim, bright-eyed girl with distinctly blonde hair--had posed a question. As to what, he couldn't say. But Mr. Greene seemed to defer to another young woman--Anjelica, so she was called--to give the bulk of the answer, and Peter could not help but have his curiosity peaked by the interaction. Was the woman his assistant, perhaps? To say the girl was his lover would be too much of a stretch. She was pretty, yes, but he got the distinct feeling that the two were not intimate. Call it intuition, or what have you. And so were the man's thoughts, until the sudden mention of a Hindoo plant arrested his attention. Almost immediately, his thoughts turned to Mr. Wallace. So this is what he spoke of. Peter kept his face impassive, but inside, his thoughts became a volley of questions as Mr. Greene finished his niece's answer evenly, mentioning something about another team. He peered at the man curiously. Another team?

"Another team?" A gentleman seated across from Peter echoed his thoughts nicely. He was a well-dressed man with a glint of intelligence and something more in his eyes, his mustache frowning down slightly as he regarded their employer carefully. Mr. Greene, being the quick-witted fellow that he was, was able to answer almost immediately, but at hearing his response and Angelica's--he did not miss how the young woman chimed in again, interestingly--alarm bells began to ring in his head. And although his employer's tone was meant to be reassuring, Peter was anything but reassured, and he found his words less so. His eyes darted around from face to face, but at finding them all rather calm, none of the least as concerned as he was, his exasperation only grew. He had to say something.

"I beg pardon," Peter interjected, his Irish brogue forcing his I into an Ah. His face appeared rather aggrieved as he leaned forward, laying his right arm heavily against the table. "But I wouldn't be going about telling us 'not to worry' if you haven't the faintest clue what went awry with the previous party. You haven't heard a peep or whistle from your father since, eh?" He suddenly asked, his focus flicking to Angelica, then back to Mr. Greene in an instant. "Is that supposed to alleviate all our concerns? Warm our insides and comfort us? Huh?

"And if you've no idea what happened to them, how can you be so sure it won't happen again? How can you take all precautions necessary when you're wholly ignorant of what to look out for? I've a feeling your guns and quinine tablets and scores of men were all to be had by the group you departed from. So I ask you, where the devil are they now? Rainy season be damned!"

"I tell you all, this reeks of bad spirits." He wagged his finger at the others as he spoke. "You shouldn't need two parties to obtain a bedamned plant, and if you do, then it's of a Satanic nature for a surety. I'll not have my bits strung up in the trees for a weed."

 

[Jack Robinson]

Roland Green, Rifleman. Jade Elephant Bar.

Roland, if we're being honest, was not paying attention. Indeed, he was on his third drink by the time something was said that interested him. He was staring into the bowels of his cup, lazily eyeing the dregs of liquor that remained within it, when his boss (who bore an almost identical surname to him, just to add to the confusion of the whole expedition) said something about a previous team. This caused a bit of anxiety among the others. Roland was happy about this. Not happy that there had been a previous team, of course, but that the people he would be protecting weren't idiots who would stick their heads in hornet nests or go skinny dipping with alligators. He drained his cup, slammed it down on the table, and wiped his mouth. His fellow soldier, an Irishman named Pedro or Peter or something, declared he wouldn't risk his life for a damned plant. Roland nodded in agreement, and sluggishly began forming his own thoughts. He spoke slowly, thinking about each word before he said it.

"I don't mean to be a pessimist...actually, I kinda do, but sounds to me like this other group is one hundred percent dead." He waved at a waiter and ordered another drink. "That's not a problem to me. It's really not. I couldn't care less, actually. I just wanna know what the hell is out there. Are we talking natives, tigers, army ants, or what?" He belched and took a sip of his freshly poured drink. "Again...I'm just here to get paid. But I think I deserve to know what exactly I'll be, uh, shooting at. Yeah. Also, everyone quit talking so loud. Making my bloody headache even worse."

Roland had been on a sketchy expedition or two in his time. Scalping raids in America, artifact retrieval in Egypt. He'd seen it all and shot it all. But jungles, there was something about jungles that made him nervous. He'd read his fair share of books, and he knew it'd be just his luck to run into a long forgotten tribe of indigenous natives that had harnessed the power of the sun to melt people's skin off or something. He was alright with that. He had dealt with all sorts of awful, wicked things. He just wanted to know on the front end what he was shooting at and how much he'd have to shoot at it. He didn't care about why, he didn't care about who the people were. So long as he got money in the end, he was happy. Morals, you see, were a thing Roland couldn't afford on a soldier's salary. No, such things had been cast aside long ago in favor of more helpful things such as grit and instinct. Roland would never complain about a hellish job or dangerous working conditions, so long as he knew that he'd get paid at the end, and so long as he knew what he'd be dealing with at the front end. Being vague was something Roland detested, and if this Mr. Greene was going to be vague, then Roland was going to have to have to start waving his rifle around. If it got too bad, well, he could always go back to America and scalp natives. Although his scalping skills were rather rusty. He looked around at his companions, quietly wondering how easy they'd be to scalp.

He blinked, realizing how morbidly insane he was, and downed half his drink in an effort to drown his depravity. He grimaced and set his cup down. "Um...yeah. So how about just be honest with us. Please? I may be drunk, but I'm not stupid."

 

[Red Thunder]

Tatyana Volkov | Chronicler
:the Jade Elephant Hotel terrace:​

As the others spoke, Ana's pencil scratched. Details of what was spoke, of how it was spoken, and by whom, were carefully recorded; any information might be relevant in the future, and it paid to be thorough. So caught up in her work was she, the first few mentions of the lost expedition breezed right by her, the words traveling straight through her mind to absolutely no effect save to place them in semipermanent fashion on the page. It wasn't until the rather hard looking gentleman uttered the weighty word that Tatyana actually engaged her attention to the present.

"Dead?" The pencil had fallen silent, held in a grip as slack as the woman's jaw. It was, somehow, not a possibility she had ever considered; though her life until now had been difficult, the specter of death had always been a distant consideration. Staring briefly at the man who'd mentioned it, she turned to their financier with a look of disbelief. "Mister Greene, there is maybe something to be spoken of, yes, that there was an initial expedition? That perhaps they encountered danger before your unfortunate departure?"

She tapped her pencil nervously, suddenly torn. It was one thing to push past the discomfort of having to interact with a complete stranger and ask about some event or person that they may know rumors about. It was a matter entirely different to walk blindly into an absolutely foreign environ, knowing full well that they last people who tried they very thing had not been heard of since. A bead of anxious sweat rolled down her temple, as much brought on by this sudden revelation as it was by the oppressive humidity. There was a natural terror there, ingrained instinctually, that screamed to avoid such a thing at any and all cost. For within civilization, one could at the very least rely on human sympathy. In the Unknown, that last safety line was gone, cut off my God knew what.

But Ana had to know. She had to. Somewhere in that jungle, if Angelica was right, was a tremendously priceless plant that might have unforeseen healing properties. While never given to superstition, Ana knew that the wide world contained much unheard of and unexpected. And it touched her personally; though not in awful health, Mikael her father wasn't as strong as he once was, and time would continue to take its toll.
And there was always the promise of the money.

"It's good to know for preparation," she clarified, building on her questions from before. Pencil led back upon the page and a look of hard determination in her eyes, the journalist glanced expectantly between Angelica and Mr. Greene. Though others had now joined the group and had indeed voiced questions and opinions, she'd forgotten every nicety in the pursuit of answers. "As Mister …. ah, forgive me. As the dark skinned gentleman mentioned, it would do everyone well for you to be honest. If you do not want another lost expedition, that is."

 

[Doctor Jax]

Angelica Warren

The young woman had sat through each person's misgivings towards the missing team with a quickly tensing jaw, her hands white-knuckled as she folded them together. Each of the members of the group said their piece, and it was the dark-skinned gentleman's words that drew a rather abrupt reaction from Angelica, the young woman standing up from her chair as the blonde girl with the Russian accent spoke.

As soon as she was finished, Angelica interjected.

"My father.... is not dead."

Her words held a steely conviction, her eyes seeming to burn as she drew herself up to her full height.

"He and the team that left before us went on multiple expeditions just like this one. My father knows the Thai countryside better than most natives do. He's scoured it, endlessly, looking for what we seek, and he was neither stupid nor unprepared," Angelica stressed.

"Angie-" Charles warned, but Angelica was too riled by this point. Her blood seemed to simmer at the accusations against the team before, and while she knew that these strangers did not know their capabilities, Angelica did. All of them were men and women she had known since childhood, coming in and out of her life with their stories of far off places and their sojourns with her father at the helm. She knew she was taking it personally, but the words would not seem to stop flowing from her mouth, her hand on the book of palm spines on the table.

"They are out there somewhere. And they will come back here, when it is safe for them. We have everything they know right here," Angelica boasted, dumping the leather portfolio she'd been lugging around onto the table. "My father's notes. Along with all his charts. He left them, knowing they were too precious to take with if something happened. He'd had them all memorized."

Angelica plopped herself back down into her seat, and she locked eyes with Greene across the table, not the least unaware of his own barely-contained temper.

"Thank you, Angelica," Charles said immediately after her tirade was finished, quickly regaining control of the meeting, "We do have the prior group's notes. If you want to know what exactly is out there, I can tell you myself. I've been on four of these trips so far. We'll be encountering a lot of malaria, a lot of snakes, plenty of the King's Police, and more than possibly natives. There are elephants, there are tigers, there are poachers. We will be fighting more with Nature herself than with anything else in that godforsaken overgrowth. I understand your concern - this isn't typical."

He glanced at the Irishmen and the Welshmen who had spoken - both of them riflemen, he recognized - before turning to the young reporter.

"We do have a heading. The prior away team mapped quite a bit of the area we'll be searching through. We are quite lucky that Angelica is able to decipher her father's notes, as well, seeing as he... well, we can't be too careful. There are others who would gladly get this information for themselves and beat us to the punch," Greene stated. "We will first take a short rest of three days here at the Jade Elephant before taking a steamer upriver to the jump-off point. We will, by that point, be fully equipped to head out.

"My good gun-toting friends - you will have plenty of men to join you as auxiliaries on this trip. You'll of course be in charge of munitions. Really, you'll be worried most about the wildlife than any natives.

"Mr. Erwin, your services will be needed almost immediately upon landing. While Henry - Mr. Warren, my apologies - left well-detailed notes, Angelica is by no means a cartographer or a navigator. She can't make heads or tails of it.

"Ms. Volkav, you will of course be keeping records, and any time any kind of evidence is found, it will be your job to take pictures, sketch, what-have-you -- we realized too late that Mr. Warren was not a particularly good artist," Greene joked darkly. "And Ms. Thorburn, your role will be minimal until we reach our landmark."

"We go mostly by foot," Lung El said. "Though we have car for clearing out the brush. But it only do so much. Even after the first team make the path for us, it grow back very, very quickly. We have it very hard after we pass where the first team stop cutting."

"At that point,everyone will be necessary to cut back brush and move forward. Sorry ladies, but you'll have to get used to a machete as well," Greene mentioned. "We of course will be lead by experienced guides, alongside our friend Lung El."

Angelica had mostly tuned out what Greene had said by this point, instead examining the people at the table. She did not, in fact, know them well, though she had briefly talked to the young man with curling hair - Mr. Erwin. They would have to quickly learn to depend upon each other, and she felt unease at the prospect. These were not the family friends she had grown up with, talking around a coffee table in India while she played at their feet. They were, in essence, mercenaries - untried, untested.

But this was the best they could do on short notice.

 

[Pahn]

Erwin Carlton Turner
Jade Elephant Hotel Terrace | | Alive ​

The tension became palpable within minutes around the table. While Mr. Greene and Miss Warren attempted to put a balm on his worries and those of his colleagues, a feeling of uneasiness welled up in Erwin's stomach. It wasn't the scotch, that he knew for sure. One rarely thinks about death while sitting around in the sun on a hot day, in an uncivilized world. The navigator had thought through the dangers that could come from such an expedition, but none of it seemed quite real from his mahogany desk in his cold office, in his parents' home.

The gentleman bit his bottom lip but he managed to swallow his fears. Those around him would be needing him to lead them on and he could simply not show any signs of weakness right now. This particular meeting was crucial to establish leadership and inspire confidence from his colleagues.

"Understood, Mr. Greene. Miss Warren, if you would, may I have a look at your father's notes? There is a chance I will need your assistance to decipher his handwriting, although you appear to be quite the pleasant company." Erwin attempted a smile, his mustache following the upward curve of his lip. His eyes went from her to the drunk rifleman and he suppressed a sigh of exasperation. Those damned Irishmen, always drinking and lacking anything resembling proper manners. Finally he looked back at Mr. Greene and nodded. "I will take those days to prepare for the expedition, with Miss Warren's help if she so wishes. I would appreciate it very much, along with any further... Literature you may have on the local flora. Anything that could help." His thoughts immediately went back to that book he had just been holding in his hands, and a queer longing made him tighten his fists for a second.

Erwin swallowed despite his dry throat and ran a hand through his hair automatically, and leaned back in his chair, straight as a rod and hands politely crossed on the table. Good impressions, composed demeanor, he chanted to himself, Be the inspiration they need, boy.
​

 

[Red Thunder]

Tatyana Volkov | Chronicler
:the Jade Elephant Hotel terrace:
~Mentioned: @Pahn~
~Addressed: @Doctor Jax~​

If Erwin Turner was the very picture of formality and politeness in asking Angelica for permission to examine the stack of papers she herself had dropped with a fair amount of informality upon the tabletop, then Ana Volkov seemed to act as if she were raised in a barn, as the saying goes. Oral accounts of deeds and intentions were all well and good, and they were a journalist's first goal upon locating some story worth reporting. Yet they always took back seat to that of a written account. In writing was solid, irrefutable proof of a thing, of an idea, of a plan. In writing was intention. Words upon a page could be referenced time and again, bearing little in the way of concern that referencing them might taint the original report, as was often the case with memory. Notes and essays, sketches and drawings, could validate her own reports and lend weight to them.

Without much regard for which papers it was exactly that she grabbed, the young woman immediately stood, leaned forward against the table as far as she might stretch toward the heretofore mentioned collection of papers, and began seizing as many as she could. Her eyes were alight with glee, and she gave a distinct if obviously unintended giggle. Having secured a fair third of the lot, she sat herself back down, pages in hand, and started flipping through them. Much of this needed filtering. Compiling. This Mister Warren, Angelica's father, she guessed, had been, apart from an inadequate sketch artist, appallingly disorganized; notes and asides were written in every possible open space upon a given sheet, as if paper were a precious commodity, or perhaps as if he had scrawled an observation or idea as it had come to his on the most readily available page regardless of its former content.

So engrossed was she, Ana failed to really comprehend what it was Mr. Greene mentioned regarding the various responsibilities of each member on their up coming journey. Instead she merely nodded absentmindedly, never lifting her eyes save when Erwin mentioned literature on local plant life.

"Da," she muttered, pulling a particular few pages from the stack and waving them in his vague direction. The pages in question having been provided, she went back to her reading, only bending down to her notepad once she had filtered through the collection. Suddenly, she sat up, blinking in delayed comprehension.

"I need a kamera. And a gun, if this will be as dangerous as you make it out."

 

[Doctor Jax]

Angelica Warren

Angelica's ire was slowly soothed as others chimed in on the conversation. Her eyes tracked over to Mr. Turner as she realized that he had addressed her regarding the notes aforementioned. At the least, he seemed quite the gentlemanly sort, a bit wan in the face given the dangers thus posited, but stalwart and unbending. She had the feeling that she would get along quite well with him, at the least. A quiet warmth flushed her face at his praise - rarely did she have the opportunity to work with young men - and she sat up straighter.

"I would be more than happy to hel- excuse me!" Angelica spluttered suddenly as Ana took hold of some of her father's notes, enthusiastically going through several of them before tossing a few of them to Mr. Erwin. It was odd seeing someone else handle those sacred papers, as if someone had walked through a pigsty and then tracked into the Saint Peter's Basilica. How rude... Angelica mentally thought, but she couldn't deny that at least someone here had some initiative. Ana was totally engrossed in the notes before her, and she said, "If you get very far, it will surprise me. My father was a man well aware of his rivals, and he wrote quite a bit of the more sensitive notes in a coded hand. Some of it even I don't fully understand..."

"I need a kamera. And a gun, if this will be as dangerous as you make it out," the Russian woman professed.

"Er, I have one you may borrow," Angelica said haltingly, glancing up at Greene, who only nodded in assent."The latest type. It uses bulbs for the flash, instead of powder. Very, very fast development of the film. I had received it as a gift, but I supposed you might make better use of it..."

"Guns will be in no short supply. I take it you know already how to use one," Green said, stroking his ample beard as he raised his eyebrows.

She certainly is an interesting lady, Angelica mentally noted. A woman who could use a camera and a gun - a bizarre mixture, by her standards.

@Red Thunder
@Pahn

 

[Kuno]

PETER O'KEEFE || RIFLEMAN
Location: Jade Elephant Hotel
​

Peter was not quite sure what he had started. Much after he had finished speaking, a rugged-looking man stirred from his drink induced coma and began to say his piece. He talked much like a soldier, cutting out all the pleasantries and getting right to the heart of the matter. While he appreciated that, Peter cringed at his blunt assertion that the previous team was already dead. The thought had crossed his own mind, but he at least had the sense to keep it to himself, especially in front of Angelica. And speaking of her...he snuck a peek at her while the Russian woman added her voice to his. It was not lost on him the quiet fury sparking in the girl's eyes, no doubt at the mention her ol' man might be dead. When she burst from her chair, her cheeks flushed with rage, Peter was only too sure of what she was going to say.

After her emotional outburst was done, Mr. Greene set about addressing their concerns. At the moniker given to the riflemen, Mr. Greene's "good, gun-toting friends", Peter bristled, clearly annoyed. Good, gun-toting friends indeed. As if they were just simpletons brought along only to shoot things and stay the hell out of everyone's way. And maybe that's why Mr. Wallace singled him out, too. Maybe he just gave off a stupid vibe everywhere he went. Muttering something incoherent under his breath, he was barely paying attention to the conversation, so wrapped up in his own thoughts he was, until the Russian mentioned something about carrying her own gun. At that, Peter snapped his eyes over to the woman in question.

"Well!" Peter declared, "If the women are to be carrying guns too, I see no reason for us good gun-toting friends to be out and about, don't you agree?" The statement came rather sharply, and, not wanting Ms. Russian to believe he was angry with her, he winked cheekily at her. But his cheery front faded as his mind returned back to his former thoughts, and he turned his attention back to Mr. Greene once more.

"Well, Mr. Greene," Peter started, his face inscrutable. The question he longed to ask pricked at the back of his mind: Who are the other interested parties? A suspicious question in its own right, it would belie his own underhanded offer, as Mr. Greene would no doubt be curious as to why he asked. And being the God-fearing man he was, he would indubitably tell him. His mind wrestled with asking it, the Irishman's brows furrowing, until finally, he simply shook his head. Something else entirely the opposite of what he wanted to say came out instead.

"I thank you and your young lady for graciously and uh, patiently addressing our concerns. I'm much obliged to you. Truly. I hope you will understand that these are simply the inquiries of a stranger to a new employer, with no substance for a personal attack against the previous crew." Flicking his gaze over to the other end of the table, he flashed Angelica a quick and easy smile, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. She was young, he realized, much younger than he thought. Young of heart, and young of experience. And while it didn't diminish the girl's intelligence by any means, Peter recognized the liabilities that came with it. He would just have to tread lightly around the girl. As best he could, anyways. He fought the urge to pinch his nose--a headache was coming on--and instead forged on as tactfully as he could.

"I do have one other concern I'd like to share with you in private, Mr. Greene, if you'd lend me a listening ear. Nothing of so much import that it need be spoken about here and now." His words couldn't be further from the truth. Even as the words came out his mouth, calm and kindly, a faint nervousness radiated off the young man. He did not know how to broach the subject of the other deal, or if he was even going to mention it at all. But he'd never been one to hold a guilty conscience for long, and he could feel his secrets bursting to spill out. Continuing on, he added, "Out of respect for the ladies and gents here-" he waved his hand vaguely at the others- "I will withhold such matters until a later time. But in the meantime…"

Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms solidly across his chest and regarded the others carefully. Addressing them, he stated, "Now I haven't forgotten me manners entirely. As I recall, we've no chance of being formally introduced. The name's Peter O'Keefe and, uh...I'm sure you've all ascertained that I am one of the main riflemen of this journey. Pleasure to meet you." He then paused, an expectant look on his face as he waited for one of the others to introduce themselves. Assuming they would, of course.

 

[Anguissette]

Kannika | Guide​

:the terrace, Jade Elephant Hotel:​

"And my name is Kannika," came a soft local-accented voice from the direction of the french windows. When she had received the message in Savannakhet she had been on a return journey from guiding a Chinese merchant's party along the Mekong. Most of the party had been Han and had disdained to speak anything but Mandarin, which left it a very isolated time for the young woman, relaying her answers and advice through the jiuniang-soaked head guard. Predictably half the party had been laid low with fever before they were two months into their trading expedition, and she had been released early with only half her agreed pay. Kee nee-ow ai wen, she thought resentfully. On top of that the pay hadn't been enough for her to take another journey home to visit her parents, not for any real length of time.

The one saving grace of the whole debacle had been that at least she'd been freed to accept a role posted with her agency for a guide with something called the Greene Expedition. A very well-paying role at that. She made the journey to the sea in six days, then picked her way along the coast to dock at Bangkok only that morning. Not for her the main docks with the great oceangoing vessels of the westerners; her Chiwit was safely nestled on one of the offshoots of the Chao Phraya. Then it had been simply a matter of finding the expedition, which had been laughably easy. The Jade Elephant was a popular establishment, playing host to Westerners who wanted a touch of the Orient as well as Easterners seeking a taste of the strange Occidentals who seemed well on their way to ruling the world.

The trouble of course was that if it was too simple for her to get inside, getting the attention of the exhibition seemed to be well nigh impossible. Kannika saw men and women who seemed more adventurous than the usual fare, but they all seemed wrapped up in one another's company - and anyway, she couldn't be certain that they belonged to the expedition she had been hired to accompany. One of them - a green-eyed, ruddy-cheeked Britisher - had even walked into her and sent her reeling. He'd caught her before she could recover, and she had mentally marked him as one to watch when he got the drink in him. Then Lung El arrived - at last a face she recognised - and she followed his party out onto the terrace.

Truthfully the serving girls here at the Jade Elephant were not so differently dressed, only a few wore the full ornamental regalia so beloved by Westerners. Kannika's attire though was a trifle more weathered, her hair a trifle longer and her skin a few drops paler so that a keen eye would be able to tell her from the rest. Even if they all looked the same to some foreigners. "I have the honour to be Lung El's fellow Guide on this expedition in place of the esteemed Ki Ren who is presently missing with your father," she curtseyed politely to Angelica, having followed the discussion closely while she was busy being mistaken for a waitress. Her eyes slid across to the freshly introduced Peter as she idly wondered if he would remember her from their brief encounter.

 

[Necrowmancer]

Flannery Thorburn | Botanist
Jade Elephant Hotel Lounge + Bar​

Well, this was just turning out more and more interesting by the second. Flannery scratched the underside of her chin, arching a brow as she listened to the very flustered Irishman. Well, she couldn't blame him for being... a bit up in arms about the mysterious disappearance of the previous party, but Flannery wasn't that worried. People disappearing into the jungle wasn't that unheard of as far as she was concerned. It didn't take much to screw you over if you didn't know what you were doing, which is always just what Flannery assumed was the cause of any given vanishing.

Flannery finally pulled her hand out from under her face, waving her hand passively in front of her face. "I'm sure there ain't a thing to worry about. Jungles like these kill people for all sorts of reasons uninteresting. For all we know, they could just be dehydrated or hallucinating a few miles out," she said with a idle shrug, propping her face up with her other hand. Her gaze shifted to Roland. "Oh, tigers most certainly if you want to believe something ate them. I'd heard people in the eastern India wore masks on the back of their heads to keep tigers from eating them," she mused. "Well, if the local fauna hasn't killed them i'm sure the flora might have. People eat all sorts of things when they're sick with jungle illnesses."

This Angelica woman seemed adamant about the other party's survival though. A subtle frown tugged on the edge of Flannery's lips. Of all the people in the group so far, she seemed the most... emotionally involved. Flannery's eyes narrowed in thought. Which could be a problem, she realized. It was something she'd need to keep an eye on if the woman would be accompanying them. She wouldn't doubt that the other group was probably decently prepared, but in the wilderness it didn't take much for everything to go down hill. One broken ankle or bucket of bad water would be enough to start a domino effect of misfortune.

Flannery rolled her eyes at the Irishman's remark about weaponry. That being said, if Tatyana really did get her hands on a gun, Flannery made a mental note to steer clear of the woman in bad situations. Tatyana didn't seem like the kind of person who'd ever held a gun before, and Flannery knew that could only end well.

Flannery opened her mouth to shoot out a snide remark, but a soft voice she almost missed spoke up. Another guide? Good. Flannery gave a simple nod of her head to the girl, looking her over before leaning back in her chair. "I have no doubt we'll be fine. At least most of you seem like you know what you're doing, which is as much as I can ask," she said with another shrug. "Let's not get tangled up already."

 

[Jack Robinson]

Roland Green, Rifleman

Roland awoke from his drunken stupor once the Indian girl or whatever she was came in. What was going on? He truly had no idea. It'd be better if he wasn't drunk and hungover and overall just a pitiful excuse for a human being. He was pretty sure he'd made some people mad. Probably because he had said everyone from the first group was dead. Oh well. Not his fault he spoke the truth. He sighed and made eye contact with the Irishman. He was pretty sure he was a rifleman. Yeah, rifleman. Pedro, right? Or Penny? Peyton? No, he was pretty sure it was Pete...Peter! Yes! Peter! Roland waved at Peter, then paused, unsure as to why he had done that.

"Hey Pedro."

He frowned. Why had he called him Pedro? He knew what his name was. It was Peyton...no, Peter. Yeah. Peter. It just kinda came out. He supposed it didn't matter.

"I'm Roland Green. That's without an E at the end. Just Roland Green. Yeah. Um, I shoot things. I've been shooting things for a long bloody time. I...oh, damn, I forgot what I was gonna say. Oh, yeah, um, sorry if I offended anyone, but I'm blunt as all hell and even more drunk. I promise not to get drunk on the trip. Uh...actually, I take that back. I promise not to get too drunk on the trip. You're in good hands, I promise!"

Roland belched loudly and leaned back in his chair. "Pedro, buy me a drink, mate. I'm bloody dehydrating over here, love."

He wondered if he should keep his mouth shut. That would be the smart thing to do. He had no clue what was going on, what the names of his teammates were, and how they were all going to survive. He privately doubted that anyone would make it out of this alive. It was a gut feeling, same as he'd had in Egypt, and that trip had gone...poorly. How poorly? Let's just say desert bandits and hyenas were the least of their problems on that voyage.

All Roland knew was that he was going to ensure he made it out alive and with a healthy wad of cash in his pocket. If he got paid for each person who made it out alive, he'd make sure everyone survived. If he just got paid a flat fee, well, then he'd ensure he and his benefactor came out of the whole ordeal smelling like roses.

"I wonder if we'll see elephants," Roland mused, "I've always wanted to ride a bloody elephant."

 

[Red Thunder]

Tatyana Volkov | Chronicler
:the Jade Elephant Hotel terrace:​

True to Angelica's word, the notes were for the most part a jumble of symbols and signs that might have been letters. The handwriting and deteriorating effect the damned humidity had on the papers certainly didn't help matters. Ah well; Ana would siphon what information she could from them before giving Angelica her precious notes back. Angelica. What an interesting girl; she displayed them quite readily indeed but was absolutely taken aback that anyone should touch them. Flipping up a few pages, the journalist made a note to herself: смотреть ангела за вспышки, watch the angel for outbursts. A start to gathering dirt on the crew. Any journalist worth her salt kept one step ahead of her allies. Just in case.

In the meantime, Angelica's offer of the camera was generous, and Ana opened her mouth to thank her profusely, only to close it with a snap at the Irishman's comment. Her eyes narrowed, and she snorted. Her temper wasn't much sated by his wink. Grumbling, she gathered the notes and placed them back where she'd found them, listening all the while to the continued conversation.

Peter O'Keefe. Kannika. Flannery she already knew; the botanist was turning out to be rather interesting. Lastly, Roland Green. No E at the end. Ana frowned, making her notes; stupid English names and their ridiculous misspellings.

"I'm Tatyana Volkov," she spoke up, cutting in before Roland could continue his drunken musings. "I've been given charge of chronicling everything. Please, if you see or hear anything osobyy ... uh ... interesting, please let me know so I can write it. Or take pictures."

She smiled at the thought; the possibility of taking actual photographs was so intriguing! Already her hands itched to begin using it, but she focused on the task at hand. Ah; Mr. Greene had asked her a question, before others began interrupting.

"Use a gun? No; I know the concept only. But better to have it and not need it, I think."

No offense, Mr. O'Keefe, she almost said. But her jaw was still clenched at the condescending remark he'd made. So she paid him absolutely no attention.

 

[Kuno]

PETER O'KEEFE || RIFLEMAN
Location: Jade Elephant Hotel
​

Peter did not notice the other guide until she spoke. Hovering closely by the rich, French windows, a young native woman introduced herself as Kannika, her legs folding under her as she dipped into a graceful curtsy for Angelica. His eyes met her own and he inclined his head to her.

"Kannika," He repeated, "A pleasure." It was lost on him that he'd already run into her before. Briefly, he wondered why she didn't sit at the table with the rest of them. But that was her business, he supposed. Mayhaps she was tired of sitting around pompous, snotty Europeans, as he was so sure that, being a guide, she probably was. He almost smiled at the thought. You and me both, lass. The last of the women, a casually dressed lady who looked rather unconcerned the entire exchange, asserted that they should be all right with their team. Peter shot a look at her, assessing her quietly. She certainly appeared as if this wasn't her first expedition, and good for him, too. He would accept all the experienced folks he could get. He was about to ask her what her name was--she'd sounded American, for a surety--when a wave from the other side of the table caught his attention. It was the Welshman.

"Hey Pedro."

Peter's lips twitched with a smile, but he said nothing. The man was too far gone at this point. There was no use in correcting him. And by the time the Mr. Green without the E had finished his drunken discourse, Peter had already resolved in his heart to keep any alcohol he found far away from him. He watched as the man burped and slumped back in his seat, and a sharp pang of panic pricked him.

"Oy! Take it easy," He warned sharply. The man was bordering dangerously on the blacking-out point, and Peter was afraid Roland was about to topple out of his chair. Only after seeing him settled did the Irishman finally acknowledge his request. Buy him a drink, huh? Well, if it kept him quiet for a short spell, then so be it.

"Aye," Peter sighed, "Another drink then."

He turned to call for the server, but the serving girl was not far from the table. Due to Roland's constant attentions, she hadn't dared stray far from his side. After hearing Peter's voice, she came over to him, and waited expectantly for his orders. At the expression on her face, Peter stifled a laugh. Even if their cultures were as different as night and day, all people displayed the same emotions in the same manner. All it took was one look at the girl's weary eyes to know she was at her wit's end. Bidding her closer, he lightly grasped her shoulder so he could lean in further.

"Bring him another drink, but make it virgin, eh?" He murmured quietly in her ear. At the confusion clouding her face, he added, "You know--tell them to water it down some. You understand?"

The relief in her eyes was palpable. She nodded her understanding and padded away silently, leaving Peter to turn his attentions back to the table. Just in time for the young Russian woman to introduce herself. Ms. Tatyana Volkov. Well, how do you do. She expressed to the party that she was the chronicler, something that made Peter doubly sure that what he'd said earlier was correct. She was a writer, no less; absolutely no reason for her to even carry a gun. He was about to ask her how many expeditions she'd been on--a reasonably mild question, he thought--until she mentioned she'd never used a gun, but thought better to have it anyways. The comment stopped him short.

"Now, wait a minute--hold on," Peter objected, his brows worrying together. "Nobody should be carrying a gun if they're not quite sure how to use it, and that goes for anyone on the expedition, not just you, my dear." He was well aware of the hard look she'd gotten at his previous comment, and he supposed he'd bruised the flower's petals. But it couldn't be helped. Not when one's safety was at stake. "I rather like me head. I'd rather it stay intact on me neck than to have a stray bullet catch me through the eye from some greenling's gun. I'd rather the greenling not shoot themselves silly waving that thing around. Oh, and if you think that sounds ridiculous? Let me tell you something."

Peter leaned in close, eyes boring holes into his teammates' faces as he threw a long look about them. "Once escorted a gentlemen's party through a African safari. Can't remember their names, so don't ask me. But one of the gents thinks he's made of rather fine stuff, gets to boasting and whatnot. He gets to shooting his firearm for pure jest, so much so I've half a mind to confiscate his gun all together. But before I do, I tell you--the man accidently shoots himself. No lie. Right through the foot, clean down to the bone. It took us a fortnight just to get him to a proper doctor, and by then it was too late to save his foot."

"Now, this man was a war veteran. An idiot one at that, but knew how to use a gun for a surety. But he'd shot his own foot while putting his gun back in its holster. Hadn't been paying attention, I wager, and pulled the trigger accidently. And I've a feeling Roland's seen it too--" He paused, turning his attention to the Welsh rifleman. His intention was to get the man's input; He, too, had been a soldier once, and had probably seen far more wild cases of mishandled guns than Peter had. But, peering into Roland's reddened, glazed over eyes, he decided wisely against it and turned away.

"Never mind. The point is…" He rubbed his temple. "I can't abide by you having a gun, Ms. Volkov. Or any of you untrained lot, for that matter. Not without proper instruction. Not without due cause."

"Unless it be your direct will, Mr. Greene, in which case, I will defer to your...judgement." Peter added, although the hard set of his jaw screamed otherwise.