[center][h1][Color=DF0101]Haakon J. Elvsgaard[/color][/h1]
[img]http://www.jerryjazzmusician.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/bix1.jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=DF0101]Location:[/color]The Prison[/center][hr]

The eeire silence that had soaked the dry walls of the small room had almost grown normal to Haakon as he had been sitting on that chair. The pool of blood on the table, while repulsive, had by now become the least of his concerns, beside the interrogator himself. It was disturbing, all of it, but yet his senses had grown accustommed to it somehow. That's why he didn't really realize what was just about to happen. 

Haakon gave a look of brief confusion at his previous captor as he returned to the room, ordering him to get out of the prison and stay within the city, before storming out while slamming several doors after him. So...had he believed what Haakon told him? The grunt of displeasure could really have meant anything from him not getting another victim to beat to death, or that he thought Haakon was spinning nothing but webs of lies. Either way, Haakon slowly comprehended the fact that he was free to go. 

Slowly, he got up from the chair he swore he could see the patches of sweat from his back, and walked out of the room he feared would be his coffin. In the distance he heard the sound of beating, pain and, well, more pain. Haakon didn't want to think of who the unfortunate victim was, but he already knew. Now someone else was much more important to him; Josephine. 

[hr][center][h1][color=007236]Mahendra Huq Zalil[/color][/h1]
[img]http://st1.bollywoodlife.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/rkmog-top-5-mahatma-gandhi-portrayals-on-screen-png-92679.jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=007236]Location:[/color]Shepheard's Hotel -> Egyptian Museum[/center][hr] 

[Color=007236]"No, that will be all, thank you. Here you are, sir."[/color]

Outside of the Shepheard's hotel, along the busy streets of Cairo, a man of foreign apperance payed a server precisely what a simple cup of tea would cost on such a common day. His appearance was foreign, not just for the various Europeans - and Americans - who might happen to pass him, but also to the local population; his skin was browner than most Egyptians, while his attire was that of an European traveller. Yet for his foreign looks, he still felt no more a stranger than he did in other places. 

What he did feel, however, was the brief sense of dissappointment that he still was without a line of work. Few people had shown interest in his skills and credentials, but he was determined not to give up. Good actions led to good fates, that was for certain. The cup of tea seemed to boost his spirits as well. And so he picked up the newspaper from the table beside him, opening it with one hand while the other held the warm cup of tea. 

A smile formed on the Indian's lips. There, right in the middle of the page, he read what he had needed; a position of work! The local museum was in need of junior archeologists with several years of experience and education. What the job included, that was actually not what concerned Mahendra the most. He knew when to be pickish, and this was not one of those moments; this was, if even just something small, a start. And so, having finished his tea calmly while reading the rest of the paper, the Indian geologist from Bengali wrapped the paper under his arm, put on his hat and began to walk towards the museum. Perhaps this would be a good day?