Mr. Charles Greene

The American's face only grew more and more deadpan as he watched each of his colorful 'characters' jabber back and forth across the table - from his dear Angelica saying no small part how she felt, to Volkov admitting no knowledge of firearms, to Mr. Green (what a coincidence) drunkenly muttering about elephants, to Mrs. Flannery not-so-subtly expressing some "thanks" that they seemed to know what they were doing. He did give a polite and grateful nod to Kannika when she stepped in and introduced herself, the young woman immediately turning Angelica's head.

As Peter put forth his objections towards having an uninitiated gunman on their little trek, Charles drummed fingers against the table. They expected a clear leadership, and he wouldn't mind giving it.

"I think that your point is well taken. I've seen more than one man find himself on the business end of a firearm he didn't know how to use properly. Mrs. Volkov, it seems I'll have to retract the offer of a firearm, though I believe that perhaps there's a compromise that can be made. Now - if all parties are willing, Mrs. Volkov, perhaps one of these kind men could teach you to use a firearm safely in the three days we'll be regrouping supplies. Would that satisfy the both of you?" Charles offered, opening his hands to the both of them. "It need not be you, of course, but Mr. Green might, or one of our auxillaries."

Charles hoped that the offer could be sussed out. After all, it never hurt to have someone else around who knew how to fire a gun, and if she could protect herself, all the better - he'd be paying two for the price of one, in that case, with her manning a firearm as well as a pencil.

@Red Thunder @Kuno
 
Roland Green, Rifleman

So much arguing about stupid, meaningless stuff. Roland could hardly make sense of it all. Not that any of this would make a difference in the end, naturally. A little bit of training with a gun could be just as harmful, if not more harmful, than no training with a gun. False sense of security, overconfidence, and worst of all, the knowledge on how to harm people. That last one in itself was of course the whole point of the gun, but if worst came to worst and the untrained person using the gun tried to...er, use the gun, things could spiral out of control should they go insane or should they get involved in a situation of high stress. Roland had seen his fair share of friendly fire in his time, and even participated in it on occasion. It was a nasty bit of business. He didn't recommend it.

But perhaps he could get something out of this. Make himself useful, earn his paycheck, get the girl to buy him a drink. Hell, he could charge extra for training people how to use guns, and maybe they'd end up saving his life or something. Or shooting his arm off. One of the two. Either way, it'd take some stress off his shoulders. A waitress set a drink down in front of him, and Roland gave Paul, or Pedro, or whatever, a drunken salute.

"Thanks, sweetheart. You've done softened up this old man's heart, ye have," Roland said, almost sounding like an old pirate captain for a moment.

Roland then returned his attention to Mr. Greene with an E, who had suggested the whole training of Miss, uh...yeah, Roland wasn't even going to try to pronounce her name, not even mentally. He'd just call her Miss V. Save him the trouble of trying to remember her name.

"Hey, if she wants training, she need not look any further than me," Roland slurred, "When I'm sober, when I'm drunk, hell, when I'm...uh, drunk, I'm the best damned shooter in the entire bloody world, and that's just me being humble, it is. Gimme three days, and I'll teach her how to shoot so fine that she'll be able to blow the bloody eyeball off of an ant, and that ain't no bluff!"

Roland was bluffing.

But they need not know that.

"On one condition, of course!" Roland held up one finger, and grinned mischievously. Oh, shit. He forgot what his one condition was. Roland sort of sat there in silence for a couple moments, awkwardly swaying from side to side in his chair.

"Uh...one condition...I'll think of something. But I expect consolation...no, compensation, for my efforts, as the training of bloody civilians weren't in my contract, no it were not!"

He turned to the Irishman and winked. "That's how you drive a bargain, lad," he said in the loudest excuse for a whisper possibly imaginable. He took his drink and downed half of it, spilling some of the liquid onto his chin and down the front of his shirt. He slammed the cup down and cursed. "This is bloody trash. Shit, Percy, what'd you order me, a glass of bloody water?"
 
Erwin Carlton Turner
Jade Elephant Hotel Terrace | | Alive


As it turned out, most of the gentlemen and ladies around the table had absolutely zero manners. Having been raised in a rich family, Erwin had been taught how to act in public and how to behave himself in front of young ladies. The swearing, the drunk slurring, and Miss Volkov's childish behaviour quickly irritated the navigator. He could see the affront in Miss Warren's face as well, and he felt a momentary relief. At least someone else here took this seriously.

He was about to interject and require her to return Miss Warren's papers when she spoke of a gun. A woman with a gun?! And she didn't know how to handle one? Goodness gracious, God almighty, He would make sure to stay far away from this crazy Russian lady. Erwin reached for his handkerchief and wiped the sweat drops from his temple, eyes closing as he sent a silent prayer. He couldn't believe he was about to agree with a damned Irishman, of all people. God forgive me, he thought darkly.

When the timid guide introduced herself, the navigator's eyes blinked open and he studied her for a long minute. She most definitely blended in with the serving staff! From her short hair to her dress, this Kannika would be a valuable colleague in this expedition. He made a mental note to himself to seek her out in the next few days, once he'd reviewed Miss Warren's papers.

Actively ignoring the drunk Welshman, Erwin reached in his bag and pulled out a small notebook, along with a pen. Tuning out of the conversation, he began scribbling little notes, mostly about his colleagues. Their names, general appearance, and their roles. Beside Miss Warren's name, he underlined the words 'mysterious book' a few times and cast her a side glance. What was a young woman like herself doing with such a book? He needed to know more.

Before he could stop himself, Erwin snapped his notebook shut and got up from his seat. "Mr. Green, please, have some manners. This is not a tavern from your hometown, this gentleman here is paying us to through this expedition safely and successfully. Have a little more self-respect in front of your employer and colleagues, Welshman." Feeling the redness spread across his bearded cheeks, Erwin pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath.

"I am Erwin Carlton Turner, and I will be your navigator for this expedition. I look forward to working with you all, sober, preferably. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe we've exhausted the topics at hand, haven't we, Mr. Greene?" He gestured towards Charles Greene with an expectant look on his face. If their financier didn't keep matters under control, Erwin was ready to take it in his own hands.



@Jack Robinson @Doctor Jax
[Mentions: @Anguissette @Red Thunder @Kuno ]
 
Tatyana Volkov | Chronicler
:the Jade Elephant Hotel terrace:

But Ana, the fire of her anger already stoked to irritation by the Irishman’s apparent condescension, had very clearly not finished addressing her own topic. Her mouth drew into thin lines as she considered Peter with an icy stare.

“I have one condition, Mr Greene,” she intoned, her quiet voice forceful and direct as she turned to address him. If Mr. Greene wanted to start playing the part of negotiator as well as employer, that was fine by her. She would play her role, as well, and make her own demands, since both he and the Irishman were so eager to make theirs. Her pursed lips curled up into a grim smile that ended at her cheeks; her eyes remained hard. “This krasnyy ublyudok has to teach me. Otherwise I’ll find a gun myself, wherever they might be.

“And believe me; I am most skilled in finding what I want.”

It was perhaps not entirely out of malice toward Peter that Ana made the request. Truth be told, save for the odd Jew, Russia was anything but diverse in the ethnicities of its citizenry. Certainly not in St. Petersburg. Roland’s appearance and continued presence caused her no little consternation; the journalist had been shocked enough to see the dark skinned man, an effect which only continued as the meeting wore on. The possibility that there might be more like him among the … auxiliaries made Ana distinctly uncomfortable.

Not that being paired with an Irishman was much better. He clearly had no faith in others, and the hard look he’d given Mr. Greene even as he expressed willingness to do as ordered spoke more to potential mutiny than it did to capitulation. No, she’d show him that she could handle herself with a gun. She’d prove that she was capable. Turning back to Peter, she met his eye.

“How does that sound, Irlandets?”

@Kuno
 
Roland Green, Rifleman

Roland was beginning to regret getting off the boat. Everyone was judging him, the women were starting to want to arm themselves, and now some prissy little British ninny was massaging his massive ego by pretending he was better than everyone else just because he dressed nice and had a fancy little mustache. Well, damn him. If Roland had any faith in his legs and motor abilities, he would've lurched out of his chair and socked the bloody cock right in the mouth. Instead, he simply leaned back in his chair and smacked his lips for about thirty seconds, his eyes never leaving the navigators' face. The Russian girl was talking about how she wanted Irish boy to teach her how to shoot. Roland was alright with that. More time for him to chill out and do nothing and yet somehow make money. He opened his mouth to speak, and words began to spill out in no particular order .

"You bloody cockmuffin what you think you're 'ere sayin', eh? You's 'ere actin' like you's some hot shot summabitch when you aint' ever stopped suckin' from yer mum's teats, yeah? Fuck's wrong wiv ya? Mate I've got half a mind to just bloody slugrojkljajugrumwlak..." He paused as he almost choked on his cigarillo. He removed it from his mouth coughed a bit.

"Shit. My bad. Where was I? Oh, yeah, listen here, mate, you can talk to me about manners when you've scalped an Indian while he's screaming fuckin' gibberish at you, ya hear me? And self-respect? Ha! Mate, if I had self-respect, you think I'd be skippin' 'round bloody Asia with a group of lads who ain't no how to bloody shoot? Nah, I'm just 'ere for the cash, mate. And I sure as hell ain't here to butt heads with a bloody British bastard like yourself, yeah? Take your bloody handkerchief and nice manners and shove 'em up your arse. You can tell me how to do me bloody job when you've figured out how to walk two steps in a forest and not get disemboweled."

Roland took a long draw on his cigarillo and sighed contentedly. "Glad I got that out o' me system. Are we quite done? No hard feelings, really, I just really bloody hate these egotistical British lads. No offense to any of you egotistical British lads."
 
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THE JOURNEY CONTINUES...
“And unto the Chao Phraya the congregation assembles/ at the stone gates to Nakhon Ratchasawan/ guards [unintelligible] dawn to dawn/ the Noon/Blooming Star is their guide” -- first excerpt of the Tala-patra

"That's quite enough, now, Mr. Green," Charles said in a low, demanding voice, his eyes flashing with clear agitation. "I know your sort aren't used to mixed company, but I suggest you tame that tongue of yours while in the presence of our female constituency."

A period of silence.

"Yes, Mr. Turner is correct. That will be all for now. In three days, we will reconvene at the boats once the packing is done. You may all be dismissed to take care of whatever business you need in that time. Thank you for attending me, and I hope that we have a lucrative journey," Charles finished.

The day progressed then as per usual. The sun continued to swelter until it set, the resort generally peaceful despite the rabble outside.
However, that peace was momentarily cut when Angelica Warren went to her room and found the 'gift' her uncle had gotten her: a khuman tong, or a golden boy, a stillborn fetus dried over coals and covered in gold. Angelica - unlike her uncle, who was far less cultured - knew exactly what it was: a tool of black magic, meant for good luck. The seller had probably had the presence of mind to just tell him it was an amulet, a hunk of plated gold that was worth more than a pretty penny. She had heard tell that giving offerings to the child granted help from beyond the grave, but alas - she would not keep a dead child on her person or in her room.

Instead, she passed it off to the drunkard Roland, whom she figured would at least find the thing droll, considering the fact he had so candidly spoken of scalping Indians in the Americas. A grizzled man would not find such an artifact so uncomfortable, would he? Besides that, perhaps she might curry a bit of favor from him, and he'd be far less likely to shoot her on accident...

The three days passed by uneventfully, besides one thing -- dreams. Vivid, grand, strange dreams, to each of the members on the team. Some frightening. Some lovely. Some a mix of both, for reasons unknown. Whatever the case, on the third day, all are boarded onto a grand barge that seems hardly waterworthy to head upriver to the last spot where the former team went. For the time being, some of you already have tasks. Greene is having Roland and Peter take inventory of the guns at the aft of the boat with the other auxiliaries. Kannika and Lung El are at the bridge to help direct the bargemaster to the right town, which Lung El knows of. Erwin is supposed to meet Angelica about those maps, as she never managed to get around to sitting down with him during the last three days. Ana and Flannery were not given specific tasks to do. They have been underway for almost two hours by this point. Surely nothing too exciting can happen on the very first day...


So! I would ask that you refrain from posting until you receive your dream. Afterwards, go crazy! These are just some starting tasks for you, and if that's not what you feel like doing - be my guest! I'd prefer you at least acknowledge the task given, of course.

@Jack Robinson -- you were given the golden boy!
It is up to you whether you decide to keep it or decide to give it to someone else like a black magic hot potato. Or you may chuck it in the trash! Just understand that your actions will have consequences. ;) No pressure.
 
Roland Green, Rifleman

Bloody elephants.

Roland stood on the aft of the ship, a cigarillo stuck in his mouth, his head aching, his eyes scanning the dirty waters of the river. Almost subconsciously, he reached into the satchel he had slung across his shoulder, and with hesitant fingers, grazed the cool, rugged form of the golden boy. He shivered despite the humidity of the jungle land. This bloody thing...it wasn't normal. Not one bit. It had been given to him by that girl, the one who's dad and pals were definitely dead. She hadn't said much about it, just that it was a good luck charm. Well, ever since he'd gotten it, Roland had been having dreams. Weird ones. Weirder than the ones he'd had after he tried some of that stuff the Indians put in their peace pipes.

Dreams about elephants and naked white guys. Dreams about a little native boy, and golden leaves. It had been quite intriguing the first time it had happened. Now, it was concerning. No amount of alcohol helped, either. He had gone to bed piss drunk last night, and he'd still had that same bloody dream. He wondered if it was tied to the little baby. Surely not. It was nothing, just a crude little idol. Right?

One of the auxiliaries nudged him. "Sir? You are still helping with take inventory, yes?"

Roland nodded. "Yeah. Whatever you say, lad. Give me a moment and I'll get back to it, yeah? Just taking a quick break. I've got a bloody headache, understand, and you're making it worse with your piss poor English."

"Sorry, sir."

Roland realized his hand was still in his satchel, still resting on the little golden boy. It felt warm in his hand. Warm...like flesh. Like it was breathing, almost. He recoiled and sealed his satchel shut. He had to stop drinking so close to bed time. Roland walked back to where the guns were, trying to push the golden boy and the dead elephants out of his mind.

"So, where the bloody hell is Pedro, eh? We got guns to count, we do, and I sure as hell ain't doing it all by myself!"
 
Erwin Carlton Turner
Aboard a Bad Boat | | Alive


It was three days later, and the navigator was still fuming. Never had he met a fellow quite like Roland Green. He had to give it to the Welshman, he was quite creative when it came to insults. Had they not been in company of young ladies and their employer, Erwin would have socked the man for insulting him. His distrust only grew over the course of their stay at the Jade Elephant, as he watched the soldier get drunk and slump around the place with that queer good luck charm Miss Warrens had gifted him.

His state of mind had not been helped by sleep. He suspected they should have, as they were wonderful dreams indeed - however he woke up every morning like he had a word on the tip of his tongue. Yet he could not remember it, even after the first night when he kept his notebook beside his bed with a pen. The man was the intellectual sort, and did not believe in premonitions through dreams. But as a man of God, he also wondered if those dreams about discovering the world were a glimpse into the good Lord's plans for him.

Deciding to keep out of Mr. Green's way to avoid another unpleasant exchange, Erwin kept to his cabin and studied once again the maps he had managed to scavenge around Ayutthaya. He didn't know the local language, but it seemed like a lot of vendors knew the rudimentary basics of English. He didn't quite need to know the maps by heart, that's what the guides on the expedition were here for, but he couldn't quite swipe away the feeling of uneasiness that inhabited him. The combination of the weird dreams, that book from his first encounter in the Jade Elephant, and the mysterious disappearance of the previous team. The navigator did not want to leave his fate in the hands of pure strangers, no matter how skilled they were.

Erwin ran a hand through his curly brown hair, slicking it back and out of his face. He had trimmed his mustache and shaved his cheeks and neck before leaving, as he did not want to have to worry about that while in the midst of the jungle. He had his shaving blade packed along with a small mirror, just in case they were gone for an extended period of time. He took out a small pocket watch from his chest pocket and clicked his tongue. She should be settled in by now.

Pen and notebook in hand, Erwin made his way to Miss Warrens' lodgings. He figured she must be situated in the same section as the other women, and since this... boat wasn't particularly large, it took him just a few minutes to find it. Clearing his throat, Erwin took a deep breath and ran his knuckles on the wooden door. His brown waistcoat was fully buttoned but his beige undershirt had a few buttons undone while his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. He looked somewhat disheveled but one could not quite expect to remain dressed like a gentleman when the temperature was this humid and hot.

"Miss Warrens? This is Mr. Turner, it's about those papers we discussed?" The man waited nervously for the young woman to answer, forbidding his mind from wandering into improper thoughts.


@Doctor Jax
 
Kannika | Guide
:the terrace, Jade Elephant Hotel:


When the Expedition Leader was done sharing his wisdom with the group and dressing down the farang dam, Kannika was one of the first to leave the Terrace and take stock of her supplies. Largely all she needed was to replenish her stock of fresh fruit and dried meats but she also saw that her knives were sharpened by the wisened old man at one of the stalls outside the gates of the Jade Elephant. In the days before they left she spoke for a short spell with Angelica one rainy morning about the previous expedition, and largely went about with Lung El to glean what she could about the ragged assembly and what hadn't been said about their mission. The young woman's dreams were troubled, and for a spell on the third day she followed Tatyana around like a second shadow. Still she slipped away early on the morning before their departure and now her little Chiwit was tied behind the Grand Barge, flitting jauntily across the surface of the Chao Phraya as the larger vessel forged upstream.

On the bridge of the Rachini heng Syam Kannika stood beside the older guide and watched the trees creep down the riverbank, her bare feet spread and firmly planted on the teak decking. Their destination was days away upriver and even the boldest bandit would scarcely dare to attack a farang vessel barely outside of Bangkok. "No," she said, "I've never had any trouble with that."

In some ways travelling with Lung El was like travelling with her Uncle Tanawat, who interspersed valuable observations about the natural world with an unwanted inquisition into her personal life. The difference was that Uncle Tanawat could get away with almost any question in the guise of protective older male relative while Lung El was bound by the strictures of a professional relationship. Mostly.

As a pair of river boats slid past in the opposite direction, she swept her fingers through her ebon hair and tucked it behind her ears. The confused visions from her restless night still stayed with her as she worked to put them firmly from her thoughts and avoided looking at her partner. "Tell me," she began, firmly changing the topic from the rumoured predatory ways of Chinese merchants, "What do you make of Mr Danford? He seems competent enough, if very raw. Did he acquire all the ingredients he asked for, or will the cooking fall to someone more local?"
 
Angelica Warren

Angelica had busied herself with all sort of packing and preparation in the days before the trip. She had taken it upon herself not to be bothered by the suspicious lack of dreams she experienced, but there was something about the fact her sleep was both restless and unfilled that left her aching to lie in bed. She had always been an avid dreamer, and the fact that she dreamed of nothing gave her something of an uncomfortable feeling.

All in all, there was plenty to be doing to keep her mind occupied. Transcribing her father's notes being one of them. He always had such terrible handwriting, and on top of that, he wrote in code. To the naked eye, they were mad jots, the scrawls of a half-wit, but to Angelica, there was a method in the mess. She'd grown up reading it while on the back of an elephant, or on some boat, or while visiting Mother, and it was no stranger to her.

But that didn't mean it always made sense.

The knock on her door jolted her from her reverie, and she walked to the door, clad in a day-suit, complete with pants. She'd had her Uncle buy it for her from a Sears catalog for this journey specifically, remembering how difficult it was to transition into wearing skirts in the rain forest. While not exactly conventional, she was not about to worry about public opinion while so deep in the jungle.

She opened the door to the room to find Mr. Turner, and she smiled at him pleasantly, despite the wan look on her face, though from his look, he hadn't gotten much sleep either.

"Yes, of course! My apologies, I know I didn't meet with you earlier. Uncle said I'm not very good at deadlines or working on a 'business pace,'" she said, grabbing hold of the papers off of her bed. "Where would you want to set up? I guess we could go out to the foredeck."


@Pahn
 
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Lung El Soringvit


The older Thai gentleman found it pleasant to talk with another of his countrymen - woman, in this case, a luk krueng, or halfblood - given the many days he had been in the company of so many foreigners. He was used to such work, after all, but that did not mean being with another who spoke his language was not preferable. It also helped that this luk kreung was an easygoing, laidback type, and she seemed content to hold simple conversation on the bridge with him.

The question about Danford snapped him out of his reverie watching the river bank. He was used to looking out for patrols, the King's men going up and down the Chao Phraya in search of grave robbers, illegal traders, and boats whose bottoms were far too deep for the shallow river, threatening to block it up on a low sandbank. While technically legal insofar as they had the right paperwork to flash, their expedition was... well, not looked upon kindly by the Siamese monarchy, to put it lightly.

"Lung Danford? Yes, he is very green," El conceded. "But he came with Mr. Greene. I think our employer did the young man's family a favor. He is not a bad doctor. He was here before the rest arrived, and I saw him set a man's leg after wagon ran over it. He is... enthusiastic. Excited."

The mention of ingredients brought a smile to Lung El's face.

"He is actually headed back to where the riflemen are, to find his ingredients for his poultices and brews. I do not trust his cooking skill, though. Do not worry - we have a cook, so you will not have to suffer. I picked him myself," El said with a grin, looking out across the wide river. It was a beautiful morning, the landscape seeming to be dabbed in shades of blue, orange, and green. However, something did dim his smile as he saw a boat farther upriver begin to move their way out of a dock, clad in the white of the Siamese monarchical livery. He could not be sure, but he thought he could see militarymen clad in white aboard the small boat, and his heart thudded.

"Nong Kannika, could I trouble you to tell me what that looks like up there? My eyes are not as good as yours."

@Anguissette

They are exactly what he thinks they are. If you want more information on the Thai military at the time, give me a ring and I'll say!
 
Kannika | Guide
:Rachini heng Syam, Chao Phraya:


"That is comforting to hear, Lung El," Kannika responded politely. Danford was a personable young man and it was hard not to like him as an individual but he was as El said, very... excited. Enjoyable socially, with the sort of open eagerness she suspected many English ladies fresh from the schoolroom sighed over behind their teacups. Kannika's tastes... well, she wasn't entirely sure what her tastes were. She admired a well-muscled Chawna as much as the next woman, yet she refused to commit herself to any man whose mind she could not respect and who would respect her talents and work as well.

Though, she conceded privately, it wouldn't hurt if he had keen eagle eyes and arms like bullocks.

It was as well that El had arranged their own cook, a trusted man doubtless selected for his mouthwatering Padh Thai. Peering down the river she shaded her eyes to study the riverboat closely and her own smile faded. "Yes," she sighed, "It is Roi Tho Decha and his friends." The good Lieutenant had claimed the lower stretches of the Chao Phraya as his patrol area, and already tales of his upright incorruptibility festooned the capital. Some thought he was an ambitious man, simply bucking for promotion. Others saw him as a hero of the people, taking a stand against the waipepo that were coming to infest Siam. He stopped every European expedition he could, turning them back if there was even the slightest error in their papers. There were an increasing number of complaints from the foreigners so afflicted, but sympathetic bureaucrats ensured they never came to anything.

This was unfortunate, and doubly so for the withering hatred he bestowed on any Siamese he caught working for the waipepo, and he and Kannika had run into one another before. The riverboat arrowed out into the waters and across the stream, clearly intending to intercept Rachini heng Syam and Kannika turned back to face her esteemed honorary uncle. "He is coming. I will warn Lung Greene to be sure his papers are in order and to be ready for discourtesy." She threw one more fulminating glance out at the riverboat and made her way back along the heavy Grand Barge towards the expedition leader's quarters.

"Mr Greene?" she knocked on his door once, twice briskly. "Forgive the intrusions. Mr Greene?" She had grown used to switching between traditional and European terms of respect in her head, though not entirely so to the passive role European society seemed to consign their women. Aside from her mother. And Angelica. And most of the women of this expedition actually. Maybe he wouldn't mind? Mr Greene being slow to respond (in her mind), she opened the door and stepped in. "Excuse the intrusions. There is an army boat coming to inspect our papers and look for some excuse to turn the expedition around; they will be alongside in minutes."
 
Tatyana Volkov | Chronicler
:Rachini heng Syam, Chao Phraya, north of Ayutthaya:

Proklyat'ye eto teplo!

Ana dripped with sweat. Three (or was it four?) days in this sweltering heat was already taxing to the point of exhaustion, and again she was reminded that this poor Russian writer was remarkably ill equipped to even be this far south, let alone traveling deeper into the jungle. Even though there had been, and continued to be, very little for her to contributed to the expedition this early on, she felt as though she had fallen into Hell itself. One of the servants, or perhaps a sailer (it was admittedly very difficult for her to distinguish them) had provided a chair for her, and she now sat on deck, slouching in a very unflattering manner, as she waited desperately for some form of breeze or another to hammer its way through the wall of trees and ease the stress on her body.

The trees. Who could say what waited in their shadows? Well, the Guides, for one. Likely some of the literature she’d read in the intervening three days but couldn’t bother to recall at the moment, for another. But it was fun to let her imagination wander; it did an adequate job taking her mind off her discomfort, and she was therefore unwilling to curb it. Might innumerable savages, barbarous and untamed by civilization’s guiding arm, be waiting, hidden beneath a thicket of impenetrable leaves? Might monsters indescribable be sizing them up at this very moment, watching their progress with predatory intent for the smallest misstep?

Suddenly, her imagination didn’t seem so enjoyable anymore. It birthed within her unnatural Uncertainty. Glancing toward the barge’s aft with a grimace, Ana thought back to her impromptu and very abbreviated firearms lesson, examining her empty hands sadly at the memory of the pistol’s weight. There’d been real power, real confidence, in holding that gun. She sighed. Little to be done right now.

~Three Days Ago~
:the Jade Elephant Hotel Courtyard:

It seemed like the little briefing was over. Tatyana gathered notes together, trying to find some sense of organization within the chaos that was that information deluge. Mr. Greene had been reasonably open with details, though not so much as the journalist would have liked. She, and others, likely. Angelica’s notes had been … marginally helpful, if only to show the lengths to which her father had gone in order to hide the reports of what he and his coterie had discovered.

It was maddening, she mused, grinding her teeth together as she slid loose sheets between secured ones in her notebook. Flipping up the flap on her satchel, Ana shoved the notes and writing utensils within. Why code them? Why go to lengths to make sure others couldn’t merely read them?

And how the hell did Angelica get notes from a lost expedition?


Still frowning at the injustice of it all, never mind the frustrating lack of communication and plethora of vague hints from their financier, she pushed back her chair and stood, slinging the bag across her chest.

Now what?

Training. She needed the firearms training, and she expected Peter to provide it. Taking a deep breath to steady her mask of stern confidence, Ana strode over to the man in question.

“I’d like to start that training now, Piter.”

All Peter had in mind for the rest of the day was to eat dinner, take a nice long bath, and go to sleep, preferably for the full duration of the three-day stay. The meeting had raised more questions than answered; the pounding in his head told him that it wouldn’t be the last of such frustrations. Lord help me, he thought wearily. Maybe he’d take his nap first.

Rising from his seat, he turned to begin his departure only to be accosted straight-aways by Ms. Tatyana Volkov herself, emphasis on the miss.

“I’d like to start that training now, Piter.” Her prim, polished face was fixed into a determined stare, eyes pinning Peter to the spot like a cornered rat. He shot her an exasperated look.

“Can’t a man get a drop of something to drink first? Good Lord.” Massaging his temple, he turned away from her, mind working on how best to get rid of her. He could always shirk her off on Roland; it would take a while for the man to sober up, but all the better for it. Or better yet, pass her onto one of his auxiliaries. But no, he couldn’t. It would bother his conscience too much to ship her off to complete strangers. And knowing how men tended to act out of society’s eyes, he would trust them to handle her with proper conduct as much as he would trust a hungry lion. Lord help me. He had dug his own grave.

“Alright, we’ll start now,” Peter finally conceded, with the tone of someone agreeing to be executed. “Out in the courtyard.” Then, as an afterthought, “You’d best bring one of the serving maids to come chaperone.”

For he well knew how tongues wagged. He was a young man and she, a pretty young woman. It would not weigh well on his conscience to have her name be sullied, no matter how much she chafed at his nerves. Nodding to himself, he strode past Ms. Volkov towards the courtyard, not waiting for an answer.

The look determination on Ana’s blossomed into a smile. A new skill! Something to learn! Best, it was something she could teach those in St. Petersburg who might not know! Nodding vigorously, she hurried to a side door and peered it, managing to make eye contact with a older woman of perhaps forty years.

“Miss … you, uhm, come … ?” Suddenly Ana seemed to recall that she was very far indeed from anyone who might speak any language she knew. Certainly not on a local level, and the Russian’s vague hand waving as she tried to communicate was awkward and stilted. Fortunately the maid seemed to understand and followed with a sigh and perhaps the slightest roll of her eyes. Fairly bouncing with anticipation, Ana turned and followed Peter out the way he’d gone. At the entrance to the courtyard, some one hundred feet away, Ana gave the maid a stop here signal with her hands. The maid complied with exasperation, and Ana trotted over to Peter, placing her satchel gently onto the ground.

“Yes?”

~Currently~

The sudden and determined pace of the female guide broke her revelry. Where was Kannika headed? And why was she headed there so quickly?

A glance to the barge’s fore gave her the answer she needed. Another boat, this one of significantly better repair, was moving to intercept them. She cursed. Was it pirates? Thieves? The military? It sure would be nice to have that pistol about now.

@Kuno
 
PETER O'KEEFE || RIFLEMAN
Location: Jade Elephant Hotel

In the early hours of that morning, Peter had gone to mass.

It was not a singular thought that had driven him, but rather a culmination of things spread senselessly over the course of the three days. Two sleepless nights in a row were what had ultimately pushed him out towards church. It was the strain of everything else that had found him settled in the wooden confessional, his eyes puffy from lack of sleep.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost... He’d made the sign of the cross, slow and sure across his breast. And in a voice unsettlingly calm, he’d voiced the same words he said before every expedition. I’ve accepted a job condemned by God, and in so doing consigned me very soul to the Devil, he’d told the priest, deadpan as you like.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a boat to be catching back to Ireland. Good day.

Or so he wished he’d said. But Lord, that wasn’t how it had gone at all. Peter stared off into the river’s edge broodily, his brows furrowing as he crouched in the shade. He was still wearing his Sunday’s best from mass: deep brown trousers affixed to his shoulders by black suspenders, which hung neatly over a fine white shirt. His boots were old and weathered still, but he’d made sure to spiff them up that morning with some good ol’ spit shine. Not that it mattered now that he was on the boat. A god-forsaken boat, of all things. As if the ship ride to Siam hadn’t been gut-wrenching enough, Mr. Greene saw fit to torture his innards some more just for the fun of it. His stomach was already churning in anticipation. Clenching his eyes shut, Peter steered his thoughts to other, simpler things. Like that ramshackle excuse for a building that the poor missionaries dared called a church. Yes, back to that church.

The events of the previous three days had spilled out into that stuffy box in one giant whoosh of air. There were his usual worries: the uncertainty of the trip, the safety of the crew, his eternal soul and his mother’s (God rest her heathen soul). He’d lamented about the prospect of so few women among so many men, an anxiety-inducing thing that had only escalated when the auxiliaries were added. Those demonic dreams that had plagued his nights soon came about, but he hadn’t dwelled on them; they say the more you speak about the Devil, the more he creeps about you. Other concerns came up instead. How am I...how am I…? He’d been a broken record all morning. By the time he’d left a full hour and a half later, his penance still fresh on his mind, all the burdens had been lifted from his shoulders.

Well, almost all.

Peter twirled a loaded Colt .45 revolver round his fingers, studying it idly. There used to be his name on it, but age had long since smoothed it away. Still, it was his gun for a surety. A light huff escaped him. To think he’d almost given it to Ms. Volkov. What in the world had he been thinking?

-- Three Days Ago --

[spoili]Standing some distance away from the entrance, Peter surveyed his surroundings warily. It wouldn’t do for people to be around. Even with a chaperone, he was still ill-at ease teaching a young woman how to shoot in such a brazen manner, much less kill. At that thought, he quickly made the sign of the cross over his heart. May it never come to that, as God was his witness! He’d sooner take a bullet himself. Muttering inanities under his breath, Peter felt around on his sides for the small pistol he had hidden there. The cylinders were all but empty save for two bullets; still, he took the time out to empty the ammunition into his hands. He smiled grimly at Ms. Volkov.

“Sorry, dear. Can’t have you shooting just yet. Would scare the wits out of half the guests here.” Finally finished, he slammed the casing shut with the palm of his hand. “Now, take a look-see. You see this gun? This here’s a Colt .45, a uh…” He paused. Would she even know what a single-action gun did? Had she ever even seen a gun before?

“A revolver,” Peter finally finished, reining his thoughts back in. “Very reliable gun of good quality, I’d say. Looks light, doesn’t it? Here.” Without asking, he grabbed her right hand and pressed the gun into her palm. His eyes scanned her face for a reaction. “It’s heavy, yeah? Even without the bullets. Be careful while holding it. Always use two hands.”

Ana’s eyes widened as the weight was placed in her hand. It was heavy, as Peter said, far heavier than she had expected. The fact that men walked around with these things on their hips was astonishing. And, if she were honest, intimidating. But for all her insistence on honesty from her informants and those about whom she wrote her articles, she was rarely honest with herself. And she was not about to clue Peter in.

“Two hands, da?” Awkwardly, having clearly never held a firearm of any kind before, Ana fumbled it around until she could wrap both her fingers around the grip. She extended her arms out in from of her and squinted an eye in unpracticed aim, as she assumed she was supposed to. Any offense she had taken during the meeting had evaporated in favor of the brand new experience. Even her usual cynicism was gone, replaced by the desire to Learn. “Then I point and shoot? Like-?”

Her finger went into the trigger guard and pulled hard on it. The hammer cocked then fell forward, the click against the firing pin clear evidence that Peter’s caution was well founded. All the more, as Ana had inadvertently pointed the thing right at their chaperone.

Peter was quick to place a hand over the top of the revolver, lowering it gently to point towards the ground. Eyeing the chaperone briefly just to make sure she wouldn’t faint--she had gone completely white in the face--he turned his attentions back to his young, over eager student.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, lass.” A massive understatement, if ever. But his tone was not unkind. He was all business now; his demeanor had slowly changed into that of careful patience as he undertook the role of tutor. Enclosing Ana’s hands in his, he gently adjusted her fingers until they were comfortably situated in the correct positions.

“Now you’ve got the right idea going, but in order to shoot you’ve got to press down on the hammer bit--this top lever here--and then press the trigger. It makes it a fair bit more reliable over the other pistols I’ve tried. Less chance of accidental discharge, like the poor sod I talked about earlier. Even better, the cylinder here?” He pointed to the circular cartridge container at the base of the firearm. “It turns automatically. Once you’ve loaded it full you needn’t worry about reloading for a short spell, less you’re pumping a beastie full of lead, eh?” He smiled faintly at the Russian woman. He could never stay disgruntled for too long. “I’ll show you how to load it once we get to shooting. I’ve half a mind to set up some empty bottles along the fence here for some target practice.”

For all her spirit and display of confidence, never in Ana’s life had a man apart from her own father touched her hands, let alone enclosed them. And the feeling was distressing in some regard, though in precisely which escaped her in the moment. The fact that it was educational in context made little difference.

“That- that will be fine.” What was she to say? Learning was so important, particular for self-defense. Any breach of protocol Peter’s rather forward gesture had affected was largely disregarded for that end goal. “Should- should, erm, we shoot … here?”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She wanted to start shooting now? Right out in the courtyard? “Here?” His tone was incredulous. “Have you gone mad?”

He turned, his eyes sweeping over the expansive courtyard. Unbeknownst to the pair, they had an audience. The few other guests who had been out on the veranda along with the expedition party now watched the duo from their seats with rapt interest. He could see the curiosity of it all radiating from their faces. What a spectacle! A man teaching a woman to shoot, they were likely saying amongst themselves, the ladies fanning themselves excitedly. It was only then that Peter realized the impropriety of his hands on Ms. Volkov’s own. Saints be! It was a small grace of God that he’d thought to ask for the chaperone; he could not even begin to imagine how it would’ve looked save for her quelling presence.

Releasing the young woman from his grasp, Peter pulled away a step back.

“No no, not here.” He continued from before, “Besides, I think that’s enough for today.” He gave her a pointed look, jerking his head towards the onlookers. “Best we forge on another time, eh?

“Keep the gun--you’ll be needing it for tomorrow. Come find me in the evening and we’ll set ourselves to the task, for a surety. Other than that…” He shrugged half-heartedly. “I’ve nothing else for you. Just don’t make me regret giving it to you, you hear? I so much as hear you’re waving that thing about and I’ll come ‘round quicker than you can draw breath.”[/spoili]

He’d trained her all right, but then, quick as a viper, he’d taken his gun back. And speaking of guns...Peter’s eyes opened at the brash sound of his fellow rifleman speaking.

“So, where the bloody hell is Pedro, eh?” He heard Roland saying. The older man sounded annoyed, and rightly so; he was supposed to be helping him take inventory of the arms supplies. At the roiling of his stomach, he had stopped for a short break. The Irishman sighed. Ah, well. Break’s over.

“Keep your pants on. I’m coming,” Peter drawled. He was no distance at all from the aft of the ship. Rising slowly from his seat, he moved towards Roland and the auxiliaries, his eyes blinking against the bright sunlight.

He eyed the collection of guns warily. “Seems to me you’ve got most of the work done,” Peter said rather vaguely. The supplies had been neatly separated into rifles, pistols, revolvers, and cartridges. His gaze sharpened on a bundle of brand-new Winchester rifles gleaming in the sunlight. Frowning, he added, “Though I can’t understand why we’ve so many guns in the first place. Why, you’d think we were going for a wee bit ah elephant hunting! Is this a plant expedition or a poaching expedition? Ridiculous.”
 
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Mr. Charles Greene

A fire. They were setting fire to everything. And Henry - damn your eyes, Henry! Give it to me. I need it. I -

Charles woke in a sweat, either from the heat or from the nightmare, he wasn't sure. The flashes of dreams he had - they were like memories, as if he were remembering something from childhood, watery and unclear. He knew that he should get more sleep than he did, especially given the nature of their expedition, but he'd been too busy directing these imbeciles to do what needed to be done. Thank God for Lung El - while he was out, the Thai guide was more than enough direction for the other men on the expedition. Perhaps not the same could be said for the women, but it seemed like these sorts of ventures always attracted the more - ahem - adventurous sort.

Angelica notwithstanding.

He swung his legs out of the bed, slipping on pants and an undershirt. A knock on his door caused him go grunt, "A minute." However, it seemed that was not a sufficient enough answer, and as he was putting on the last hook of his suspenders, Kannika walked into his room, apologizing for the intrusion.

"Well, you at least knocked. That's more than Angelica gives me, so I'll take it."

However, given the look on the young guide's face, this was a pressing matter. The news didn't seem to rattle Greene, though he did give pause for quite a moment before he waved it off.

"Ah, I think it will be fine. Let me get a hold of some papers, and I'll be ahead in a minute. What makes you think they'll turn us around? Henry and I never had an issue before."

Though, admittedly, they'd chosen to truck down the river at night. He went over to a valise and cracked it open, pawing through it for whatever looked official enough. In the scramble to try and make the trip worthwhile, he'd skipped past a lot of the bureaucracy, which also included getting permits for digging, but technically they weren't digging for anything out here...

"If we have problem, you think you could grease the wheels any?" the confident American asked as he held up papers to the light to try and read the faded ink on the documents. Several of them looked less than legitimate...

@Anguissette
 
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Abraham Danford

The young doctor had largely been quite busy over the course of the last few days. On top of a smattering of nightmares over the course of the three days before launch, he'd also been contending with the auxiliaries who seemed to always have something going on. The fact that there was a doctor here - free of charge, part of the job! - meant that many who'd been ignoring health ills came to Danford for a number of things. The cook even showed him his infected tooth, a sight that had sent Danford scrubbing his teeth a few hours later.

And so, the young doctor wandered over to the auxiliaries taking inventory with his own notepad, going over the medical supplies that he'd requested, not having had enough time to go over them before their departure. He hoped and prayed that it was enough - this being his first expedition, it was hard for him to tell how much of this stuff was going to be necessary, or useful. He could only depend on prior experience.

"Oh! Hello, gents! Uh... see you're bean counting too!" Danford said cheerfully, gesturing to all the ammunition that had been left out. "You wouldn't have seen some crates nearby, would you have?"

Suddenly, behind them, the sound of small feet pitter-pattering could be heard between the crates, and Danford frowned. The pitter-patter happened again, this time accompanied by a small, childish giggle.

"There aren't supposed to be any children onboard this trip..." Danford slowly noted, swallowing.

@Jack Robinson @Kuno
 
Erwin Carlton Turner
Rachini heng Syam, Lower Deck | | Alive | | With Angelica Warren (@Doctor Jax)


Erwin flashed Miss Warren a confident smile and reached to dab the sweat off his temple with a handkerchief. He hoped the air on the deck was fresher than the one in their apartments.

"It is quite alright, my lady. I have been quite busy myself with mapping out the region for a better navigation." He stepped aside and gave her a polite bow, his arms inviting her to proceed ahead of him. "I think the foredeck would be quite lovely, fresh air will do us some good."

"Perfect!" Angelica chirped, making sure she had all of her notes before stepping out past him and heading towards the foredeck. She set up shop on one of the crates, not bothering to try and find a more suitable place.

She looked up at Erwin and, before she could ask her questions, she frowned and said, "You appear tired. Are you alright?"

He dropped his own notebook on the crate and looked around to find a smaller crate. It was pulled closer to them and he went to grab a second one for Miss Warren.

"Tired? Oh, yes, I suppose. We all have a lot on our minds right now, and being far away from home certainly leaves a certain longing in one's heart, isn't that so, Miss Warren? Also, the heat! I don't believe the Lord intended me to be comfortable in this temperature." Erwin chuckled and stood beside the small crate, waiting for Miss Warren to take her own seat.

Angie appeared less than convinced with his answer, though she nodded.

"I've lived with this heat for so long that it hardly phases me anymore, but then again I've been to England so few times that I guess I don't really know what I'm missing," Angelica admitted as she arranged her notes. "Thank you for the seat, by the way."

"Of course." Erwin nodded and took his own seat. It dawned on him that this was the first time he would be speaking with the young woman by herself, without prying ears or disapproving glances. Something else had been on his mind for the last couple of days, but he wasn't sure how to bring it to light without sounding insane.

"England is good is you enjoy cold rain and brief summers." He smiled reassuringly at Miss Warren and slowly opened his notebook. There were scribbles on the pages and a few drawings of the stars, coupled with degree angles and calculations. "I can understand why you are so familiar with your father's writing, then. Is he the one who gifted you that... book?" He hoped she would know which book he meant.

She nodded along, agreeing completely. Her eyebrows rose at mention of the book of palm spines she had sitting beside her, and she went, "Ah!"

She laid it in her lap and fiddled with it using both pointer fingers on either end, and she smiled fondly as she thought back.

"Gifted is perhaps the wrong word. We worked on this. Together," she explained with stilted cadence, obviously not used to talking on the subject much. "He was gifted it, actually, by a monk that lived far to the south. My father had been digging through their old texts for something related to the Rig Veda - the Hindoo holy books - and he found it. Once he began to translate it..."

Her eyes seemed to lose focus as she gazed at it.

"...he knew he had a great discovery on his hands, the type of thing he'd been looking for. When I was old enough, I began to help him with it."

The memory of the incorporeal voice was still all too fresh in Erwin's mind, but he was much more in control of his thoughts now than that day when they had met.

"Holy books from other cultures are always fascinating. I would very much like to look through it at a later time, if you may so permit. Now, for the task at hand..." Erwin screwed the tip of his fountain pen and pricked his finger with the tip to make sure the ink wasn't dried. His free hand went to his mustache and smoothed it pensively. "What do your father's notes contain exactly? Directions? Details about the landscape? Or is it more of a chronicle of the journey?"

Angelica snapped out of her reverie, pulled from her memories, and she clapped her hands together over the book in excitement.

"Directions, yes! It's actually a bit of all in one, really, sort of like a chronological account mixed in with a bit of direction. Here is my problem," Angelica said, and here she pulled out several sheaves of paper that had been scrawled on, obviously a translation of what was written on the book. "Here, here, and here, the author talks about the star they use to get to Nakhon Ratchasawan, the city where they cultivated this plant, but it doesn't really translate well to English. It was something they called the Stemming Star. Now, I know for certain that it is not the North Star. It has to be something navigable from the Equator as well."

The navigator frowned as Miss Warren explained what her father had noted down. There was something oddly familiar about the Stemming Star, and he was able to recall the cluster of stars in which it belonged. But he had no idea about any literature related to it.

"I do believe that on a clear night's sky, I might be able to find it, yes. I have my own charts and such, but... Hmm..." Erwin'S eyes fell onto his notebook and turned to a new page. His hand traced the familiar pattern of the stars and planets, not even bothering to label them, and with a slight hesitation he attempted to bring on paper the vision he had gotten last time he had touched the book. He knew what it was, and to call it a vision was perhaps a tad superstitious. He had consumed scotch that afternoon, mixed with the humid heat of Siam, perhaps he had imagined things.

As he continued to draw, he spoke in a mildly strained voice. "I will have to re-adjust my charts if we are using the Equator as a focus point. This is fine. My calculations will be a tad off but with a few more hours of work before night falls..."

Angelica leaned forward to look at what Erwin was writing, and her eyes seemed to light up as she saw the configuration he had drawn.

"Ah! That's what that is!"

She dug around in the notes piled in the portfolio, and she removed one of them with a careful hand. She pointed to a series of dots in the left-hand side of the paper, with three large question marks at the bottom corner of it. One of them was far bigger than the others, and looking at the constellations on Erwin's drawing, she recognized it - for its astrological significance, though not by its astronomical name, Arcturus.

"Father put these here without marking them, and I didn't know what it was. I know that star. It's in one of the nakshatras - a Hindoo lunar mansion of the sky. And that one in particular is associated with the growing season, and with stems! Oh, goodness, so much progress in so short a time...." Angelica chimed happily, scribbling with a pencil the notes into the margins of the translation painstakingly written down in an even hand, at odds with the scribbles around it.

"Do you think you could guide us off that star?" Angelica asked. "There are coordinates here as well, based off it, if you want them."

The additional notes excited Erwin more than he'd ever admit. All of those visions and dreams that made him feel like a God amongst men; were they a prophecy to be made true?

"Coordinates, yes. A simple - well, not so simple but that's another topic - recalculation of those coordinates with the positions I had previously noted." He ignored most of Miss Warren's ramblings about the history behind the constellation he had drawn. She was truly an explorer's daughter. "I believe we may very well find our way to the stranded team and your father, Miss Warren. It should not take me too long to give a proper estimate of the new course." The navigator smiled at the young woman, hoping he was properly conveying confidence and restoring a little bit of hope in her mind.

And hope indeed had been restored. Angelica's eyes were beaming with both delight and renewed enthusiasm, as if Erwin's words had rekindled an ember she had not even known was dying. She grinned at him and said, "Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Turner. You have no idea how invaluable that is. I'll be sure to write down all of the astrological landmarks that I can, though largely they seem to follow that star right there."

Angelica tapped the page he was working on.

"Though at one point there is a passage that says we'll come to some sort of gate to the city, and then for some reason it won't be very important. Not sure why, of course, but maybe there's a road."

Erwin was hard pressed to avoid the heat from spreading up his cheeks. Miss Warren's praise was almost overwhelming, but he blamed it on her excitement and renewed hope of finding her father.

"An unimportant gate? How odd. Landmarks would be much appreciated, yes. I do believe we have a few days still before we reach that part, but the earlier we can assemble all the pieces of this puzzle, the faster we can sail and trek in the right direction." The navigator mumbled to himself and continued to add little details to his drawing, until the entire page of his notebook was covered. He continued to the next page. "Was there anything else in your father's notes?"

"Hmmmm, not that I can recall," Angelica admitted as she spread them out. "That was really the largest of the problems we had had locating the actual gate to the city. He hadn't even managed to get that far, and there are even more landmarks. We might actually surpass the prior team."

Angelica's expression fell ever so slightly.

"I do hope they're alright. They're competent, but so much can happen out there. Ah - I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

"I'm quite positive your father and uncle would not send incompetent men - and women - on such an important trip. Humans can be very resourceful when they find themselves in dire situations." Surprising even himself, Erwin reached out and gave a reassuring squeeze on Miss Warren's shoulder, mindful not to linger longer than what was socially acceptable. They might have been in the middle of a jungle, Erwin was still a gentleman and he would not forget proper etiquette of the English society.

"Let us go announce the good news to your uncle Mr. Greene, shall we?"

Angelica smiled at that, giving a very sharp nod of the head to the older Englishman, scurrying to put away her notes.

The navigator gathered his notes quickly and unscrewed the tip of his fountain pen to prevent it from leaking, and stood up quickly before Miss Warren, a smile full of confidence on his face - one, for the first time since the beginning of the adventure, that he didn't have to fake.
 
Flannery Thorburn | Botanist
Aboard a boat. Again.
All things considered, the dream didn't surprise her. Strange, no doubt, but when Flannery woke up in her usual sweat with a upset stomach that she was used to on boats, she didn't bat an eye. What else was she to expect during a time like this, in a country like this, on a gods-forsaken transport like this? Weird, but not all that unexpected.

With a drawn out, exaggerated groan, Flannery had pulled herself out of her room, haggard-looking with strands of her hair plastered to her face still from sweating like a pig in the cramped space. Gods did she hate boats. Her stomach already felt like it was going to dry heave its non-existent contents over whatever unfortunate object was going to be in her path, and the very concept of food made her want to curl back up in bed and never wake up again. She couldn't wait to get her feet back on stable ground again, and start the expedition in honest- and on something that wasn't a rocking heap of metal waiting to either cook her alive, sink, or die of nausea.

Dragging herself out of her room, Flannery pulled herself through the halls below deck with a look of absolute dishevelment. She propped herself up against the wall with one hand, grumbling to herself and she zombie-shambled herself to... where? Hell if she knew. Somewhere that wasn't her room. Already it smelled of sweat and vomit, and at this point she knew she could go for some open air and somewhere she could just freely puke over. The soft sound of people chattering filled her ears as she walked, but as curious as she was she couldn't be bothered. She had one place in mind: the deck.

Even if the air outside was hot, it was still cooler then the oven that was her room below deck. Flannery let out a loud sigh of relief once the subtle breeze of moving through the river hit her face, pausing at the top of the stairs as she tried not to lose whatever was left in her stomach before she dragged herself over to the nearest railing. Slouching over it, she spent a few minutes with her eyes closed just trying to get the world around her to stop spinning and her stomach to stop doing back flips.

Digging in her pockets with a groan, she dug out a cigarette and her lighter... because nothing was better to help her stomach, right? Sticking it in her mouth, she watched the vegetation on the side of the river slowly drift by through squinted eyes. The sooner they were of this piece of shit, the better.
 
Lung El Soringvit


The Thai guide watched the young woman disappear into the ship to find their financier, and he looked back at the white cutter that was swiftly beginning to make headway towards them. Lung Roi it was indeed, a man known for his inability to be bribed. Perhaps that was not so much of a surprise in countries like England or America where the rule of law seemed ironclad, but it was well-known in Siam that a bit of money greased the wheels considerably, and was even expected. He remembered, with some amusement, how one guard was even offended that he hadn't bothered to offer him a bribe to get onto the ancient palace grounds!

But that amusement abated quite quickly as he thought of their predicament. In an attempt to beat the rainy season, they had decided to forego those typical channels, instead hoping that their travel papers from the last three months would suffice. However, Roi Tho Decha was not a man who was easily swayed, especially where the farang were concerned. It would take a lot of convincing, that they were not out to plunder the ancient Thai palaces laying in the jungle from bygone eras.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the women - the botanist, now he remembered - leaning over the side of the boat, and he scrunched his face in sympathy. The guide walked towards her, fiddling in his bag for something.

"Seasick? I have ginger. It settles the stomach, make it less jumpy," Lung El said with his typical, quiet cadence and a helpful smile towards Flannery, hoping to ease some of her ills. "Also I have ya-mong, Thai medicine for the seasickness."

@Necrowmancer
 
Angelica Warren

With a brisk and delighted pep in her step, Angelica rose from her seat, portfolio in hand along with the holy book of leaves that had, thus far into the journey, been a constant companion. It sometimes struck her how much she seemed to have to touch and reassure herself that it was exactly where she'd put it, but for the most part, she'd put it down purely to its connection and importance. Now, however, when anxiety threatened to overtake her, she found herself turning the book over in her hands like a wishing stone, stroking the pages as she thought.

Just like now.

You stop that, Angelica! she mentally chastised as she yanked her hand away from the book in the portfolio, trotting along towards the lower deck to find her uncle. He would be pleased with the progress, no doubt, though she figured he would cry with boredom at the nitty gritty details. For all his attentiveness towards the expedition and its members - former and current - he could not be bothered to learn much about the more granular facts relating to their quarry.

However, as she went, she did notice that the Russian woman - the reporter, if she remembered right, who had grabbed her papers that one time - was standing anxiously at a gunwale, looking out over the river to something in the distance.

"Ma'am? Miss Volkov - I'm sorry, that is your name, correct? Is there something the matter?" Angelica asked with an open expression.

@Pahn @Red Thunder