Unearthed - story so far
That's right, we have all the old posts saved to help refresh everyone's memory.
Josie Richardson:
A rather diminutive woman stood in the shade offered by the awning of a dilapitated building overlooking ... sand. And more sand. Surrounded by yet more sand that would undoubtedly find its way into every piece of equipment, every map and every piece of footwear she owned. In fact, she could have gotten at least as much shade from the stack of equipment and luggage she had brought along with her as from the lowly shack. The sun glinted off her gold Rolex as she checked the time - yet again - confirming - yet again - that her contact was very late. As if standing in front of a shady dune buggy rental place wasn't bad enough, standing there longer than she had to was nigh intolerable. She sniffed as she pushed her designer sunglasses higher up on her nose, looking about for any signs of life, and muttered to herself.
Lateness should be the eighth deadly sin. Honestly. Is this ANY way to run a business? Not in my books, it isn't. Why, I should just pack up and go right back home. Bloody fieldwork.
Roger Stark:
Roger Stark did his best to ignore the sun that beat down on his back and bare head. He was nearly there... at least he hoped so.
He was a tall man, lanky and not particularly muscular, with black hair that could have used a trim, a long nose that was a little too large for his face, and eyes that always tended to look a little secretive. He wore a black t-shirt, black pants, and scuffed leather shoes, all obviously cheap and completely unadorned. The most distinctive feature of his appearance was a tatoo on his left hand: the Hebrew word "emet" spelled clearly in blue ink.
Roger saw the dune buggy rental building, and breathed an almost invisible sigh of relief.
He liked this little village. Certainly much better than Cairo, where it was so difficult to stay out of the way of tourists with their cameras. He preferred to stay out of pictures whenever possible. Better to keep a low profile, avoid being seen. Just in case.
There was a woman standing by the building; she seemed impatient. Roger thought she looked decidedly unpleasant, and for a moment he allowed himself to hope she was there for some other reason, and that he could simply ignore her. That didn't seem likely, though.
When Roger reached her, he leaned casually against a wall and dumped the sand out of each of his shoes in turn. Then he spoke, somewhat grudgingly.
"I'm Roger Stark. I assume you're here for the same reason I am?"
Dusty Strong:
Dusty leaned in his saddle as the sound of creaking leather filled the air. He adjusted his binoculars and looked at the two that stood waiting by the old shanty. Moving the toothpick around in his mouth, he replaced his binoculars and checked his Winchester Repeater.
He was a handsome man, and the life he lived only made him look older. He had a rugged look, but it did not dull his charm or his talent. His hand rubbed against the grissle of his unshaved face, as his dark eyes gazed toward the place of his destination. This sure wasn't mountain country, but at least the pay was worth being here.
Rubbing the neck of his mount, he spurred the Arabian forward. He took his time, he'd been out here watching in the desert for signs of people and these were the first two he'd seen all day. He felt the invitation rub against the cloth of his shirt. Adjusting his hat upon his head, he tilted it forward to block out the sun.
Within minutes, he rode up to the shanty where the two strangers stood. His saddle creaked as he shifted his weight, stopping his mount just in front of the shanty. His leg gracefully, glided over the back of his horse and stepped onto the ground. He tied his horse and drew water from his canteen for both his horse and himself. Lifting his hat, he rubbed the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He wasn't much for talking; not to strangers, but for the sake of civility, he extended his hand and made introductions.
Name's Dusty.
Ben Macpherson:
An elderly Land Rover made its way along a rough, corrugated road, travelling with all the grace and alacrity typical of that make and model of vehicle, i.e. none whatsoever. Whilst trying to navigate the terrain, the driver idly tapped the window ledge with fingers still stained from the tobacco his doctor had told him not to smoke any more, Or Else. No smokes. And on top of that no booze and no bacon. Whole place must be run by a bunch of flaming doctors.
The decrepit vehicle finally made it to a village deep in the arid wilderness, coming to an inevitable halt in front of a ramshackle establishment. The driver alighted from the vehicle, which took slightly longer than normal mostly because the driver was not just scruffy and sunburned, but most definitely short. He produced a hand-held GPS unit, looked at it in confusion, turned it the other way up, looked at it again, tapped it firmly on the Land Rover's door sills, looked at it yet again, curled his mouth in disgust, threw the useless unit onto the front passenger seat, unrolled a map, stared at the map, turned the map the right way up, stared at the map again, tried to read the writing on it, gave up, threw it back into the vehicle to keep the GPS unit company, turned around to read the writing on the nearest signpost, and only then noticed that not only was he was not alone, but that he had also attracted attention.
Walking up to the tallest of the onlookers, he drew himself up to his full height, stared the onlooker squarely in the chest and demanded, "And what'ya looking at, huh?"
Roger Stark:
Roger forced himself not to crack a smile at the menacing little man. He merely shrugged noncommittally.
"It's just, this is turning into quite the party. I had no idea so many people were coming to this little... gathering."
And probably the oddest bunch of misfits he had ever seen. Not, of course, that he himself had any claim on being more normal than they were... quite the opposite, in fact.
"It seems that we're a slightly strange bunch, particularly for this type of mission."
He realized how that sounded, and hurried to include himself in the statement about being odd.
"I don't even know why I was invited, although I assume it was because a folklorist was needed on the team."
At least, he hoped that was why. Either way, he was reserving judgment for the moment. If anything looked fishy, he planned to turn around and head straight back to Cairo, and from there the first plane home.
Josie Richardson:
Josie did her best to ignore the rough-looking character coming toward her. When he insinuated that perhaps they were in the same boat, she looked him up and down then turned away as if to say "Unlikely.". Scruffy, dirty man. Just like the one who rode up on a horse. Looking disdainfully at Dusty's outstreached hand, she kept her arms crossed and turned to face the two men, albeit reluctantly - as though the desert were infinitely more interesting - when yet another man showed up. He seemed to be a bit of a bumbler, and his masculine posturings made her roll her eyes. When she finally spoke, it was with a self-righteous air, her eyes invisible behind the sunglasses that remained affixed to her face.
Well, as we all seem to be getting cozy, I'm Doctor Josie Richardson. You may call me Doctor Richardson. I too received such an invitation, but I was unaware that it would be a ... group project.
She almost sneered a bit at Roger's mention of his being a folklorist. Honestly, folklorists were pure trouble; they seemed to like pretending to be archaeologists half the time.
Right now, I just want to meet MY contact and get out of this godforsaken place as quickly as possible.
A head-toss later and she was back to staring out over the dunes, as though they would herald the arrival of her awaited "boss".
Roger Stark:
Roger raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, really? Well, Doctor Richards..."
He had her name wrong deliberately.
"...Perhaps we ought to hang your diploma from a string around your neck, just so no one forgets how much of Daddy's hard-earned money went into acquiring it."
He stared at her for a moment.
"If you want to leave, be my guest. The rest of us, however, will stay, and try to accomplish something useful."
Roger had forgotten that a moment ago he was thinking about leaving, too.
"And of course it's a group project. Honestly, you don't really think you could do much on your own? Spend a lot of time dealing with grave robbers, do you? Or in the field at all?"
The contempt was thick in his voice. He abruptly turned his attention to the rest of the team, effectively ignoring her.
"Well, now I suppose we wait for our contact."
Roger tried to think of a subtle way of letting Doctor Snob know that he himself had PhD too...
Aster Alexander Rankin:
As the bickering began, another man neared the group. He was a thin man, reasonably tall, but not gangly. He wore wide pants and a loose, open chested shirt with wide sleeves. He also carried several types of beads and ornaments on his neck, wrist and belt, and a pouch swung by his left hip on a strap that crossed his chest to his right shoulder. His face was mostly hidden behind dark strands of hair, his eyes completely unseen. In fact, one might assume he was blind as he wandered right into the midst of the assembling group without acknowledging anyone. On he went, as if on a whole other plane of existence, until he came face to face with Dusty's horse.
A gentle hand touched the Arabian between its eyes and slowly slid down as the newcomer leaned closer until he was cheek to cheek with the animal.
Hmm...? He said softly, apparently to the horse. Yes, I agree. A very negative air about indeed. And we haven't even begun... The man nodded slowly. Mm... Yes... Give it time... Give it time...
Stacey:
A slight whirring sound interrupted their general pleasantries. A few meters away, a bright red dune buggy bounced and roared into view, then abruptly stopped in front of the group, spraying sand everywhere.
"Oh mah goodness!" chirped the driver. She stepped out, in one of those slow motion movie moments, her blonde locks swaying around her face as she tried to shake the sand off them.
"I'm so sorry, y'all!" she added, while pulling the ipod earphones out of her ears. She was adorned in a white button-down midriff, denim cut-offs and hiking boots. She looked (and sounded) harmless, but then one could notice a couple of hunting knives strapped on either side of her boots and a modified GLOCK pistol on her thigh (smaller and more sleek - and it came in silver).
"I sweah mah drivin' ain't gettin' better at all," she shrugged but her voice remained in that cheerleader pitch, "Mah drivin' teach swore t'was just like car, but smaller. Cars don't get sand all over yah, now don't they?"
"Mah name's Stacey. How y'all doin?" she smiled, her hands on her hips while she surveyed the group. "Yep, Stacey. No need for last names now. We here are a nice little group, so y'all can call me Stace or even Tace. Just not Ace coz yah know that's a little butch for me," she laughed.
Josie:
Josie allowed the sunglasses to slip down her nose so she could glare properly at Roger for his slights to her name, family and profession. There was no way she was leaving now - a challenge had been issued. She'd show this non-professional how things were done in real field work. Just as she inhaled to give Roger what for, a new person appeared on the scene, nearly running into her. Indignant at the interruption, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the man's strange behavior.
I beg your pardon? Who...pfffthhh
Josie was spitting sand and waving dust away from her face with a finely manicured hand when Stacy bounced up to them. Shock and something akin to horror flickered across Josie's face as the Texan kept talking, but she quickly regained her composure and propped the sunglasses back in place. Looking like she had just eaten a lemon, she managed yet another social interaction with people so far below her station, she was shocked to even contemplate taking notice of them. Of course, two of them were armed...
Hello Stacy. Doctor Richardson. No nick-names.
Ben:
Ben looked around at the group forming around his vehicle. These must be the people he was supposed to be picking up. "Right, you lot," he said, and conveniently ignored the fact that he was one of the last to show up, "now you've finally deigned to show your faces around here, you may as well hop in. Duchess, you and the dizz can hop in the back seats. Tarzan, if you've quite finished doing your Dr. Doolittle act, grab your goth buddy and try not to put too much weight on the tailgate when you're climbing in. Cowboy, you may as well follow us. Bring Trigger with you, we might need something to eat later on. Leave the jeep here, we might need a getaway vehicle some time.
"Now is there anyone else going to show up, huh?"
Dusty:
Dusty slowly withdrew his hand, obviously introductions was not something this woman wanted to make. He faded to the background as he decided to just watch events unfold. He placed his hat back on his head and pushed it back, as two more joined their group.
He watched carefully, as one of them, wandering around like he was on a weekend binge went up to his mount and began having a conversation with him. He'd begun to wonder if he'd stepped into an old episode of The Twilight Zone. Surely, there couldn't have been more odd characters joined into one group than the ones he was with now. He rubbed the back of his neck thinking that maybe he'd finally taken an assignment that was just too much for him to handle. Just as he was thinking about bowing out gracefully, for a more sane and straight forward job, the group was sprayed by sand from a red dune buggy.
He spit out his tooth pick, and replaced it with a new one. He chewed on the end as he watched the woman emerge from the vehicle. He couldn't help but notice that she was carrying, as he admired her custom made GLOCK. He raised an eyebrow as she spoke.
Oh Joy! He thought.
A Texan.
He had wondered if more muscle had been hired for this job. He preferred to work alone, and the idea of a partner, let alone a woman, made him nervous. Not that he had anything against women, quite the contrary, they just made him nervous.
Dusty's attention was drawn to the driver of the old beat up Land Rover. Without so much as a word, Dusty grabbed the reigns to his horse and mounted, ignoring the comment about his horse being a ready made meal. He'd stick around, and see where this strange adventure was leading, for awhile anyway.
Stacey:
[Josie wrote: Hello Stacy. Doctor Richardson. No nick-names.]
"No nicknames?" Stacey asked, in what seemed to be genuine shock. "Well, that's quite silly if you ask little ol' me." She wanted to suggest names for her, but the little man started to talk.
[Ben Macpherson wrote: “Duchess, you and the dizz can hop in the back seats.”]
"SHOTGUN!!" she yelled all of a sudden, and bounded up and down towards her dune buggy and grabbed her belongings - a large tan backpack, and well, not a shotgun, but a rifle. She noticed people giving her odd looks, and mistaken it for confusion. "Oh, yah sillies. I meant I ride in front, not this little thang," she explained, as she swung the nowhere near little firearm on her back.
She passed ben on her way to the Land Rover and stopped right in front of the little man, bending over towards him with a big smile on her face. "Well, ain't cha the cutest!" she beamed. She skipped towards the passenger side of the vehicle, dropped her backpack right on top of Ben's maps and GPRS device, then shoved it to the side to make room for herself, obviously not paying attention to where Ben told her to sit.
She looked to her side and noticed Dusty mounting his horse then whistled. "Lookin' good, cowboy," she winked.
Josie:
Josie looked at the Rover rather incredulously and rolled her eyes when the bimbo took the front seat.
Excuse me, but where am I going to stow my belongings? Is there another vehicle coming? If so, I may wait for that one.
The pile of stuff could be easily identified as a small generator, several trunks marked "fragile" that were for packaging artifacts, as well as several more trunks and bags full of archaeologcial equipment and personal belongings. Josie gestured at the small mountain, then looked pointedly at the little man who seemed to know slightly more than the rest of them. At least he had a destination. Now, whether or not he could get them there was next question.
Ben Macpherson:
[Josie wrote: Excuse me, but where am I going to stow my belongings? Is there another vehicle coming? If so, I may wait for that one.]
"Chuck them in the back with the others. Don't mind the mess. And try not to kick anything already in there. And I have no idea how many vehicles are arriving. I just got told to show up here and pick you lot up. One of you is supposed to know what's going on."
He stomped up to the passenger door and growled at Stacey. "You want to get your shopping mall survival kit off my lunch and into the back seat along with you?"
Aster Alexander Rankin:
The thin man calmly turned his head and stepped away from the horse, facing no one in particular.
Name's Aster. I do hope I can offer some assistance with our... hmm... would 'case' be a proper term for it?
Wandering casually towards the dilapitated building to pick up a small pack that apparently lay at its corner the entire time, Aster went on as if chatting with old friends.
I've always liked that use of the word. Makes it sound so exciting, doesn't it? 'Heading out on a case.'
With the sand-colored pack hanging on one shoulder, Aster headed for Josie's pile of stuff.
Here, let me help you with that. So? Any thoughts on where we start? He brushed some hair aside with his hand, revealing a pair of brown eyes aimed in Josey and Roger's general direction. I'd love to hear what you make of our conundrum.
Dusty:
[Stacey wrote: She looked to her side and noticed Dusty mounting his horse then whistled. "Lookin' good, cowboy," she winked.]
Dusty had just put his foot into the stirrup when Stacey's words reached his ears. He slipped, partially falling into his horse. He was glad he was turned away from everyone, Dusty very seriously doubted he could pass the red in his cheeks off as a sunburn. Regaining his balance and nerve, he swung up into the saddle before Stacey could make anymore comments.
Confounded women. Dusty thought to himself. He didn't think he'd ever understand the breed.
He pulled his hat down low over his eyes and turned his mount to face the others. He was glad from the ruckus that he wasn't riding in the car with the others.
Josie:
Fantastic. It looked as though she was going to have to ride with these lowlives. Unable to contain a sigh, she grabbed the handle of one of the crates and pulled it off the pile. She started to drag it towards the Rover when Aster offered his assistance. As loathe as she was to have other people handle her equipment, she didn't want to have to carry it all herself, either.
Thank-you. But be careful - that stuff is fragile.
Aster's phrasing was indeed curious. Could he be the one who knew what was going on? Naw. It was probably Roger and he was keeping his mouth shut just to spite her. Josie hefted the case in - surprisingly strong for her tiny figure - an started back towards the pile while giving the horse-talker a curious look.
Conundrum? As in why we're all here and supposedly going to the same place for the same "case" - as you so put it? I have no idea, and I must say that I'm quite miffed about it. I like to be better informed when I'm sent out on the job.
A haughty sniff accompanied that last statement. Why on earth did she accept this job in the first place? Why, oh why?
Josie Richardson:
A rather diminutive woman stood in the shade offered by the awning of a dilapitated building overlooking ... sand. And more sand. Surrounded by yet more sand that would undoubtedly find its way into every piece of equipment, every map and every piece of footwear she owned. In fact, she could have gotten at least as much shade from the stack of equipment and luggage she had brought along with her as from the lowly shack. The sun glinted off her gold Rolex as she checked the time - yet again - confirming - yet again - that her contact was very late. As if standing in front of a shady dune buggy rental place wasn't bad enough, standing there longer than she had to was nigh intolerable. She sniffed as she pushed her designer sunglasses higher up on her nose, looking about for any signs of life, and muttered to herself.
Lateness should be the eighth deadly sin. Honestly. Is this ANY way to run a business? Not in my books, it isn't. Why, I should just pack up and go right back home. Bloody fieldwork.
Roger Stark:
Roger Stark did his best to ignore the sun that beat down on his back and bare head. He was nearly there... at least he hoped so.
He was a tall man, lanky and not particularly muscular, with black hair that could have used a trim, a long nose that was a little too large for his face, and eyes that always tended to look a little secretive. He wore a black t-shirt, black pants, and scuffed leather shoes, all obviously cheap and completely unadorned. The most distinctive feature of his appearance was a tatoo on his left hand: the Hebrew word "emet" spelled clearly in blue ink.
Roger saw the dune buggy rental building, and breathed an almost invisible sigh of relief.
He liked this little village. Certainly much better than Cairo, where it was so difficult to stay out of the way of tourists with their cameras. He preferred to stay out of pictures whenever possible. Better to keep a low profile, avoid being seen. Just in case.
There was a woman standing by the building; she seemed impatient. Roger thought she looked decidedly unpleasant, and for a moment he allowed himself to hope she was there for some other reason, and that he could simply ignore her. That didn't seem likely, though.
When Roger reached her, he leaned casually against a wall and dumped the sand out of each of his shoes in turn. Then he spoke, somewhat grudgingly.
"I'm Roger Stark. I assume you're here for the same reason I am?"
Dusty Strong:
Dusty leaned in his saddle as the sound of creaking leather filled the air. He adjusted his binoculars and looked at the two that stood waiting by the old shanty. Moving the toothpick around in his mouth, he replaced his binoculars and checked his Winchester Repeater.
He was a handsome man, and the life he lived only made him look older. He had a rugged look, but it did not dull his charm or his talent. His hand rubbed against the grissle of his unshaved face, as his dark eyes gazed toward the place of his destination. This sure wasn't mountain country, but at least the pay was worth being here.
Rubbing the neck of his mount, he spurred the Arabian forward. He took his time, he'd been out here watching in the desert for signs of people and these were the first two he'd seen all day. He felt the invitation rub against the cloth of his shirt. Adjusting his hat upon his head, he tilted it forward to block out the sun.
Within minutes, he rode up to the shanty where the two strangers stood. His saddle creaked as he shifted his weight, stopping his mount just in front of the shanty. His leg gracefully, glided over the back of his horse and stepped onto the ground. He tied his horse and drew water from his canteen for both his horse and himself. Lifting his hat, he rubbed the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He wasn't much for talking; not to strangers, but for the sake of civility, he extended his hand and made introductions.
Name's Dusty.
Ben Macpherson:
An elderly Land Rover made its way along a rough, corrugated road, travelling with all the grace and alacrity typical of that make and model of vehicle, i.e. none whatsoever. Whilst trying to navigate the terrain, the driver idly tapped the window ledge with fingers still stained from the tobacco his doctor had told him not to smoke any more, Or Else. No smokes. And on top of that no booze and no bacon. Whole place must be run by a bunch of flaming doctors.
The decrepit vehicle finally made it to a village deep in the arid wilderness, coming to an inevitable halt in front of a ramshackle establishment. The driver alighted from the vehicle, which took slightly longer than normal mostly because the driver was not just scruffy and sunburned, but most definitely short. He produced a hand-held GPS unit, looked at it in confusion, turned it the other way up, looked at it again, tapped it firmly on the Land Rover's door sills, looked at it yet again, curled his mouth in disgust, threw the useless unit onto the front passenger seat, unrolled a map, stared at the map, turned the map the right way up, stared at the map again, tried to read the writing on it, gave up, threw it back into the vehicle to keep the GPS unit company, turned around to read the writing on the nearest signpost, and only then noticed that not only was he was not alone, but that he had also attracted attention.
Walking up to the tallest of the onlookers, he drew himself up to his full height, stared the onlooker squarely in the chest and demanded, "And what'ya looking at, huh?"
Roger Stark:
Roger forced himself not to crack a smile at the menacing little man. He merely shrugged noncommittally.
"It's just, this is turning into quite the party. I had no idea so many people were coming to this little... gathering."
And probably the oddest bunch of misfits he had ever seen. Not, of course, that he himself had any claim on being more normal than they were... quite the opposite, in fact.
"It seems that we're a slightly strange bunch, particularly for this type of mission."
He realized how that sounded, and hurried to include himself in the statement about being odd.
"I don't even know why I was invited, although I assume it was because a folklorist was needed on the team."
At least, he hoped that was why. Either way, he was reserving judgment for the moment. If anything looked fishy, he planned to turn around and head straight back to Cairo, and from there the first plane home.
Josie Richardson:
Josie did her best to ignore the rough-looking character coming toward her. When he insinuated that perhaps they were in the same boat, she looked him up and down then turned away as if to say "Unlikely.". Scruffy, dirty man. Just like the one who rode up on a horse. Looking disdainfully at Dusty's outstreached hand, she kept her arms crossed and turned to face the two men, albeit reluctantly - as though the desert were infinitely more interesting - when yet another man showed up. He seemed to be a bit of a bumbler, and his masculine posturings made her roll her eyes. When she finally spoke, it was with a self-righteous air, her eyes invisible behind the sunglasses that remained affixed to her face.
Well, as we all seem to be getting cozy, I'm Doctor Josie Richardson. You may call me Doctor Richardson. I too received such an invitation, but I was unaware that it would be a ... group project.
She almost sneered a bit at Roger's mention of his being a folklorist. Honestly, folklorists were pure trouble; they seemed to like pretending to be archaeologists half the time.
Right now, I just want to meet MY contact and get out of this godforsaken place as quickly as possible.
A head-toss later and she was back to staring out over the dunes, as though they would herald the arrival of her awaited "boss".
Roger Stark:
Roger raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, really? Well, Doctor Richards..."
He had her name wrong deliberately.
"...Perhaps we ought to hang your diploma from a string around your neck, just so no one forgets how much of Daddy's hard-earned money went into acquiring it."
He stared at her for a moment.
"If you want to leave, be my guest. The rest of us, however, will stay, and try to accomplish something useful."
Roger had forgotten that a moment ago he was thinking about leaving, too.
"And of course it's a group project. Honestly, you don't really think you could do much on your own? Spend a lot of time dealing with grave robbers, do you? Or in the field at all?"
The contempt was thick in his voice. He abruptly turned his attention to the rest of the team, effectively ignoring her.
"Well, now I suppose we wait for our contact."
Roger tried to think of a subtle way of letting Doctor Snob know that he himself had PhD too...
Aster Alexander Rankin:
As the bickering began, another man neared the group. He was a thin man, reasonably tall, but not gangly. He wore wide pants and a loose, open chested shirt with wide sleeves. He also carried several types of beads and ornaments on his neck, wrist and belt, and a pouch swung by his left hip on a strap that crossed his chest to his right shoulder. His face was mostly hidden behind dark strands of hair, his eyes completely unseen. In fact, one might assume he was blind as he wandered right into the midst of the assembling group without acknowledging anyone. On he went, as if on a whole other plane of existence, until he came face to face with Dusty's horse.
A gentle hand touched the Arabian between its eyes and slowly slid down as the newcomer leaned closer until he was cheek to cheek with the animal.
Hmm...? He said softly, apparently to the horse. Yes, I agree. A very negative air about indeed. And we haven't even begun... The man nodded slowly. Mm... Yes... Give it time... Give it time...
Stacey:
A slight whirring sound interrupted their general pleasantries. A few meters away, a bright red dune buggy bounced and roared into view, then abruptly stopped in front of the group, spraying sand everywhere.
"Oh mah goodness!" chirped the driver. She stepped out, in one of those slow motion movie moments, her blonde locks swaying around her face as she tried to shake the sand off them.
"I'm so sorry, y'all!" she added, while pulling the ipod earphones out of her ears. She was adorned in a white button-down midriff, denim cut-offs and hiking boots. She looked (and sounded) harmless, but then one could notice a couple of hunting knives strapped on either side of her boots and a modified GLOCK pistol on her thigh (smaller and more sleek - and it came in silver).
"I sweah mah drivin' ain't gettin' better at all," she shrugged but her voice remained in that cheerleader pitch, "Mah drivin' teach swore t'was just like car, but smaller. Cars don't get sand all over yah, now don't they?"
"Mah name's Stacey. How y'all doin?" she smiled, her hands on her hips while she surveyed the group. "Yep, Stacey. No need for last names now. We here are a nice little group, so y'all can call me Stace or even Tace. Just not Ace coz yah know that's a little butch for me," she laughed.
Josie:
Josie allowed the sunglasses to slip down her nose so she could glare properly at Roger for his slights to her name, family and profession. There was no way she was leaving now - a challenge had been issued. She'd show this non-professional how things were done in real field work. Just as she inhaled to give Roger what for, a new person appeared on the scene, nearly running into her. Indignant at the interruption, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the man's strange behavior.
I beg your pardon? Who...pfffthhh
Josie was spitting sand and waving dust away from her face with a finely manicured hand when Stacy bounced up to them. Shock and something akin to horror flickered across Josie's face as the Texan kept talking, but she quickly regained her composure and propped the sunglasses back in place. Looking like she had just eaten a lemon, she managed yet another social interaction with people so far below her station, she was shocked to even contemplate taking notice of them. Of course, two of them were armed...
Hello Stacy. Doctor Richardson. No nick-names.
Ben:
Ben looked around at the group forming around his vehicle. These must be the people he was supposed to be picking up. "Right, you lot," he said, and conveniently ignored the fact that he was one of the last to show up, "now you've finally deigned to show your faces around here, you may as well hop in. Duchess, you and the dizz can hop in the back seats. Tarzan, if you've quite finished doing your Dr. Doolittle act, grab your goth buddy and try not to put too much weight on the tailgate when you're climbing in. Cowboy, you may as well follow us. Bring Trigger with you, we might need something to eat later on. Leave the jeep here, we might need a getaway vehicle some time.
"Now is there anyone else going to show up, huh?"
Dusty:
Dusty slowly withdrew his hand, obviously introductions was not something this woman wanted to make. He faded to the background as he decided to just watch events unfold. He placed his hat back on his head and pushed it back, as two more joined their group.
He watched carefully, as one of them, wandering around like he was on a weekend binge went up to his mount and began having a conversation with him. He'd begun to wonder if he'd stepped into an old episode of The Twilight Zone. Surely, there couldn't have been more odd characters joined into one group than the ones he was with now. He rubbed the back of his neck thinking that maybe he'd finally taken an assignment that was just too much for him to handle. Just as he was thinking about bowing out gracefully, for a more sane and straight forward job, the group was sprayed by sand from a red dune buggy.
He spit out his tooth pick, and replaced it with a new one. He chewed on the end as he watched the woman emerge from the vehicle. He couldn't help but notice that she was carrying, as he admired her custom made GLOCK. He raised an eyebrow as she spoke.
Oh Joy! He thought.
A Texan.
He had wondered if more muscle had been hired for this job. He preferred to work alone, and the idea of a partner, let alone a woman, made him nervous. Not that he had anything against women, quite the contrary, they just made him nervous.
Dusty's attention was drawn to the driver of the old beat up Land Rover. Without so much as a word, Dusty grabbed the reigns to his horse and mounted, ignoring the comment about his horse being a ready made meal. He'd stick around, and see where this strange adventure was leading, for awhile anyway.
Stacey:
[Josie wrote: Hello Stacy. Doctor Richardson. No nick-names.]
"No nicknames?" Stacey asked, in what seemed to be genuine shock. "Well, that's quite silly if you ask little ol' me." She wanted to suggest names for her, but the little man started to talk.
[Ben Macpherson wrote: “Duchess, you and the dizz can hop in the back seats.”]
"SHOTGUN!!" she yelled all of a sudden, and bounded up and down towards her dune buggy and grabbed her belongings - a large tan backpack, and well, not a shotgun, but a rifle. She noticed people giving her odd looks, and mistaken it for confusion. "Oh, yah sillies. I meant I ride in front, not this little thang," she explained, as she swung the nowhere near little firearm on her back.
She passed ben on her way to the Land Rover and stopped right in front of the little man, bending over towards him with a big smile on her face. "Well, ain't cha the cutest!" she beamed. She skipped towards the passenger side of the vehicle, dropped her backpack right on top of Ben's maps and GPRS device, then shoved it to the side to make room for herself, obviously not paying attention to where Ben told her to sit.
She looked to her side and noticed Dusty mounting his horse then whistled. "Lookin' good, cowboy," she winked.
Josie:
Josie looked at the Rover rather incredulously and rolled her eyes when the bimbo took the front seat.
Excuse me, but where am I going to stow my belongings? Is there another vehicle coming? If so, I may wait for that one.
The pile of stuff could be easily identified as a small generator, several trunks marked "fragile" that were for packaging artifacts, as well as several more trunks and bags full of archaeologcial equipment and personal belongings. Josie gestured at the small mountain, then looked pointedly at the little man who seemed to know slightly more than the rest of them. At least he had a destination. Now, whether or not he could get them there was next question.
Ben Macpherson:
[Josie wrote: Excuse me, but where am I going to stow my belongings? Is there another vehicle coming? If so, I may wait for that one.]
"Chuck them in the back with the others. Don't mind the mess. And try not to kick anything already in there. And I have no idea how many vehicles are arriving. I just got told to show up here and pick you lot up. One of you is supposed to know what's going on."
He stomped up to the passenger door and growled at Stacey. "You want to get your shopping mall survival kit off my lunch and into the back seat along with you?"
Aster Alexander Rankin:
The thin man calmly turned his head and stepped away from the horse, facing no one in particular.
Name's Aster. I do hope I can offer some assistance with our... hmm... would 'case' be a proper term for it?
Wandering casually towards the dilapitated building to pick up a small pack that apparently lay at its corner the entire time, Aster went on as if chatting with old friends.
I've always liked that use of the word. Makes it sound so exciting, doesn't it? 'Heading out on a case.'
With the sand-colored pack hanging on one shoulder, Aster headed for Josie's pile of stuff.
Here, let me help you with that. So? Any thoughts on where we start? He brushed some hair aside with his hand, revealing a pair of brown eyes aimed in Josey and Roger's general direction. I'd love to hear what you make of our conundrum.
Dusty:
[Stacey wrote: She looked to her side and noticed Dusty mounting his horse then whistled. "Lookin' good, cowboy," she winked.]
Dusty had just put his foot into the stirrup when Stacey's words reached his ears. He slipped, partially falling into his horse. He was glad he was turned away from everyone, Dusty very seriously doubted he could pass the red in his cheeks off as a sunburn. Regaining his balance and nerve, he swung up into the saddle before Stacey could make anymore comments.
Confounded women. Dusty thought to himself. He didn't think he'd ever understand the breed.
He pulled his hat down low over his eyes and turned his mount to face the others. He was glad from the ruckus that he wasn't riding in the car with the others.
Josie:
Fantastic. It looked as though she was going to have to ride with these lowlives. Unable to contain a sigh, she grabbed the handle of one of the crates and pulled it off the pile. She started to drag it towards the Rover when Aster offered his assistance. As loathe as she was to have other people handle her equipment, she didn't want to have to carry it all herself, either.
Thank-you. But be careful - that stuff is fragile.
Aster's phrasing was indeed curious. Could he be the one who knew what was going on? Naw. It was probably Roger and he was keeping his mouth shut just to spite her. Josie hefted the case in - surprisingly strong for her tiny figure - an started back towards the pile while giving the horse-talker a curious look.
Conundrum? As in why we're all here and supposedly going to the same place for the same "case" - as you so put it? I have no idea, and I must say that I'm quite miffed about it. I like to be better informed when I'm sent out on the job.
A haughty sniff accompanied that last statement. Why on earth did she accept this job in the first place? Why, oh why?