[center][h1][color=686F91]Harry Walsh[/color][/h1]
[img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/d03fc8a9229db3193e86bfc3b3c8b536/tumblr_nkhkysMc5r1uokpato5_540.gif[/img][/center][hr][center][b][color=686F91]Location:[/color][/b] Streets of Cairo -> Qasr El Nil Barracks: Stables[/center][hr]

Harry smiled softly towards Aziza as she spoke, her confidence in him was comforting, if not daunting. He had every intention of keeping Aziza safe on their expedition, and indeed for whatever other things were to come, but Harry knew better than most that sometimes good intentions were certainly not enough. His mind went back to the war as they made their way back to the barracks, and as they began to continue along to the barracks Harry found himself following mindlessly, his thoughts far away as he lingered on memories better left forgotten.

He had seen youthful boys come and go, he had seen men die moments after arriving on the front, or days before they went home. In his earliest days he had assured all those under his command that he would do everything in his power to ensure their safety, to ensure their safe return home at the end of the war. By the last few months of the war he had stopped making such a promise, he knew he could not keep it then, and the pain of failing each time one of his fellows fell would have consumed him otherwise. Harry was oblivious of the grim demeanour that had crossed his face, sighing as he continued to make his way to the stables with Aziza, but she would likely recognize it with ease, it was the same look he had had the night before when his thoughts returned to the war. It was a look of pain, of regret.

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[center][h1][color=FFE2AA]William Drake[/color][/h1]
[img]http://49.media.tumblr.com/ff46ab5f5f3b663db052ad5d797359c6/tumblr_o23ey3NKbE1qdhps7o3_500.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][center][b][color=FFE2AA]Location:[/color][/b] The Egyptian Museum[/center][hr]

It took every ounce of William's willpower to retain his mask of calm until Vera left the room, and the moment she did it took that same willpower not to smash the closest thing in sight. He fought back a pang of rage, fury and frustration boiling in him. William was a scoundrel, a liar, a bastard even, he had never spoken to anyone in his life the way he had just spoken to Vera. He had poured his heart out, into his hands and he had offered to her, and she had spat and stomped on it like it was a kind of sick joke. William's anger hardly held, and before long he threw a few tomes as hard as he could across the room, not caring for the damage he caused as he clenched his fists.

Finding a chair nearby, he sat and put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair and gripping it tightly, struggling not to tear it out as the frustration, the anger, and the sorrow tore through him, attacking every fiber of his being. He had spent his life steeling himself, never had William opened himself up so much and he knew now the reason why, it hurt in the kind of way that was unfathomable to explain. Sighing as he lingered on the pain in his heart, he sat in silence, all other desires or thoughts purged from his mind as he sat in agonizing silence.