#shawky.

"hide? hide where — oh!" the archaeologist is immediately dragged behind a door and tucked out of sight alongside carol's crouching form, all while the footsteps in the hallway (loud, less than subtle) come stepping down the marble museum floors and towards their hiding place. thanks to carol's swift action, the two friends are out of view and out of sight in time to hear the curator (a friend of shawky's) chatting with the worst man in the world: emil carlsson. "i didn't realize he was in town," shawky whispers to carol beside him. he fixes his glasses on his nose, presses his back hard into the wall, and squints (as if squinting will heighten his sense of hearing). "what are they saying?" it's muted. carol chose a perfect spot to hide, but noise from down the hall — the latest museum gala — echoes through and stifles the clarity of their dialogue. for all shawky's squinting, he barely hears a word. "luxor. i heard luxor." he looks at carol. "what else are they saying?"

"oh." the archaeologist freezes in place when he hears armand's quiet voice, the sound echoing gently off the walls of his office. whipping around, shawky feels himself smile at the sight of his friend. "was i pacing? i was pacing. and... ew." he tugs the pen away from his mouth and realizes he'd been knawing on the cap for the last few minutes. he's nervous. he's panicking. after he tosses the pen into the nearby trash can, shawky stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and feebly approaches armand in the doorway. "sorry. i'm nervous. i didn't think i'd be this afraid of giving a speech but i am. i don't like big crowds of people and i certainly don't like standing in front of said big crowd of people, even if they're nice. even if they smile at me. because the second i see someone yawn i'll have an absolute breakdown." he rubs his face, smearing his fingers under his glasses. when shawky meets armand's eyes again, his expression is meek. "please, come in. i'm sorry you found me like this. they've asked me to give a speech tomorrow at a museum fundraiser gala and i'm just not cut out for social humiliation. are you a good speech giver, armand? i feel like you are." without hesitation, he pulls his glasses off his face and sets them on armand's nose. "there. you be shawky for me tomorrow. it's a perfect plan." his face contorts into a pained, anxious faux-smile. "what if i just leave the country?"

seth shawky, archaeologist buzzy cohen, archaeologist benjamin gates, treasure hunter and cryptologist dr. abigail chase, archivist

"i can't believe we're doing this." ducking low in this cavernous hall, the dark, carved-out ceilings hanging heavy over their heads, shawky clings to the palm-sized stone pyramid with both hands. "this could unlock a world of hurt, you know. we need to... be careful before we put it on the mechanism." lucas remains close as shawky navigates back through the tunnel, still ducking, trying to avoid a blow to the head or another uncomfortable bump. "you saw a passageway to our left when we came in?" he checks with lucas, glancing over his shoulder at his friend. "so it'll be... on the right..." as promised, when they reach the larger connecting space, there's a door on the right. "neat. let's go." the dirt is dusty beneath their feet, and carved designs on the wall finally illuminate as shawky and lucas trace them with their flashlights. the two crouch into the right doorway, ducking even lower beneath a fallen beam, and begin the trek in the darkness. "maybe it will give us another way out. with that collapse back there, we're running out of options. this whole place could come down on us at any second." he peers at the tiny pyramid in his hand. "lucas, let's pray this works. god, i hope this works. do you want me to lead the way?"

"not at all." he doesn't even have to think about her question — shawky has the instant answer right on his tongue the second she stops speaking. he's busying himself with a hasty shuffle through his desk drawer, throwing out broken pens, old scraps of paper, worn erasers, all while sarastus (buzzy's latest discovery — a living, breathing person!) lingers in his office and peeks around at his decor. she's spent the last forty-five minutes wondering about photos on the wall, books on his shelves, or items of interest he has displayed, and shawky answers them all with enthusiasm. "i love your questions. you're getting a hang of being around again, walking, talking, refamiliarizing yourself with... this is technically the future, i guess? or have we established that? that you're from the past? or..." shawky plucks his glasses from his nose and cleans the lenses with his tucked-in shirt. "i know you're curious, is what i'm trying to say, and i love that about you. i love how inquisitive you are. if you're wondering something, you ask. you don't wait or hold back, and that, i admire. i'm like that too." there's a stack of old leather journals on his desk now, all of them pried from the depths of his bottom drawer. he sorts them in his hands and grins over at sarastus. "buzzy was right. you're the best thing we've ever discovered." a pause. "well, i say we since it was our expedition. but it's him. he found you. he was exploring without me and he saved you from down there. the lingering question is, how did you get down there? how long were you down there? and how are you even alive?" shawky grins. "my turn to ask too many questions, i guess."

"i like stories. stories are neat." shawky eases inside carol's apartment, greets chewie with a scratch behind the ears, and goes wandering around as he often does. he admires the brick interior walls, the large bookshelf, and the large star wars poster near her dining table. he hears chewie follow, leaping onto the table to acquire more pets — shawky, of course, obliges with ease. "you can tell me what's been going on, and i can... i mean. i'm all ears. you've been safe, right?" still petting the orange cat, shawky peeks over his shoulder at carol, and his gaze grows a little concerned. "your work is dangerous, i know... and i'm not... not asking you to divulge government secrets or anything. just — at least tell me you're safe. you weren't held hostage, you weren't in mortal peril..." chewie meows. more pets. "okay, okay, hang on." shawky takes a seat at the table and, though his hands dive to pet the cat, his full attention remains locked on carol's wary expression and reticent body language. she's hiding something, or, at least, she wants to protect herself from judgement. then... shawky gasps. "don't tell me. you met someone." now his eyes go wide. "were you staying with someone? oh my god, carol, now you have to tell me. i'll... i'll steal your cat if you don't." he won't. obviously.

"waitwaitwait..." an immediately hasty response comes blurting from shawky's lips the second zoe indicates she wants to leave the room and duck from their conversation. he darts into the doorway to block her exit, but if she really wanted to, he'd be very easy to push past. his grip on the doorframe is ramshackle, nothing strong enough or intimidating enough to keep her in place. in a way, the move is just for show, made even more evident by the awkward way shawky adjusts his round spectacles. "i wasn't finished asking you about the amulet. you implied you've seen it before. in person. and it's missing." a long pause. the archaeologist sizes zoe up, still scrambling to gauge her position and her stake in the sale of historical things; she seems kind enough on the surface, brilliant, easy to talk to... but secretive. whatever she's hiding, he wants to unearth. whatever she currently conceals from him, he'll dig it up. "i need to return that amulet to the burial site it came from," he goes on, hoping the explanation will win her over, "so if you know where it is, it would be beneficial to let me know." again, shawky attempts some level of intimidation. it doesn't work. he's not scary, and he knows it. "please." there's the real shawky. his eyes grow soft, imploring. "where did you see it?"

"a lot of things about him rub me the wrong way." shawky itches his arm beneath his too-fancy suit sleeve and grabs nancy's hand, ushering her out the nearby door. "that's the same man who tried to steal my findings in alexandria. the same man who smashed an ancient lekythos in front of my face. i told you about him once — that's carlsson." nancy is smart for picking up on horrid vibes and even more horrible intentions — but then again, she's always excelled in her observations. shawky didn't even have time to say oh, that's emil carlsson, that's the evil antiquities collector that tried to kill me once; nancy just knew from one look. "if he's here at this event, the key must be closer than we thought." he steals a knowing look from nancy, who looks much calmer and focused than he is. "if we can just figure out the combination on that statue, we can run to the back of the museum when no one's looking and... you know, try it. see if that thing opens up." he peeks in the direction they came from, terrified to see emil carlsson's frightening face poke from behind the doorway. "and avoid him at all costs if we can, thanks. you don't want to know what he's capable of and you don't want him to know that i'm here. trust me." shawky is far more concerned about nancy's safety, of course, but he doesn't say that yet. not now.