—— the transport.

@vvroooom·

“Is there a cat on the premises?” Anthony questions, his brow furrowed. “I’ve heard your brother talk about someone, or something called Kitty. How did he get it past the front desk?” His head is swimming with the fees and the negotiations and every detail that could go wrong about this. God help him, hopefully the cat was a stray nearby.

               Sean perks up from the new leather necklace he just bought,   smiling instictively when he hears about Kitty.   “That’s right,”    he nods,   a strange energy surrounding him,   one of a proud uncle.   “That’s kitty,   Shawn’s cat.   He carries her in his cat purse,   but maybe she was sleeping when we checked in so she didn’t pop her little head out--   I don’t remember.”   Sean explains,    then adds:    “It’s also entirely possible that Kitty won over the receptionist.   She’s good at doing that.”

Anthony looks like he’s looking far away, his mind turning to thoughts of beaches and cocktails with the waves lapping at his feet and charming people as far as the eye could see. It was a good fantasy to indulge in, after what Shawn had told him. He was charming, in the way a beloved Golden Retriever was, but if that meant working with him during the course of this expedition, Anthony would need to get more patience than he currently owns.

“How—” He bites his tongue and takes a breath. Cordial. Anthony is irritable, vain and cannot cook for the life of him, but he is always the better man in every conversation. “Quaint, Mister Rhodes-Goldman.”

“Well, my mother taught me how to do a simple running stitch. If it could help with identification, I would stitch your names into the insides of your clothes,” Anthony laughs, a forced smile on his lips as he pats him on the shoulder. “But I don’t have my kit with me and that’s a shame, is it not?”

               “Oh,    you can just call me Sean,”    he waves Mr. Perez’s politeness away,   attempting to break the ice between them.   

       He laughs along with him,   standing a bit worried and confused.   Sean would be fine with getting his clothes stiched,   but it’s likely that Shawn wouldn’t want anyone to touch his suits.    He should warn Mr. Perez about this.

.

Shawn’s pretty sure it’s a good thing that nobody here is half their age, because he really wouldn’t want to be going on this expedition with a… seventeen year old? That sounded like it would be a disaster.

At Sean’s impression, Shawn claps a hand over his heart, putting on a startled expression – and he doesn’t have to act that much, actually, because that really is a good impression. “Did you just get possessed by him? Jeez, cut that out, it’s kinda scary,” he chortles, throwing a balled-up napkin across the table. It goes about a foot wide, but hey, he tried! Points for effort.

.

               “Possessed? No way!”    Sean raises a brow and firmly shakes his head as a balled-up napkin goes flying past.    “If I got possessed,    it would definitely be from one of those curses everyone swears we have.”   

       Shawn has slapped him with a piece of toast and thrown a napkin at him,     so Sean,    who is keeping count,   decides it’s time for his payback.    He grabs his napkin   (unused,    because Shawn might get really upset if he throws something with mouth germs at him),   nonchalantly balls it up,    then places it on the table.   

       “I don’t know what this curse fuss is about,    anyway,”    Sean says,   positioning his wrist until he has a good target on Shawn.   Unbeknownst to him,   it’s a curse that makes him flick it directly into Shawn’s cup. 

At this point, he figures the fact that they’re so good-looking is to hide the fact that they keep vaguely insulting him at every turn. Anthony practically feels his blood pressure go up every time he sees them, but at least this one looks like he doesn’t mean much by it. It’s a good start. But he isn’t exactly holding his breath. This was a custom piece made on his thirtieth, for God’s sake; it’s the least down to earth thing he could wear in scorching heat!

“Mister Rhodes-Goldman, such a pleasure.” He says it with all the sincerity of a mother trying not to assault the head of the homeowner’s association over her rose bushes. He smiles wide, and grips Sean’s hand, gives him a firm handshake. Anthony lets go after three practiced shakes, trying not to experience what had happened a while ago. His shoulder still ached. “I’ve already met your brother, which was an… experience. Are you the punchy one or the driving one? I seem to have forgotten.”

               “Likewise!”    Sean eagerly shakes Anthony’s hand.   Three firm shakes.   A good,   down to earth handshake.   He smiles,    entirely pleased with the current trajectory of their first meeting.   First impressions are important,   Mr. Goldman once told Sean and his brother,   especially in the world of business.   Mr. Perez is their boss from now on,    so it definitely is business,    but Sean thinks he could be his friend,   too. 

     “Ah!”    He nods understandingly.   He hears that a lot--    but the difference between him and Shawn couldn’t be more crystal clear.

.

The stranger’s response was jarring to say the least. Not only was he disconcertingly happy, he had also mentioned Perez. Oh, gods…

“How do you know Perez?” Ramses asked, dreading the answer. He narrowed his eyes at the man and tried to collect his thoughts. Was this man seriously going to be on the team he was guiding? An entire godsdamned planet and he’d managed to end up on a team with this asshole.

.

               Sean lifts a pleasantly surprised eyebrow.    So it seems that Mr. Perez is indeed a very famous benefactor,   if this random stranger recognizes his name.    Of course,    it’s not that Sean doubted it at all.   Anthony Perez is a very pleasant man,    very down to earth,    and very deserving of his fans.    

       “He’s my boss!”    Sean pipes up,   then adds:    “And my brother’s boss.    Actually,   my brother Shawn got us the gig with Mr. Perez,    who was kind enough to consider our services.”    He supplies with a smile.   

      “How long have you been a fan of his?”    Sean asks,    completely unfazed by the man’s narrowed eyes.    “I admit that I only learned about him recently,   but my admiration for him is immeasurable.”    He thinks about this statement for a moment,   “Unless someone invents a device to measure admiration,    of course.   I’m sure Mr. Perez would fund something like that.”    

.

It’s a good thing it’s breakfast time, it means that Shawn can toast in return – an action that involves taking a piece of toasted bread, reaching across the table, and smacking Sean across the face with it. Unfortunately, since it’s now touched his brother’s face and has germs, the bread is done for. Damn. Should have thought about that before he toasted!

“He’d be proud of you too,” he replies over a rustle of newspaper, the habit of reading it in the morning instilled by the late figure in question. If only Mr. Goldman were here; the hunt would go twice as fast with him on the trail.

Shawn snorts as a thought occurs to him, and he knows it’s occurred to Sean too, but unfortunately, sometimes they do have to say things out loud (what a chore). “If he were here, he’d have already taken over and he’d be yelling at all of us for being half his age and going at half his speed.”

.

               “Ha!”    Sean throws his head back in laughter.    A toast.    Toasted bread.    Shawn is a genius.    “Good one!”    He praises,    then joyfully takes Shawn’s discarded toast and takes a bite out of it before he waters it down with his own toast.    You know,    the one in the tea cup. 

      He contiues to smile while he munches.   Mr. Goldman would indeed take over and he would indeed yell at them for being slower than him.   Mental capacity and physical ability,    he was truly a mentor to be proud of.   

       “It’s too bad no one here is half our age,”    Sean comments,    “because I can do a pretty good impersonation.”    He sits up,   shoves the rest of the toast into his mouth and delicately places the teacup down.    Furrowing his brows and frowning deeply,   Sean does a cartoonish impersonation that has,   undoubtedly,   gotten him yelled at by the late Mr. Goldman in its time. 

       “Do I have to do everything by myself around here!?    Shawn--    no,   not you Sean--    stop trying to move that boulder!”    

               Sean has nothing better to do than to aimlessly walk around,   which is what he is currently doing.   He was walking around in his hotel lobby before,    but after getting bored of seeing the same furniture,   now he’s decided to start walking around the Egyptian Museum of Antiques,    which he has frequented enough to be able to walk aimlessly in    (and has more interesting furniture to get bored at). 

       Of course,    he’s doing it in a very aimless manner,    which can be very distracting.   He barely sees her coming.   By the time Sean spots the short figure,   the books she was carrying are already tumbling down between them and papers are flying about.   He attempts to catch them in the air,    but ends up gripping at nothing and then accidentally crushing one in his hand.

       “I am so sorry!”    He begins to apologize immediately,   crouching down to collect fallen books,   “I didn’t see you there--   not that you weren’t there,   I mean,    you certainly were!”    He fumbles,   picking up as much as his hands can hold. 

               Sometimes--    just,    sometimes,   Sean feels a little self-conscious about his style.   It’s not that it’s inferior,   it’s just that compared to Shawn’s sharp,   clean suits,   Sean is more of a casual dresser.   He likes button-ups because he can have the buttons halfway down,    and that’s about as fancy as the going gets.   

     Which is why he is absolutely relieved to see Anthony Perez dressed in garbs similar to his own   He was expecting a three-piece suit and slick,   shiny hair--    yet Mr. Perez is wearing a scarf over a cotton button-up and his hair is wonderfully lively.   It helps Sean warm up to him immediately. 

       “Mr. Perez!   I’m Sean Rhodes-Goldman.    Shawn told me that you’re the benefactor who hired us?    It is a pleasure to meet you,”    he smiles wide,   extending his hand out for a handshake.    Then,    timidly:   “I must say,    I was a bit nervous when I heard you’re a benefactor...    and a famous one,   at that.”    (Courtesy of his brother saying so).   “But you seem so down to earth already!” 

               “Look at us,”   Sean,    who is delicately holding a teacup which is too small for his hand,   raises it towards Shawn.   “In Egypt,    on our first treasure hunt on our own!”    

       When he says it,   he feels a pang of sadness in his chest.   His smile doesn’t fade completely,   but the memory of the late Mr. Goldman dims it down.   It’s a bittersweet moment,   if anything. 

       “He would be proud of you for getting hired by that Mr. Perez!”    Sean praises,   looking at his brother again,   “and I am too.   A toast to our trip!”   

               Now,    in terms of thinking this through,   Sean isn’t.   He caught wind of the medic.   He has important things to say,    boundaries to set,    and a doctor to confuse. 

       “Sean-Rhodes Goldman,”    he introduces himself as aburptly as he shows up.    He doesn’t go in for a handshake,    because knowing medics,   she would definitely poke him.   He is determined to stay as far away from her as possible,   but Sean was raised on good manners   (that he will execute... unless,   of course,   there’s the threat of being poked),   so he is making it known first why he will be avoiding her from now on and until the end of their trip.    The reason?   He doesn’t want to confuse her and earn her wrath. 

      “I have my reservations about you...    professional doctors,”    he clears his throat,    like the word leaves a bad taste in his mouth.   “I don’t like what you do and I would like to ask you to keep all of your tools away from me.”    

       Sean,    feeling dignified,   nods once.    “That would be all.” 

@vvroooom·

When Ramses first saw him, he jolted like he’d seen a ghost.

There, in the flesh—the asshole who’d side-swiped his bike while downtown in a manner that Ramses would describe as “criminally reckless”.

»Of course,« Ramses muttered under his breath in Arabic, »he’s American.«

“What are you doing here?” Ramses asked in English, narrowing his eyes at the man and crossing his arms in front of his chest. Did he know the man’s name? No. Did he care? Also no.

.

              Sean heard that manners are different in each country,   so the fact that a stranger is looming over and glaring at him doesn’t activate any alarms in his brain.   In fact,    he’s glad to be approached at all.    He was starting to get bored. 

      "I'm waiting for someone to tell me it's time to go,    preferably Anthony Perez,"    he responds,   because Sean has really been sitting around for the past few hours and patiently waiting to do the job he was hired for only this morning.    

       He smiles at the stranger.    “What are you doing?”