[hr][hr][center][h1][i][b][color=b8860b]Reginald Keystone[/color][/b][/i][/h1]
[img]http://33.media.tumblr.com/76ca11af5771405a055ca9291e9e4b2b/tumblr_nvhilyU39J1qcxymno4_500.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=b8860b][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Museum - Vera's Office
[color=b8860b][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Arabic [/center][hr][hr]

	Discussions with local law enforcement were generally less than entertaining for someone involved with the British Royal Military, owing to the current political landscape. The Lord Major had trained a lot of these people, but now that Egypt was no longer a protectorate of the Crown, there were mixed feelings about the presence of anyone with a cultured accent of the Angles and a position of authority. For this reason, Reginald made it a point to converse with the Cairo Police in their native tongue. Respectfully, of course. Letting a native people know that you have taken the time to learn their primary form of communication, in itself, send a message of respect. Especially if one can play up the role of the doddering but kindly old military man nearing retirement. Naturally, that wouldn't fly with anyone that had known him on a professional level prior to this moment, but it was a solid plan nonetheless. 

	Time had gotten away from Reginald. He had obviously missed a meal or two, a situation he hoped that he would remedy very shortly. He had seen death often enough that it rarely blunted his appetite, unless it was in a particularly gruesome manner. Twisted among the wreckage of an aeroplane didn't count. Not anymore, anyway, as it ranked right up near the top of his preferred ways to snuff it. Quietly in his sleep was dead last, though if he kept surviving like some spotty-faced git, that was probably the fate that awaited him. Reginald huffed at the thought. Succumbing to some manner of horrific disease was preferable, as it could be stated that he was at least fighting [i]something[/i], be it more of a metaphorical sense. Being knifed in a barfight was preferable. Glorious combat whilst in uniform for King and Country was the pinnacle, naturally. But shuffling off this mortal coil in the assistance or defense of family or friends was a damned fine way to go, too. 

	The Lord Major smiled lightly at the thought; a series of imaginings that came awfully close to a daydream. Then he snapped out of it. There was Fellowship business to be done, and back at the Base (if his orders were carried out properly) there should be a few pallets of supplies, incidentals, and some luxury items waiting for him. But for the meantime, Reginald acquiesced to Vera's request to return to her office. [color=b8860b]"Well then, I do say [i]that[/i] was a bit of adventure that I could have done without."[/color] remarked the Lord Major. [color=b8860b]"Bloody shame about Mr. Elvsgaard. Bloody shame..."[/color] There was actual sincerity in his statement. Not that he was a great friend of the deceased reporter; that part was obvious. It was an unnecessary waste of life, which did bother him somewhat. The shameful waste of a person. He shook his head and pressed on, [color=b8860b]"What have we left from Archives that might be of use to us, if I may be as blunt?"[/color] 

	[i]...meanwhile, at the front door...[/i]

	Knock, knock, knock; a sharp rapping sounded from the main doors of the Museum, now tightly locked up as it was very much after hours. A single voice might be heard from the other side, calling in solid if somewhat concerned tone, 

	"Lord [b][i]MAJOR[/i][/b]!"